Page 70 of Choosing Hope
“I hate you,” I spit, but he knows it’s only hot air.
I tap the red button, to cancel our call, my cock is throbbing in my trousers. I glance at my watch. I’ve got fifteen minutes before I need to leave.
This needs to be quick. I yank off my clothes and stride to the bathroom, my heavy dick desperate for attention.
Chapter Seventeen
Sophie
My heart is in my throat as I sit beside Carlo in the back of the taxi on our way to Locked.
Before Spencer got on his flight, he texted Carlo asking him to meet him at the club tonight. Apparently, my husband asked his friend to take over his club shares this morning.
It’s a giant leap forward for Spencer. I couldn’t believe it when Carlo told me, but now I’m experiencing a sense of guilt about our plan.
Perhaps I should just let him resolve things the best way he can; maybe our intervention isn’tsuch a good idea.
“Are we doing the right thing?” I turn to ask Carlo.
A brief flash of frustration crosses his face, but his words are calm and understanding.
“Bella, your plan will definitely get you noticed.”
He picks up my hand, running his thumb over my wrist.
“We both understand this carries risks, but there’s no question about his fascination with seeing us together again.” His face lights up with a boyish grin. “He was fucking gagging for it when I spoke to him on the phone earlier.”
I take a long blink.
“It’s not a game,” I moan in frustration. “Spencer needs to see me the way he used to see me, not just as the mother of his child.”
“When he sees you dressed like that, it’s going to blow his tiny mind,” he grins.
I try to allow Carlo’s words to permeate my mind and relax my shoulders.
Our arrangements for tonight were last minute. Carlo took me out for lunch. When he received Spencer’s text, he insisted on buying me an outfit suitable for tonight.
We agreed I needed something that would get me noticed—sexy, but classic, nothing too obvious.
When we entered the boutique—where in another lifetime I was a frequent customer—Carlo spoke to the assistant, describing exactly what he was imagining. She instantly fell under the Moretti spell, peering at me with a good-natured envy on her face.
Like a magician, she pulled a dress that was almost exactly what he described. His eyes twinkled as he urged me to try it on.
A few minutes later, I was standing staring at myself. I hadn’t worn anything so revealing since my pregnancy. I pulled back my shoulders, trying to summon the courage to go out and show Carlo.
The dress is crimson, the deep cowl neck dipping almost to my navel, hinting at the swell of my breasts beneath its folds. A boned front with a lightly adhesive backing should hold—until I want it to move.
If the front is sexy, the back is criminal, plunging low enough that in the mirror I catch the first curve of my ass.
Carlo was very clear that he wanted me to wear something that showed my lily tattoo, knowing the moment certain people see it, they’ll automatically link me to Spencer.
He and I had matching tattoos in the same position when our daughter was born. Spencer paid my former boss to create something unique to us. It’s beautiful; I love it, but the image is distinctive. Once you’ve seen it, you won’t forget it.
As the cab draws up outside the club, a building I’ve stared at in photographs for the last couple of weeks comes into view, I take a deep breath, trying to calm my raging torrent of nerves.
Tonight, could either make or break my relationship. Suffice to say; I’m shitting myself.
Once he’s paid for the cab, Carlo opens the door and turns to offer me his hand, supporting me in my sky-high heels as I step out onto the pavement.
