Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 142938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Vittorio, this is Rene Bisset. He’s one of the best chefs in Chicago.”
Rene caught her hand and pressed his lips to it. “One of the best? I am the best. Don’t let her fool you. She is trying to keep my ego from inflating my price.”
“That’s because your food is amazing, and you keep pricing yourself out of the running for my events and you’re always my first choice.”
Vittorio reached out, took Grace’s wrist from Rene with exquisite gentleness and pressed her palm over his heart deliberately. “The food is delicious. It would be such a shame to lose you.” His tone implied even more than his words.
The Frenchman snapped to attention, a smirk on his face. “I see this ring. It has blinded me.” He reached for her hand again and this time, just studied the ring. “Magnificent. A ring befitting our girl.”
Vittorio couldn’t help smiling at Bisset’s audacity. “Is everything the way you wanted it, Grace?”
“Of course. Rene never disappoints.” Grace stroked the caterer’s ego even more.
Bisset beamed. Vittorio, for no good reason he could think of, clenched his teeth. Rene reminded him of a slick shark, circling his woman. Instead, Vittorio gave him a charming smile and leaned down to look Grace in her eyes.
“Are you finished here, mi vida? Perhaps you have time to dance with your man.”
Grace rubbed his chest, right over his immaculate tux. The one with the thin stripes. It was a distinctive design few wore—mainly the Ferraro brothers and Emmanuelle. Tonight, his sister wore a beautiful gown from one of the leading designers. It was made of a special fabric and had the same thin strips running through the black. The dress clung to her figure, and the fabric moved with every step she took, as if alive.
Vittorio could see Emmanuelle in the distance, making the rounds as he needed to be doing, making a point to talk to those with large bank accounts in the hopes that they’d open their pocketbooks and support the Ferraro causes. He didn’t wait for Grace’s reply but turned her toward the crowd milling around their assigned tables and making trips to the dance areas.
Inside the ballroom, nearly every couple was dancing. A few stood around the edges watching, but most took the opportunity to dance with one another. The music was upbeat but deliberately romantic, calling to anyone listening to get on their feet. Vittorio thought Grace may have put some form of compulsion in the décor and music because the night took on a magical quality as he walked with her through the crowd and out to the patio to get to his brother Taviano.
A tall blonde, a notable actress, stood close to Taviano. He had his arm around her waist and he bent down often to hear what she had to say. The two of them laughed often and naturally. They looked very much like a couple who were comfortable with each other.
“Anne Marquis looks stunning tonight,” Grace said. She waved at several other couples, murmuring her hellos and calling them by name.
He should have known his woman would know the identity of every person attending the event. It was her event and her guest list. She had to have gone over it a hundred times. Not to mention, Eloisa tended to invite the elite every time, so her charity made a lot of money, but it narrowed the guest list.
“Anne has always been a favorite of our family,” Vittorio said as they neared the other couple. They were stopped numerous times, and he knew that was because everyone wanted to see that it was true—he was engaged to Grace Murphy. “A really good friend.”
“I’m glad Taviano is escorting her. They look so good together.”
Vittorio scanned the patio in an effort to catch a glimpse of Anne’s ex-husband. She’d been so in love with him and his betrayal had nearly wrecked her. She’d called Emmanuelle, who had gone over to her house and removed any pill that might tempt her to do something crazy in her grief. Then they’d stayed up for two straight nights talking. When Anne had fallen asleep, Emmanuelle had guarded her, taking phone calls and redirecting them to Anne’s agent.
Her ex-husband, Moritz Mischer, the owner of a famous winery, had a piece of eye candy on his arm. The girl couldn’t hold a candle to Anne. She was wearing a gown cut in a vee down the front all the way to her navel. The back had a similar cut to the very middle of her buttocks, but the back had thin strips of material, a ladder holding the back in place. Her laugh was overly loud, and she clung to Mischer and sent Anne poisonous glares.
Anne didn’t look across the patio at them. She seemed completely absorbed in her conversation with Taviano. Emmanuelle made her way to the couple and the two women hugged. Vittorio noted with satisfaction that Mischer couldn’t take his eyes off his ex-wife, who looked elegantly stunning as usual.