Love in the City, an erotic romance novel (17 page)

Saturday came and the night of the Dream Ball had arrived. Anabelle had spent the
entire day getting ready. She had made appointments at her neighborhood salon for a mani and pedi and a blowout for her hair. Her regular stylist, Josie, had squeezed her in once Anabelle told her what the last-minute appointments were for.

Anabelle
was grateful to have the pampering. It relaxed her and it helped her to have someone to talk to about how nervous she was about the ball. They were just people, Josie told her. Just like them, just in a different set of circumstances. People were people. The rest was mostly dressing. Anabelle hoped what she said was true, but she was still uncertain.

Anabelle had never been to such a formal, fancy function before, but Giorgio had assured her he would take care of her and had filled her in on what to expect. She was working hard to shed her insecurities about not belon
ging.

Finally, Giorgio came to pick her up in a stretch limousine.

Anabelle heard the buzzer. “Hel
lo?” she said into the speaker.

“Your chariot has arrived to escort you to the ball, m’lady.”

She smiled. “Come on in,” she said as she pressed the button to let him into the building. She took one last look in the mirror. Even through her nervousness, she liked what she saw. She felt like a princess version of herself. Her hair was elegantly styled, smooth and shiny, with a deep side part, and tucked behind her ear on one side. The dress that Giorgio had sent over fit her perfectly. She turned to the right and the left. This was as good as she had ever looked. She touched the diamond heart pendant she wore. It sparkled. This all felt like a dream.

He knocked. “It’s me,” he said.

She took a deep breath and opened the door.

Giorgio broke into a smile from ear to ear as he looked at her. “Wow. Anabelle, you
look so beautiful…”

She beamed at him. “Come in for a moment,” she said, then closed the door behind them.

He stepped close to her and placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. “You’re breathtaking. I am a lucky man,” he said as he bent down to kiss her.

She savored the kiss, then she looked up into his blue eyes. They were filled with desire. His hair
still had a tousled look, but it was more carefully styled, giving him an even more chiseled appearance. He looked like he could be a model, but with a sexier, more manly edge. She looked at his full lips, and stepped up to kiss them again. “You look so handsome in your tuxedo,” she whispered to him. “Like you stepped out of a fairytale.”

“I’m glad I please you, m’lady,” he said as he bowed before her.

She loved that. It made her feel giddy. “Thank you so much for the gown and the pendant, you shouldn’t have…”

He cupped her face and kissed her tenderly. “You are more than worth it. I wanted this night to be special for you, memorable.”

Dating Giorgio was a heady mix of sensual touches, intense sexual desire, new experiences, and what seemed like trying to balance herself on the edge of a strange new world. Anabelle felt like she was being swept away into a fantasy. “It already is.”

“I sure had fun the last time I was here,” he said as he wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her close to him.

She giggled. “Me too.”

“Maybe we should just stay in and carry on fr
om where we left off?” he asked as his hands moved suggestively to her backside.

She gave him a playful swat. “You’re bad!”

“Mmmm, you have no idea,” he said in a low voice as he pressed himself into her. “You should let me show you just how bad I could be.”

“I think we’d better go before this night gets out of control,” she said, feeling her body quickly respond to his.

He grunted, then gave a long, dramatic sigh. “If we must.”

She ran her fingers up his chest. “Perhaps I can order the entertainment
package you offer later on?”

He ran his hands over her hips, resisting the urge to press himself any closer to her.
He got too heated too fast around her. “M’lady,” he said, “any time you wish.”

She felt her
body spark with arousal. She was very tempted to order that package…his package…right now, but she knew how important this night was to him. “I think it’s a little warm in here,” she said, fanning herself.

He
smiled, then held his arm out for her. “Shall we?”

She took his arm.

“Night, Jasper!” he called out to the cat who was curled up on the couch watching them. He always looked sad whenever Anabelle went out for an evening. “I’ll bring your mommy back to you safe and sound, don’t worry.”

“Bye
, honey! I left you with extra food just in case we’re late,” Anabelle said as they headed out.

Snuggling all the way in the back of the limousine, they finally pulled up in front of the swanky Pearson Hotel on Fifth Avenue, near the entrance to the Grand Ballroom. Anabelle had only ever dreamed of stepping foot inside this venerated hotel.

A valet stepped forth and opened the door for them. Cameras flashed as they exited the limo. Giorgio stepped out first, and then held out his hand to help Anabelle out of the car. She was met by a sight she’d only seen in magazines and entertainment shows. Paparazzi calling out to them; their camera flashes blinding. She was momentarily stunned.

“It’s alright,” he said, “I’ve got you. Just hang onto my arm.”

She nodded and tried to see
where they were going, but the flashes were too bright. She gripped his arm, which felt strong and steady, and followed him forward. She tried to muster a smile, but mostly found herself wincing and cringing in the photographic onslaught. She chose instead to focus on his shoes. Watching him walk forward, she kept pace. His hand closed around hers reassuringly.

As they walked by, Anabelle could hear the photogs calling out Giorgio’s name. It was
still a bit shocking to realize how well-known he was in New York’s elite circles of the wealthy and powerful. She silently tried to talk down her nerves.

“Mr. Tsarkopolis,” one man yelled out above the others, “care to comment on the latest rumors about trouble with Tsar Enterprises?”

Giorgio ignored them.

Anabelle was appalled. “So rude,
” she whispered.

“Don’t worry, security will take care of him,” Giorgio
whispered back. “There’s always one or two in a crowd.”

Sure enough, a burly suit-clad security guard grabbed the photog and hauled him away from the press line.

Giorgio and Anabelle continued inside. Passing through the open doors, they entered the ornate lobby. She overheard him tell one of the ushers for the event to make sure everyone had access to a taxi chit, so they wouldn’t drive home drunk. She then turned. She could hear the band playing lively swing music inside the ballroom, which was abuzz with laughter and conversation.

Women dressed in designer gowns mingled about with the tuxedo-clad men. Anabelle always thought it was funny how much women put into their appearances to stand out – the hair, the jewels, the stunning dresses, the shoes – while the men all appeared exactly the same – in black tuxedos with white shirts. They did their best to look identical to one another, while the women put on some kind of fashion competition, trying to outdo one another. It wasn’t a world that Anabelle thought she would ever fully understand or like. She felt like an alien in their midst.

“Come,” Giorgio said, “let’s get a couple of drinks, get the lay of the land, and then I’ll introduce you to some folks.”

“Great,” Anabelle said, growing tense. She would know no one here. It made her feel vulnerable. She clung to Giorgio’s arm for dear life as they navigated what was akin to an urban jungle for her. It was loud inside and packed with hundreds of New York’s well-to-do.

However, the Grand Ballroom took her breath away. It was exquisite in its ornate grandeur. Sweeping arches all around the room were elegantly lit with soft lighting. Crystal chandeliers sparkled high above, hanging from a vaulted ceiling that gave the room an airy feeling of sweeping possibilities and great wealth. Anabelle truly felt like Cinderella at the ball.

Formally-clad waiters and waitresses made their way continuously through the throngs, offering a large variety of gourmet appetizers.

As Giorgio led her through the crowd, she tried not to gawk at the flashy, and often gaudy, appearances of the women in attendance. She could tell they were all eyeing one another, making not-so-subtle mental notes as to who was coming out on top in the fashion and beauty competition.

Anabelle wondered why women tortured themselves so, with the endless inner dialogue about their shortcomings and the endless need to prove
and improve one’s attractiveness. It was wholly unhealthy. And yet here she was, experiencing a kaleidoscope of emotions at the hands of these wealthy society women. She resigned herself to the fact that it was going to be a long night.

“You seem quiet,” Giorgio said as he led
her through the throngs towards the open bar. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, fine,” she said, “it’s just a lot to take in. I haven’t traveled in these circles before. It’s a little
…disorienting.”

“Stick close to me, I’ll guide you through safely,” he said,
looking down at her and giving her a reassuring smile.

In the midst of the chaos,
he still took her breath away. Being in this place with such a gorgeous, wealthy man felt unreal. She feared she might just be waiting for the other shoe to fall.

They reached the bar and Giorgio ordered two glasses of champagne for them. He handed one to her. “M’lady,” he said, “to our first official society coming out appearance.” He clinked her glass.

She took a sip of bubbly. It was a delightfully dry champagne. Definitely not something she had had before. It tickled going down her throat. Just what she needed. Some liquid courage. She smiled. “Nice. Just what the doctor ordered.”

He was about to reply when they heard a woman’s voice call out from behind him. “Giorgio?”

He turned around. “Oh, hi Portia,” he said, sounding uncomfortable. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to be arriving late.”

The woman came into view.

Anabelle’s felt her stomach catch in her throat. It was
her
. The blonde woman she had seen with Giorgio that day at lunch.

She was
a few inches taller than Anabelle, partly due to her own height, which Anabelle pegged at 5’9” or 5’10”, and the impossibly high, jeweled platform stilettos she wore. She was dressed in a fire-engine red, sequined dress with a plunging neckline and dangerously high slit. Around her neck was a brilliant diamond necklace with a large diamond drop pendant that fell right between her large, obviously enhanced breasts. Her skin was tanned and sparkling with a dust of powder and her silky, shiny long blonde hair was pulled up on the sides, with a teased crown to give it height. The rest fell down her back. Her very plump lips were painted in a fire-engine red gloss to match her dress and her long, slender arms were draped in diamond and emerald bracelets. Her appearance screamed for and demanded attention.

“Of course not
, darling,” she said, as she took his hand and leaned in to give him an air kiss. “For this, I wanted to be on time. I wouldn’t miss all this excitement for the world.” She stepped aside, taking note of Anabelle. She lifted her chin to exaggerate the height difference, looking down her nose. “And who is this little creature? I thought you were coming alone.” She spoke with mild curiosity, the kind you would give someone’s weird cousin.

Giorgio’s face flushed at the direct insult. “This is Anabelle Parker and she’s my date tonight,” he said defensively. “Anabelle, this is Portia. My sister-in-law.”

Sister-in-law?
she thought with a giant sigh of relief, mixed with confusion, as her mind replayed that day at lunch and their intimate-seeming interactions. “Hi,” she said, extending a hand, “nice to meet you.”

Portia took her hand in a limp touch
, as though she might catch something. “Indeed,” she said, giving a half-smile that barely masked her disapproval. “This is quite a surprise,” she said, as she looked Anabelle up and down.

Taking note, Anabelle thought to herself, of her not-stick thin figure. Compared to Portia, she felt like a different species all together.

“Portia also works at our company,” Giorgio interjected. “She’s a finance and economics whiz.”

“Oh?” said Anabelle. She also took note of the woman’s intensely green eyes
, framed by dramatic black false eyelashes.

“So, how do you two know each other?” Portia asked, boldly steering the conversation where she wanted it to go.

“We met recently through happenstance mixed with business,” he said, putting a reassuring arm around Anabelle’s shoulder.

“I see,” Portia said, turning to Anabelle. “Funny he hasn’t mentioned you and yet here you are at one of the most important events of the season.” She wasn’t even tryi
ng to mask her blatant snobbery.