Page 2 of Fast-Track Fiancé

To most people, one couldn’t get much luckier than getting the opportunity to dress up and play the part of a supermodel for one night. But she was a naturally introverted person with a rather complicated history with the press, and stepping out onto the red carpet outside the museum was quite frankly Nina’s idea of hell on earth.

A wall of photographers and journalists seemed to command the throng of glamorous A-list carpet walkers in a shocking wave of sound that temporarily held her frozen still with its urgency. Anonymity wasn’t necessary for her plan tonight to work, but she couldn’t deny it was a lot easier to hold her head high without the weight of her family’s world-famous downfall hanging over her.

The hum of voices tumbled over one another as she took a few shaky steps forward, feeling the comforting glare of the event’s security guards ensuring nobody got too close. The theme of the Falco Diamonds showcase was a summer masquerade and, once she’d made it halfway down the carpet without slipping, she focused on locating the only person she actually cared about seeing tonight. She was so distracted by the long line of famous faces that she almost missed him entirely.

‘Tristan, over here!’ a photographer called out, soon joined by an echo of others, all scrambling for the perfect shot of the man of the hour.

Nina’s breath caught as a man passed close by her, his sleeve just slightly brushing the skirt of her dress as he stepped out into the glare of the camera flashes. In a sea of black, his tuxedo was a brilliant white that seemed to make his dark blond hair and tanned skin glow. He wore no mask on his face. He stood a full foot taller than everyone around him, his blue eyes smouldering at the cameras as if he were some kind of fallen angel, sent to earth make every other human feel inferior. He owned every inch of the red carpet as a quartet of beautiful women posed and clung to his impressively muscular arms.

Who on earth needed to bring four dates to an event? She felt a flash of irritation as the women smiled and simpered up at him, while he all but ignored their presence. She knew that Falco carefully curated his wild playboy image and possibly was not actually involved with all four of the women. But the way their hands roamed over his torso as they moved as one spoke of a certain intimacy.

Was that even possible?

She was staring openly now, wondering at the...practicality of one man entertaining four women at once. Then again, if the rumours about Tristan Falco’s insatiable appetite for bedroom gymnastics were true, perhaps this was the minimum number of participants required to maintain his attention. It had been all over social media when his girlfriend had left him a few months ago for his cousin—maybe one woman wasn’t enough for Tristan Falco. Her inexperienced mind and overactive imagination attempted to conjure up an image and she couldn’t help it, she laughed out loud with surprise at the absurdity of it.

There was no way her laugh could have been heard over the din of the crowds around them and yet she felt a prickle of awareness skate along her skin before she looked back up to see that she had become the sole focus of one man’s attention.

She felt frozen in place as Falco’s gaze blatantly dipped to languorously take in her figure before rising back up to meet her eyes with exaggerated slowness. The slow smile that transformed his lips was pure sin, his midnight-blue eyes sparking with the kind of devilish glint that she would have to be completely naïve not to understand.

‘Miss Roux?’

She felt as if she were breaking out of a trance as she blinked, turning to find one of Hermione Hall’s assistants standing by her side looking impatient.

‘You need to get inside or all of the best pieces of jewellery to accompany this gown will be gone.’ The woman urged her ahead and Nina dutifully followed, ignoring the strange prickle on the back of her neck as she moved inside the entryway.

For a man renowned for his wild playboy lifestyle and love of excess, Tristan Falco was never anything but fully in control at all times.

But tonight, he was distracted.

He usually adored playing host, a role that he had been raised in as the only son of a world-famous Argentinian diamond heiress and global fashion icon. His mother had taught him how to work a crowd and how to use his charm and good looks to build a fortune of his own. He had long been a success in his own right, with his carefully curated image paving the way for his skills in the business world to slide under the radar just as he liked it. But that success had come with a certain level of disconnect.

He had long grown used to suffering through the company at A-list events, with people clamouring for his attention while he worked through his mental list of business connections and takeover bids. And of course, lately, with dodging the more and more overt attempts his mother was making at finding him a wife. Recent scandals in the press regarding his love life had done him no favours, but ever since her retirement as CEO of her beloved company, Dulce Falco had decided the time had come for her only son to settle down and give her grandchildren. Not even planning her own upcoming wedding in Buenos Aires had distracted her.

He loved his mother and didn’t want to worry her...and having a wife and family of his own was an idea he had actually gradually been warming up to in recent times, not that he’d admit it. Until his ex had run off with his cousin and the ensuing scandal had served as a reminder that men like him were not built for domesticity.

Grabbing a second glass of champagne from a passing waiter, he tried to focus on his task list for the evening. He felt...on edge and it had nothing to do with the pressure he was under to marry and everything to do with finding out the identity of the mysterious beauty he’d seen outside.

Time and time again he had found his eyes searching for the woman in blue in the crowd, catching glimpses of her progress in between interruptions from his own less than captivating companions. She had been allocated a tiara from the exhibit to match the gown she wore; he knew the one from the antique jewellery collection being exhibited tonight by Falco Diamonds. He wore the matching crown on top of his own head, chosen weeks ago by his personal styling team.

As he downed the remnants of his glass of champagne and gestured for a refill, his eyes roamed the cavernous museum hall once more, taking only a few moments before finding the object of his thoughts.

She stood under one of the domes at the centre of the nave, her white mask glittering under the light show that had begun on the ceiling and upper walls. Utterly still, she gazed up at the cascade of blooms and stars that pulsated and blossomed above them. Around her, countless A-list attendees schmoozed and networked, but her gaze remained focused upon the lights above as though she were in a trance.

Or perhaps, just like him, she wished to be anywhere else but here.

It was easy to imagine slipping over there and introducing himself with his usual charm. He would tell her the story behind the inspiration between their headpieces, his own based on a coronet worn by the King of old Sardegna and hers the beautiful princess who became his queen. He would compliment her dress as he gazed into her eyes; they had seemed dark and soulful from what he could make out under the mask she wore. From there, the game of seduction would begin and it would be only a matter of time before he was peeling her out of that blue lace and she was crying out his name.

He cleared his suddenly dry throat, shocked at how quickly his thoughts had descended into depravity. His libido had barely stirred all evening as his four beautiful dates had made a show of flirting and touching him at every opportunity. He hadn’t bedded a woman in months, hadn’t felt genuine interest in even longer. As if to prove his point, his last remaining neglected date finally reached her limit and sighed loudly before stalking away in search of more attentive entertainment. The distraction caused him to lose track of the blue-lace beauty once more and he cursed under his breath.

‘Tristan, why am I not surprised that you chose a crown?’

His entire body stiffening at the familiar feminine voice, he turned to find scarlet-tipped nails clawed upon his white tuxedo sleeve. His ex-lover Gabriela, owner of said claws, leaned in for the customary Argentinian greeting of one single kiss upon his right cheek. Before he had a moment to prepare, he was engulfed in her cloying scent. A scent that had once seemed seductive and warm, but now served only as a reminder that the prettiest flowers were quite often the ones that held the most venom.

‘You managed to snag an invite.’ He smiled, steeling his jaw against any hint of the anger that seeing her here at his event provoked in him. ‘What a surprise.’

‘Surprise? Don’t tell me Vic hasn’t spoken to you yet?’ She sighed, turning just as they were joined by another person he would rather claw his own eyes out than speak to tonight. His cousin.

‘He’s impossible to track down.’ Victor Falco laughed, the humour not quite meeting his eyes as he looked anxiously between Gabriela and the man they’d both publicly humiliated just a few short months before. ‘I was wondering who had selected the King’s crown piece. I should have known it was you.’

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