Page 186 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

‘But…’ her eyes raked over Mari’s casual outfit ‘…you’ll need expert help.’

The woman could have saved her breath. Mari had read the sentiment in her eyes.

‘Then leave her,’ Mari said, pointing to the young woman who seemed to be the outsider. ‘She can help me choose.’

‘But she’s not qualified. She’s only here to observe.’

‘Then she can get some on-the-job training. Everyone else can leave.’

The woman stalled. ‘Well, this is highly irregular.’

‘There you go, I knew we’d find something to agree on.’ She pulled open the door. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure your young colleague will help me spend lots of Dominico’s lovely money.’

‘We’ll wait in Melba’s, Ella,’ she said. ‘Let me know when you’re finished.’ And then, with pursed lips, the woman handed over a list and marched her team minus one from the room.

‘Relief,’ Mari said, her back to the closed door. ‘That was all kinds of a freak show.’

The young woman hid a smile under her hand. ‘I don’t think that’s ever happened to Madame Valentina before.’

Mari smiled. ‘I’m sure she’ll get over it eventually. And now, Ella,’ she said, putting the list Dom had supplied down on the only part of the bed not covered in shoe boxes, ‘it looks like we’ve got work to do. First item on the list is a wedding dress—Las Vegas suitable.’ She regarded the young woman seriously. ‘Hmm, do you think Audra has anything in the Elvis Presley impersonator line?’

The next two hours passed in a blur of colours, fabrics, but best of all, laughter. It turned out Ella was a great choice of consultant and Mari was glad she hadn’t banished everyone from the room. She might be the work experience girl, but Ella had an eye for design, colour and fit, and for making an outfit stand out, from the right foundation garments right through to the accessories.

When a knock came on the door to inform her that the hairstylist had arrived, Mari was back in her jeans and T-shirt going through the list with Ella, doing a final check that they’d covered all the bases. The once empty rack was now filled with hangers, the rack below covered with shoe boxes. Mari couldn’t imagine how much it would all cost, the total of her purchases had to be an eye-watering amount, but if Dom wanted her to look like someone he wanted to be with—like someone he wanted to marry—then he’d just have to pay the price. That was his problem.

In a way, she mused, as her hair was given ‘sun-kissed highlights’, she should be grateful to Dom. She’d never be able to afford designer clothes made from such fabulous fabrics and it would be a treat to wear them for however long this charade lasted.

Sheshouldbe grateful to Dom.

Except no amount of couture clothing, no amount of pampering, could ever make up for Dominico’s betrayal all those years ago. Nothing would ever compensate her for the pain he’d put her through.

Nothing.

CHAPTER SEVEN

WHERE WAS THAT WOMAN? Dominico paced the length of the suite. The hairstylist had left thirty minutes ago, the dinner booking was set for five minutes’ time, and yet Marianne’s door remained firmly shut. The woman was infuriating. To his horror he’d learned she’d banished the boutique consultant and most of her staff. Clearly madness when she so desperately needed help with her wardrobe. God only knew what kind of outfits she’d chosen.

Dinner tonight was supposed to be the test. To see if she could pull off the role of his partner. His fiancée. They were headed to Las Vegas tomorrow. They would be married in twenty-four hours.

Could she pull it off? She had to pull it off. His mother was expecting him and he had no other option. But sure as hell there would be words if she looked anything less than acceptable.

He heard the snick of a door and spun around.

And it looked like Marianne, except…

She was wearing a long-sleeved black off-the-shoulder mini dress in some kind of rib knit that hugged her waist and flared out over her hips before exposing those legs. And what legs. Long and lean, they ended in perilously high heeled strappy sandals. The dress had a white bow neckline over her breasts and her hair, that he’d only seen tied up in some kind of knot behind her head, now spilled down over her bare shoulders. Sun-kissed hair with chestnut highlights that added a pop of radiance to her otherwise monochrome outfit.

Another pop of colour, because she’d ditched her glasses and her eyes looked bigger and more vividly green than ever.

‘Marianne?’

‘Who were you expecting?’ She sounded breathless, her voice a little husky, and maybe just a little nervous. ‘What’s wrong? Am I late?’

He shook his head. Partly because she wasn’t late. Partly because he couldn’t believe the transformation. And mainly because his loins were suddenly paying attention. His little beige accountant might well have been a caterpillar that had just emerged from her chrysalis, transformed into a bright and beautiful butterfly.

‘So,’ she said, trying to sound confident but still with that slight thread of nervousness. ‘Will I do?’

Interesting. She was seeking his approval.

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