‘As I have no engagement ring I would like you to wear this, to seal our promise.’
She nodded.
Lifting her hand, he threaded the ring onto her finger. It felt heavy, but not as heavy as the weight in her chest when he stroked the knuckle and smiled.
‘It fits? Oui?’ He sounded excited. But not as excited as she suddenly felt.
; Excited and a bit dazed if she was honest—because the whole situation felt completely surreal.
Her gaze fixed on his. ‘Yes, thank you. It’s exquisite,’ she said.
The quick grin dazzled her.
‘Not as exquisite as you, ma belle,’ he murmured. The doorbell rang again and he swore softly. ‘I will see you in New York in a week’s time.’ Grasping her trembling fingers, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss into her palm. ‘Until then au revoir, Madame LeGrand.’
A startled breath expelled from her lungs as she watched him stride out of the kitchen to the waiting car.
CHAPTER SIX
I’M GOING TO be married. To Dominic LeGrand.
Ally repeated the information in her head as she stared at the woven strands of platinum and gold that Dominic had slid on her ring finger a week ago. She was still finding it difficult to grasp the reality of her situation though, the events of the past seven days whirring through her head.
She glanced out of the private jet’s window as it banked into a turn over Brooklyn, ready for its descent into JFK.
Unfortunately, the sight of a city she had always wanted to explore did nothing to slow down the fleet of butterflies in her belly. That would be the same fleet of butterflies that had been going nuts in her belly ever since she’d agreed to Dominic LeGrand’s proposal.
The butterflies whose wings had only got bigger and more manic when she’d moved into his town house later on that first day, her meagre stack of belongings looking overwhelmed by the expensive surroundings. Not unlike their owner, she thought with a huff of breath.
She’d signed the marriage contract the next day after a negotiation with his efficient and ridiculously friendly and accommodating UK assistant, Selene Hartley—who had been more than willing to have the one-million-pound alimony payment cut from the settlement. Given that the first payment of the allowance Dominic had stipulated in the contract had wiped out all her outstanding debts and paid the rest of her college fees, she felt that was more than fair.
The week that followed had been spent getting used to her new surroundings—not easy when there were six bedrooms and an espresso machine that could dumbfound a NASA technician—and designing and making a wardrobe fit for a queen, or rather Dominic LeGrand’s high-society wife, which was a lot more exclusive. With her college closed for the Easter break, she’d used the full seven days to work on her collection. She’d set up a workshop in one of the mansion’s spare bedrooms with the help of Dominic’s housekeeper, Charlotte, and, after sourcing some stunning materials from a series of exclusive fabric retailers with the rest of that first allowance payment, she’d spent most days and every evening sketching and pinning and sewing. Working on the designs had helped to ground her, in between the daunting tasks of attending a doctor’s appointment to get a prescription for the pill and being ferried in a limousine to a series of exclusive beauty salons and spas arranged by Selene.
In the last seven days she’d been buffed and plucked and moisturised in places she hadn’t even known existed.
The plane descended, dropping through the late afternoon sunshine, the green and gold LeGrand Nationale logo glinting on its wing.
Her newly trimmed and painted fingernails grasped the padded leather of the seat in a death grip as her stomach plunged.
Instead of parking at the passenger terminals, the jet rumbled towards a private hangar at the end of the runway, not unlike the one she had been driven to—in a limousine, of course—that morning in Heathrow.
She ran her palms down the tailored jacket of the silk trouser suit she’d finished the night before as she tried to stay focussed on her ring and her new job.
Of being Dominic LeGrand’s wife.
Because this was a job, a job she was being well paid for, and she needed to remember that.
But as she waited for the jet’s crew to finish the landing procedure—the butterflies began having a fit.
What on earth was she doing here? In this rarefied world. For goodness’ sake, she’d never been on a budget airline before now—let alone a private jet.
The butterflies dive-bombed into her belly as she examined her suit for the five billionth time. Had she made a major error designing and making her own wardrobe for this trip? She had her own unique style, one she’d developed and explored during her two years of fashion college, and had enjoyed turning into reality during the long hours spent working at her sewing machine in the last week to help calm her nerves. But what if the clothes she’d designed were all wrong? She might have her own style, but it was an urban, edgy, East London style. How would it be received in the kind of circles Dominic moved in—circles she knew nothing about? What would he do if he found out she’d pocketed the money he’d given her to buy an exclusive wardrobe and made her own clothes? Especially if her designs made him a laughing stock? Would he be angry with her? Furious? Could he sue? Had she already screwed up the biggest opportunity of her life?
The increasingly frantic thoughts clashed with the dive-bombing mutant butterflies in her belly.
‘Madame LeGrand?’ The hostess smiled down at her, using the name on the travel manifest.