Candy Chardonnay had been the model Mischer’s winery had hired to do commercials and posters. She’d legally changed her name to Candy Chardonnay when she’d begun her acting career in the porn industry. Moritz spent a good deal of time with her and when she’d offered him all kinds of favors he’d taken her up on them. Unfortunately, for him, Candy had also arranged a very public way for Anne to find out. The paparazzi just happened to be there when Anne opened the door, exposing Candy on her knees, her head in Mischer’s lap. She had looked up and smiled for the cameras, a very distinct and iconic contrast to Anne’s sorrow and horror and Mischer’s shock. That contrast ensured the photograph was in every tabloid possible.
Mischer was unaware Candy was behind the exposure, but the Ferraro family, at Anne’s request, had done an investigation. Rigina and her sister uncovered the phone calls Candy had made to the paparazzi, promising them a very juicy story on Anne and her husband. She had called Anne anonymously and told her she had to hurry to the winery, that Mischer was hurt. Anne had rushed there.
Vittorio continued moving Grace expertly through the crowd, winding his way toward his brother and Anne, all the while scanning every possible hiding place and checking out the caterers in their uniforms, balancing trays as they moved around the people, offering hors d’oeuvres. No one bumped into Grace. Vittorio protected her shoulder at all times.
“How are you feeling, gattina? I saw you pick up a few things that are heavier than the five pounds the doctor is allowing you.”
She nodded. “I realized that at the last minute. I’m used to just getting things done without constantly asking for help.”
He transferred his hand to the nape of her neck, smiling carelessly at a senator and his wife. He leaned down to focus completely on his woman, his body posture protective, showing his friends and family who mattered the most to him. “I’m not going to lecture you on following Doc’s orders because clearly you’re trying to. But I did see Eloisa pull you aside and talk to you. You didn’t say a word to her, but I could tell from the way she looked that she was tearing strips off you.”
Grace looked up at him, the expression on her face wary. “This is my business, Vittorio. You agreed I would handle my business. Your mother hired my company to put this event on and we pride ourselves on delivering exactly what the client wants. She ordered a plant called Lotus berthelotii, more commonly called parrot’s beak, to be on every table and going up the trellises. The plant is gorgeous. The flower is known for its lobster claw–like petals that resemble a parrot’s beak. We ordered them, of course, far in advance, but the plane carrying them lost an engine and had to make an emergency landing. There was no way to get them here in time, so we substituted another very rare flower of equal beauty.”
Vittorio looked around him. Flowers were everywhere. They were beautiful and had a faint, elusive perfume that was subtle but added to the romance of the evening. The flowers were a blue-green hue, large vines hanging on trellises and down the ceilings in the ballroom, adding a tropical feel. Each table had a single clump floating in water with candles as a centerpiece.
“The jade flower is found in the Philippines and really is a vine, but the color, almost turquoise, is rare and beautiful. It was extremely difficult to get it flown in, but I know a few people, and for this worthy event, we made it happen. Katie knows how to sweet talk. In any case, parrot’s beak flowers are a different color. Apparently, it was the color and not the rarity your mother would have preferred. We tried calling to ask her when we couldn’t get the parrot’s beak, but she didn’t return our calls even when we said it was an emergency.”
He brushed his fingers down her soft skin because it was impossible not to touch her. She wore her hair up, a red flame so intricate he longed to take it out, one pin at a time, and watch the strands fall around her. He had chosen her dress for her and there had been a minor protest, but it was beautiful, and she knew she would look amazing in it. The slip was from fabric made in France by the Archambault family, cousins of the famous riders. The green was a perfect match for her eyes and brought out their color and shine. Like the rider suits, the fabric seemed alive, breathing with every step as it clung to every curve, but was lightweight and stretchy.
The overlay was translucent with white embroidered roses scattered across the fishtail gown as it dropped to the floor. The green slip beneath was low across the curve of her breasts, but the translucent overlay had a rounded neck and long sleeves. The fitted silhouette was gorgeous, the slip contrasting with the embroidered lace. Scattered over the roses were tiny glimmering diamonds, catching the light to add glimpses of fire to the gown to match the fire in her hair. Vittorio knew Grace would never have touched the gown had she known the cost, but he knew it was perfect for her. He thought she was the most beautiful woman in the room. It was sexy and yet elegant, exactly as he’d envisioned her when he’d seen drawings of it.