His knowing tone both annoyed and hurt her. Why did everyone have to see her as someone less than? She wasn’t envious of Ella, but she was so very tired of not being appreciated for herself—someone who didn’t crave the spotlight. What was so wrong with that?
‘The two of you look very well together,’ Liane remarked, a touch of acid to her tone. ‘The belle and beau of the ball.’
‘You think so?’ Alessandro looked only amused. ‘Then why did you cut in?’
Colour washed her cheeks. ‘I did not!’
‘You seemed as if you were about to.’
She was not going to admit that her mother had pushed her onto the dance floor. ‘I was just trying to get Ella’s attention,’ she improvised stiffly. ‘My mother wanted to speak to her.’
‘Ah, well, then, why didn’t you say so?’
‘I didn’t have the opportunity,’ she snapped. Why was he so...smug?
‘Don’t look daggers at me,’ Alessandro remarked mildly. ‘I’m only teasing.’
A remark that put Liane into a complete tizzy, because she had no idea how to take it. Was he teasing? Or was he just being contrary? Or maybe she was? She shook her head, her gaze on the floor as they continued to dance.
‘You’re really quite something,’ Alessandro remarked as he whirled her around a final time, the music coming to a finish with a swell of the orchestra. ‘I can’t decide if you’re a mouse or a virago.’
‘Oh, a mouse, most certainly,’ Liane managed, stung by his verdict. In truth she didn’t know which was the worse one to be. ‘And look, here is Ella, waiting for you. How perfect.’
She turned away, not trusting the look on her face as she walked quickly from the dance floor.
‘Liane—’ Ella began, and she shook her head.
‘Please, go and dance.’ She didn’t wait to see if Ella did as she’d bid. She didn’t want to look.
The rest of the evening passed interminably. Alessandro danced with Ella again, and then stayed by her side as they laughed and chatted, moving through the various groups mingling in the ballroom. Liane made sure never to be near them; she didn’t want to be the butt of one of Alessandro’s remarks again.
Would Ella fall in love with Alessandro? she wondered. Ella, she knew, loved to fall in love, something Liane had never been able to understand.
‘Don’t worry, my heart can’t actually be broken,’ Ella had told her more than once. ‘It’s made of rubber—it practically bounces! I like falling in love, Liane. It’s the best feeling in the world, like tumbling through stars! You should try it.’
Liane always smiled and said nothing because she had no intention of doing something so reckless, so dangerous. A heart was a very precious thing and she guarded hers closely, waiting for the right moment. The right man, if he even existed. She hoped he did, but on her bad days she wondered.
She was twenty-seven years old and she’d only gone on a handful of dates, none of them leading anywhere. She hadn’t yet found anyone who would make her want more, or dare for the daydream she cast for herself in lonely moments—a hazy world of children and dogs, love and laughter, ease and comfort. The kind of home she’d once had and lost, with the death of her father so many years ago. The kind of life she longed for but was afraid to try to find.
Liane glanced again at Alessandro and Ella. They were standing very close together in the centre of the ballroom. He was murmuring in her ear and she was smiling in that teasing, catlike way that Liane knew she practised in the mirror. She’d seen her do it. Her stomach cramped and she turned away. She was happy for her sister, very happy, of course, but that didn’t mean she had to take a front row seat to the unfolding of her fairy tale romance.
A balmy breeze blew in from the penthouse’s terrace and Liane moved through the crowd to step outside, enjoying the sultry air on her face. The terrace ran along all four sides of the impressive ballroom, affording a panoramic view of the city. Liane moved away from a few chatting couples, hardly needing the reminder of her own single status.
She’d never minded so much before; she was generally happy with her job, happy with herself. Content, at least. Mostly, even if she liked to daydream.
As she gazed out at the city she found herself thinking about Alessandro. The mocking gleam in his eyes, the way his mobile mouth had quirked. He was infuriating and annoying and yet even when she’d been angry she’d felt alive in his arms. She could remember exactly how humour had flashed in his eyes, turning them to silver, and how, strangely, the way he’d looked at her had made her feel seen, in a way she hadn’t before...
The distant chiming of a clock somewhere in the city had Liane giving herself a mental shake. Was it midnight already? Time to go home, then. She’d find Ella first, and—
She drew her breath in sharply as she caught sight of a familiar slender figure on the pavement far below, dressed in gauzy silk and diamantes, her dress flowing out behind her in a silken stream as she ran down the front steps of the hotel. Ella. Why was she leaving the ball in such a rush? Liane’s stomach cramped with anxiety. What had happened?
She whirled away from the terrace, stumbling through the doors to get back into the ballroom and downstairs to find her sister. She had to push her way through the milling crowds, catching snatches of gossip as she headed towards the bank of elevators.
‘Who is she? Whoever she is, she’s clearly captured his interest—’
‘The Prince of Manhattan’s found his Princess, then? He’s always seemed so remote—’
‘But she just disappeared. Ran out like the building was on fire—’
Finally Liane reached the elevator and stabbed the button to go down. She scrabbled for her phone in her handbag, but when she dialled Ella’s number there was no answer. Her sister was awful about answering her phone, which was somewhat absurd considering how glued she was to social media.
‘Phones aren’t for calling people,’ she’d told Liane once, as if stating something patently obvious.
The elevator doors finally opened and Liane hurried in, counting down all twenty-four floors to the magnificent lobby, all marble and crystal and gilt. It was empty now, for everyone was still up at the ball, but as she came outside onto the steps she stopped suddenly, her breath coming out in a rush, for while her sister might have disappeared, Alessandro Rossi, looking as devastating as ever, was standing right in front of her.
‘You again.’