Page 63 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream
“Okay, which summer dress? I have about fifty now.”
After our shopping trip, Viola made a note of my style preferences and my size, and ordered three times more outfits to fill my closet. Andreas’ orders,apparently. Thankfully, she has beautiful taste and I love them all.
She pulls one out—a gorgeous floral chiffon maxi dress with spaghetti straps and a frilled neckline. It’s flirty and playful, a little bohemian.
“This. It’s by a local designer—that should impress the Governor and his wife. And it’s smart without being stuffy, and just informal enough I think.”
She leaves me to dress and finish my hair and make-up. This time I decide to leave my hair down with a few flowers woven into the strands.
I open the door and see Viola waiting for me, a broad grin on her face.
“You look beautiful, signora.”
“Oh, wait… I forgot jewelry.”
I’m about to turn around and head back inside the room for the small diamond earrings Trilby and Cristiano gifted me, when Viola puts a hand on my arm.
“Leave the jewelry,” she says, a conspiratorial expression on her face. “Less is more.”
My questioning look fades. She’s right. A dress this pretty doesn’t really need further embellishment.
I’m at the foot of the stairs when the door opens and my heart stills. I genuinely worry that I won’t ever get used to seeing my husband looking so damn handsome in every outfit he wears. Today, he’s opted for dark slacks and a navy shirt that picks out the turquoise flecks in his eyes. It is fitted enough that I can see his pectoral muscles through the expensive cotton. Ittightens around them further as he heaves in assured breaths. His gaze narrows on me, pinning me in place, and I find myself hoping he likes how I look.
Several uncomfortable seconds pass then he clears his throat and holds out a hand. Resting in his palm is a flat black velvet box.
I glance at Viola who nods encouragingly. I walk toward my husband and timidly take the box from him.
I hasten a look in his eyes. They’re filled with something warm but I must be mistaken. He just wants me to look a certain way for when we meet his business associates. I open the box and can’t stop the gasp that leaves my lips. I can almost hear Viola beaming behind me.
The most stunning diamond pendant and ears studs glitter up at me. I couldn’t have picked out a more perfect accompaniment to this outfit if I’d tried. I blink up at him. He’s staring down at me with a brow frowning in concentration, his gaze glued to my reaction.
“They’re beautiful,” I whisper.
He reaches into the case and lifts out the pendant. He makes a twirling motion with his fingers so I dutifully turn my back to him and scoop my hair up off my neck. I catch a glimpse of Viola. She’s still standing at the foot of the staircase like a proud mother, a palm pressed to her chest, her eyes watery.
Andreas lifts the pendant over my head and brings it down to my collarbone. When his fingers brush the napeof my neck a sharp crackle of electricity zips down my spine and I fight to suppress a shiver.
I hear the click of a clasp then turn around to face him. His gaze drops to my collarbone and I flush like an overripe tomato. He takes the box from my hands so I can remove the studs and fasten them to my ears.
When the look is complete, I glance timidly up at him. I get the weird impression his chest has expanded, but I don’t get much of a chance to assess this because he holds out his arm and leads me out of the door. I manage to look over my shoulder to bid Viola a farewell, but then we’re inside another car, me staring directly ahead and Andreas grinding his jaw, fists curled on his knees.
The sea is crystal clear, its sheen rivaling that of an impressively sizeable yacht moored in the harbor. Andreas takes my hand and we walk alongside other, smaller but equally as glamorous-looking boats, my sandals clicking softly on the ground as we approach the yacht.
A man dressed entirely in white stands at the end of a slim ramp. He tips his hat in greeting.
“Good evening, Mr. Corioni. This way, sir.”
Andreas gently nudges me in front of him and I follow the man onto the yacht, my husband close behind.
I’ve never been on a yacht before and the opulence is pretty breathtaking. The trims and glass panels are so shiny I can see my face in almost every surface. A woman stands on deck holding aloft a small tray with two glasses of champagne. Andreas takes both, thanks her and hands one of the flutes to me. We walk along the outer edge of the yacht until we reach the main portion of the deck. A pristine white sofa curls around a glass table and two people I don’t recognize stand to greet us.
They are colleagues of Governor Grayson it turns out, and Andreas wastes no time in greeting them.
I watch and listen with genuine intrigue. My husband is confident, articulate, and…funny. He pulls impressive facts and figures out of thin air, and knows intricate details about the state, the city and the local economy. I find myself hanging on to every impressive word, much to my dismay.
Minutes later, Governor Grayson and his wife approach. His wife seems nervy, talking at a million miles per hour. When Andreas catches me blinking in surprise, he discreetly lowers his lips to my ear. “She’s coked up. Let her talk.”
I inhale a horrified breath, hoping no one sees my visceral reaction. I’ve had a pretty sheltered upbringing, so this is the first time I’ve been around someone under the influence of drugs, but I’ve heard this about coke—that it makes people talk non-stop, often about a bunch of nonsense. The whites of her eyes gleam and herpupils are blown, making her look slightly insane. I do as Andreas says and just let her talk.
