Page 34 of His Two Hidden Masks

I wasn’t in love with James, either, but perhaps Leo was right. I was in lust. Sticky, mind-bending, and intoxicatingly deep and beautiful lust.

For the first time in my life, I understood that I could choose sex because I wanted it, not because I believed that one day I would stand at an altar and say those two magic words.

I needed to go home, rest, shower, and change. If James planned to play me, I would be ready for him.

7

Istood in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, evaluating my look. I chose a short, fitted, black dress with long sleeves and a plunging neckline. My hemline hit right above my thigh-high, red suede boots. I added a thick gold chain that accentuated my cleavage.

This was the shortest, tightest, and most expensive dress I owned, and the boots were outrageously sexy. I’d purchased the whole outfit with Leo and David in Florence.

They’d insisted I buy everything including the accessories. I’d stood brave, spinning on a pedestal surrounded by mirrors, while Leo and David toasted me with complimentary champagne.

I had showered and blew my wavy dark hair straight, deciding to wear it loose and long. I checked my make-up again. I put on smoky eyeliner and added a soft gold shadow above my brown eyes, and of course, I needed red lipstick. I painted on that final touch, smacking my lips.

As I crossed the square, a horrible thought crossed my mind. What if James stood me up?

I stopped walking, my heart pounding in my chest. I took a slow breath to recapture my confidence. I needed to remember who I was. Isabella Carmen Uzano did not need this man.

I’d found pleasure in his arms, and if I did again, so be it. And if not? Well, I would treat myself to a glass of champagne at Andiamo and go home.

Stars sparkled overhead in the dark sky. The moon hid behind a bank of clouds, bathing the campo in hazy blue light. The chill in the air was biting, but my wrap kept me warm as I searched the square for James. He wasn’t there.

I stopped by the fountain, wrapping my merino wool shawl tight around my body. Was this really happening? Had that arrogant man actually stood me up?

I saw him. Outside the Mia Sorella, in the outdoor seating for Andiamo, James sat at a table, scrolling through his phone. He looked unflustered and totally in control. Tall heat lamps with columns of flame flanked him on both sides, bathed his gorgeous face in a flickering, golden light.

He stood as I approached. His dark hair falling across his forehead, he watched me with an intensity that made me conscious of my every step. My stomach fluttered as I approached the table. Was there no middle ground? I was either an empowered sex goddess or a bumbling teenager.

“Good evening,” I said.

“I hope outside is all right,” he said, standing. “It was crowded inside and this is more private.” He nodded toward the empty tables around us.

“It’s fine,” I said. “The heat lamps will keep us warm.”

His eyes boring into me, I could not pinpoint his expression. I was looking at the man I had made love to the night before, but he was somewhere else.

“I convinced my father to order these lamps,” I said, unable to stop my nervous chatter. “I had two installed so he could sitand feel the heat himself. It’s transformed this space. You should be warned, though, my father does not like change.”

“I am sure he doesn’t.” James moved around the table and held out my chair as I took a seat.

“Thank you for joining me,” he said, sitting across from me. “It was important to me that we talk.” He wore a black suit jacket and shirt under a long, camel hair, winter coat.

“Look,” I said, leaning across the table. “Let me recap. You are in business with my father. That is business. As for the personal, we had one night together. That was all I was looking for and I got exactly what I needed from you.”

He choked on his water. “Excuse me.” He held his finger in the air and covered his mouth with a napkin until his coughing subsided.

A waiter approached the table. “Good evening. Would the lady like a beverage?” He looked at me without recognition, which was a relief. We added a handful of new servers for Carnival. For once, I was anonymous.

“I’d like an Aperol spritz,” I said, ready to feel those delicious orange bubbles going down my throat, wishing I’d already had two.

“We’ll also take a bottle of the Dom Perignon,” James said, picking one from the list.

“Three glasses?” the waiter asked.

“Please.”

The waiter cleared one place setting, leaving three champagne glasses on the table.

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