Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 93347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
My mother had seen to that. From the time I could talk, she’d tried to instill in me a terror of all men.
Men are the devil, Sabrina.
Never trust them, she’d always say. Especially the Italians.
And the biggest devil of all was my father, a man I’d never met and never would. I wasn’t even permitted to mention his name or to even tell anyone that I was his illegitimate daughter.
It didn’t stop me from reading romance novels, latching on to the idea of a book boyfriend being out there in real life.
He didn’t have to be perfect.
I just wanted someone to watch over me like Yelena’s husband watched over her. In that sexy, dangerous, but safe for me, sort of way.
My lips puckered as I let out a frustrated sigh. It was just a dark fantasy between the pages of a book.
I grazed the glossy surface of Sebastian’s card in my vest pocket but yanked my hand back as if the paper had burned, as if it carried the warmth of his skin.
Glancing around me to make sure everyone else wasn’t still staring, I asked, “Have you heard of Sebastian Diamanti?”
Yelena’s eyebrows shot up. “Of course. Who hasn’t heard of Sebastian and the House of Diamanti?”
Perfect. Apparently, I was the only one living under a fucking rock because everyone seemed to know of this man.
I carefully lifted the dress off the sewing form, cradling it across my arms. “Have you ever met him?”
She followed me into the tiny studio room, really just a converted gallery off the Louvre’s Cour Marly, where the main fashion show would take place tonight.
The delicate fabrics of Édouard’s fall collection—sheer layers, floral appliqués, unruly lace—looked like they belonged in a Versailles fever dream.
A twisted Rococo fantasy.
There wasn’t much of a budget for my social media photo shoot set, so I’d improvised—draping the back wall in rich purple velvet, angling borrowed mirrors into fractured reflections, even smashing a few to create the perfect starburst.
The whole aesthetic would have a fabulous Marie Antoinette, crushed dream’s effect.
It was bold, defiant, beautiful.
I didn’t just feel useful. I felt seen. Creative. A little dangerous.
Overall, I’d been very pleased with the idea.
Édouard had barely looked at it.
As we helped the model into the heavy dress, Yelena nodded. “We’ve crossed paths a few times. He’s very intense. My guess is he’s either a Scorpio or possibly a Capricorn.”
Yelena had a quirk of defining people and their motivations by guessing their zodiac signs. To be fair, she totally nailed it, guessing that I was a Cancer.
She helped me position the model in front of one of the smashed mirrors at just the right angle before fluffing and spreading out the skirt of the stunning sapphire-blue wedding gown.
One of the makeup artists popped in to touch up the model’s makeup and hair just as Mark arrived with his cameras.
Yelena waylaid the makeup artist when she finished and was about to return to the main backstage area. She gestured up and down with her fingers toward me. “Fix this.”
I turned to study my reflection in one of the mirrors.
Yikes. It was worse than I'd initially thought. My hair was twice its normal size and could have been styled with a blender. My neatly applied black cat-eye eyeliner was now a messy, smoky eye with just a hint of psychopathic clown. And croissant crumbs still clung to the lace at my throat.
The makeup artist’s face fell. “Sweetie, I don’t have that kind of time.”
I nodded while I tried to smooth my hair back down. “That’s fair.”
She tossed me a few remover wipes. “This is the best that I can do.”
I tore into one of the foil packages and faced the mirror.
Yelena appeared behind me. “So why all the questions about Sebastian?”
With a sigh, I reached into my pocket and pulled out his card. “I met him when I went on that stupid pastry run.”
Yelena took his card, looked at it, then waved it in front of her, smirking. “Oh, really.”
I rubbed at the smeared mascara under my eye with a wipe. “Are you not seeing what I’m seeing?”
She leaned in to fix her lipstick. “So? Men get off on the whole damsel-in-distress vibe.”
“It’s not going to happen. He’s too…much.” I turned to face her. “I’m not equipped to handle that level of intensity.”
She winked. “You never know. Intense men have their benefits.”
“Not going to happen. Besides, I’m here to work, not flirt.”
She rolled her eyes as she handed Sebastian’s card back to me. “If all you think you’d be doing with Sebastian Diamanti is flirt, then you’re right. You’re not equipped to handle him.”
I hated the telltale blush that burned a path down my cheeks and across my chest, even as I tucked the card safely back in my pocket.
Mark looked up from taking photos. “Does anyone want to know what I think?”