plain dark dress marking her out clearly as a servant.
Just like me, thought Angie with a pang—only I expect that this young girl doesn’t get any of the ‘perks’ which Riccardo pointed out earlier. ‘Buona sera,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Como si nama?’
The girl’s English was as hesitant as Angie’s Italian, but her smile was wide. ‘My name is Marietta. You…you follow me?’
‘Of course. Thank you.’ But it was strange how feelings could suddenly switch. From dreading seeing Riccardo, Angie could now feel herself fervently wishing that he’d come to collect her himself as all her bravado slipped away. How could she walk into a room full of important people she didn’t know—all proper invited guests, apart from her—with even some members of the aristocracy thrown in? Would they look at her and judge her, and find her wanting?
She heard the murmur of voices and the chink of glasses as she descended the curving wooden staircase. Taking a deep breath, she told herself that she looked fine but inside she was trembling like a leaf. Pinning a smile to her shiny lips, she began to walk down towards the assembled guests—a rainbow display of finery contrasting with the dark suits worn by the men. A dazzling and glamorous assembly. Some of them looked up and some turned around.
But all she could see was the ebony spotlight of Riccardo’s eyes following her every movement.
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