‘FIVE minutes, Miss Gray.’ There was a rap on her dressing-room door and Jessie checked her reflection in the mirror, feeling as though she was looking at a stranger.
Where was the bedraggled, terrified woman Silvio had rescued from the alleyway only two months earlier?
Her make-up had been professionally applied, her dark hair fell in perfectly arranged curls and her dress was the work of Hollywood’s favourite designer.
The man with the grey hair who had made her such an extravagant offer had turned out to own a record label. Within days of arriving in Las Vegas and singing at his daughter’s wedding, rumours about Jessie’s voice had spread and every night she found herself singing to an enraptured audience of thousands.
And at the end of every performance she was returned to the luxurious penthouse suite that had become her temporary home. Anything she wanted was just a phone call away.
Jessie stared at herself in the mirror. Not quite anything.
She’d disciplined herself not to allow her thoughts to wander in that direction, so she stood up quickly, reminding herself that she was living her dream.
Someone from the publicity department had left a stack of newspapers and magazines on her table, all featuring articles about her.
Had Silvio seen any of them? When he saw her name in a newspaper did he read it with interest or did he fling it to one side and turn his attention back to some gorgeous blonde?
Did he think of her at all?
Obviously not, or he would have followed her.
She’d left the wedding in Sicily without speaking to him but she had written him a note, thanking him for everything that he’d done for her. And she’d heard nothing from him. Since then she’d sent him a cheque, repaying everything she owed him. And still she’d heard nothing.
The fact that he hadn’t even contacted her to see how she was getting on was devastating. It simply proved how little he cared for her, Jessie thought miserably, nodding to the stage manager, who was waiting.
Clearly Silvio considered that he’d fulfilled his obligation to her.
This particular project of his had been successfully concluded.
As Jessie walked onto the stage, she heard the roar of the crowd and felt the familiar flutter of nerves in her stomach. Even after weeks of performing here, she still felt nervous but she’d developed a routine to calm herself. She touched her pendant briefly, stared into the darkness of the auditorium and imagined that Silvio was out there somewhere, listening to her.
And when she started to sing, she forgot everything except the song itself.
She sang as she always had, the only difference being that this time when she sang of love and loss, she was singing from experience. And even though she was facing the audience that had once featured in her dreams, she still closed her eyes. This time she was remembering a curve of perfect white sand and the dizzying smile of a very imperfect man who was all she’d ever wanted.
The song ended, she opened her eyes and for a brief, breathless moment she thought she saw his face in the crowd.
Wishful thinking, she told herself, acknowledging the applause with a gracious smile. Despite the fact that the audience was on its feet and she could see people near the stage crying, she didn’t feel as happy as she should.
Feeling frighteningly empty, Jessie launched into the next song and then the next, keeping the audience sweetened with her honeyed voice, trying not to think about those magical few days in Sicily.
Her performance ended and she accepted the applause, the cheers and the flowers with grace and then took the private lift back to the penthouse.
Locking the door, Jessie slid her shoes off and walked barefoot across the expensive rug.
‘Why are you living on the top floor?’ The male voice came from a chair by the window and Jessie jumped with shock.
‘Silvio—?’
‘You hate the top floor.’
He was here? ‘You almost gave me a heart attack.’ She pressed her hand to her chest, feeling her heart bumping crazily. ‘What—? H-how did you get in here? The door was locked.’
‘There are some advantages to a misspent youth.’ Silvio rose to his feet and strolled over to her. ‘You haven’t answered my question. Why the top floor? You can’t sleep if you’re on the top floor. Who put you up here?’
The fact that he knew her so well somehow intensified the dull ache in her chest. ‘This is what they gave me and I didn’t like to say anything,’ she murmured, still unable to believe that he was actually here.
‘So every night you sleep right by the fire escape, is that right?’