And the store likes to see their merchandise purchased, Emma thought amusedly as she began to shuck off her clothes. It was a brilliant sales maneuver. How many customers actually pictured themselves in the gorgeous model’s shoes when they donned the dress?
She suddenly wished she’d put on a fancier bra and underwear set when she’d set out on what she thought would be a solitary, run-of-the-mill trip downtown this morning. Little had she guessed her solo trip to Macy’s would end up like this.
“Oh my goodness,” Sophia said, eyes going wide as she turned from hanging some dresses on a rack. At the woman’s exclamation, Emma cringed where she stood in her bra and underwear. Were her undergarments that bad? Then she realized where the woman stared and her hand flew to her throat. “Is that a Prisatti angel?” Sophia asked, her tone hushed and thick with awe.
“I . . . I don’t know. It’s a petit ange. It was a gift,” Emma said, letting her hand fall.
Sophia met her stare, a smile starting on her mouth. “From him?” she asked, glancing sideways in the direction of the sitting room where Vanni waited.
“Yes.”
Sophia gave her a lucky you smile. “It’s a Prisatti angel. They’re extremely rare, handmade by a man named Angelo Prisatti, an Italian jeweler who lives in France. He only makes a few a year, the metalwork and etching is exquisitely detailed, even under a microscope. Prisatti insists on approving of the wearer himself. Their spirit has to match the essence of the piece he makes . . . match up to his standards, in other words. Otherwise, you’d see every spoiled rich girl in the world wearing one.”
“I’ve never met him,” Emma said. “Maybe it’s not a Prisatti angel, after all.”
“He must have altered his expectations for Montand,” Sophia said with a knowing smile. “Because that’s definitely a Prisatti angel.”
Emma absorbed this amazing bit of news. It didn’t surprise her that it was an extremely valuable necklace—she could have guessed that just by its unique, delicate beauty. What bewildered her was why Vanni would have taken pains to acquire such a rare piece for her.
As the rack in the huge, ornate dressing room began to fill with not just dozens of dresses, but resort wear, hats, shoes, belts, and accessories, Emma’s confusion about Vanni’s gift had to be moved to the back burner.
“I really just need a dress and maybe a swimsuit,” Emma told Sophia uncomfortably.
“These are the items Mr. Montand indicated,” the woman overrode her with pleasant politeness. “Here, let me help you with that,” she said, moving behind Emma to zip up the gorgeous creation she’d just put on—a stunning green halter dress that came with a short jacket. When Sophia had zipped her in, she stared at her reflection in awe. The dress did amazing things for her figure. It made the gold of her hair look especially rich and vibrant and her skin gleam. She looked . . .
. . . fantastic in it.
“Oh my,” Sophia said, stepping back and grinning. “This is definitely one to show Mr. Montand, don’t you think?” She set down a sinfully sexy pair of strappy sandals in front of her. “Leave the jacket,” the saleswoman directed when Emma reached for it after she’d buckled the sandals around her ankles. Emma saw the sparkle in Sophia’s brown eyes. “He’s not going to want it on you. Trust me.”
Emma’s cheeks went hot, but she followed a beaming Sophia out of the dressing room. Vanni was sitting in a Louis the XIV–style armchair, reading a newspaper, his tea service set out next to him on a circular table. Despite his T-shirt and jeans, he looked every bit the insouciant, confident prince of the palace.
“Well? Stunning, isn’t she?” Sophia said.
Vanni glanced up as Emma came to a stop. His expression didn’t change that much as he looked at her, but something in his eyes made the burn in her cheeks amplify.
“Well?” Emma asked when he didn’t say anything.
“That one. Definitely that one,” he said, his mouth set in a rigid line as he went back to his reading.
Sophia looked ebullient as she gave Emma a wink. With a sinking feeling, Emma thought she knew why. Emma had cringed upon seeing the price tag on the dress.
She would have thought she’d blush less each time Sophia indicated the outfit was worthy for Vanni to see. Instead, the heat in her cheeks only seemed to mount every time he glanced up and considered her with a stare that was both cool and assessing and scorching hot at once. She was embarrassed to admit it but she was actually becoming aroused by those dispassionate-seeming perusals that really didn’t feel remotely aloof at all.
She walked toward him wearing a fantastic ivory cocktail dress that gave the illusion of transparency without actually being sheer, along with several ropes of pearls and matching pumps. Emma especially loved this one. It was an updated, sexier version of something a glamorous 1920s flapper heiress might wear on a jaunt across Europe. Vanni looked up and froze in the action of folding his paper.
“That’s it,” he told Sophia briskly, his mouth hard. “We’ll take them.”
“Which ones, Mr. Montand?” Sophia asked eagerly.
“All of the ones I’ve seen.”
“Vanni—” Emma started to protest.
“Did you bring her swimwear and lingerie?” Vanni asked Sophia, cutting her off.
“Yes, sir.”
“Choose several weeks’ worth of items for her. We’ll take one of the swimsuits now, but have the rest delivered to this address,” he said, handing Sophia a business card and what appeared to be a credit card.