Secrets Of The A-List

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Luc shrugged. “Sure, why not?” he muttered.

“Hmm, I don’t know if I want to go down that route. My family are sticklers for tradition. They’ll probably want the ancient verse, right down to the honor-and-obey bit,” she said with a cute wrinkle of her nose.

“Whatever you want, baby,” he said, only half listening.

She slid her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his. “I’ll do it if you want, but the only place I intend to obey is in the bedroom. I’ll let you be my master there any time you want, Luc.”

Another brush of her body against his refocused his wayward thoughts. He wasn’t made of wood, after all. He settled his hands on her narrow waist and swayed with her, even managed a smile. He needed to pay her more attention. More compliments. Rachel loved that. He needed to remember that his girlfriend—no, fiancée—got sulky when she thought she had competition. She especially didn’t do well around other women more entitled to the limelight than she was. Like a bride. Or a certain housekeeper.

He opened his mouth to do just that.

And swallowed a curse when Vanessa and her date glided by. Where the hell did she even find him? And what the hell was he saying to her to make her smile like that? Laugh like that?

Luc’s stomach clenched against the husky sound of her laughter as they danced past.

She didn’t once glance Luc’s way, although he was less than three feet away. It was as if he didn’t fucking exist for her. Jealousy and anger congealed in his stomach.

He felt Rachel wince and realized his fingers had tightened around her. He opened his mouth to apologize, then thought the better of it. Doing so would invite questions he didn’t want to answer.

So he pulled his fiancée even closer, pressed his cheek to hers. And danced them away from the woman he couldn’t get out of his head.

* * *

“Dance with your mama, querido.”

The words, whispered in his right ear from behind him, made Gabe’s spine tense.

Shit. He’d been too busy watching Thom and a few key people in the room that he hadn’t clocked Ana heading his way until it was too late. A second later, she sashayed to a stop in front of him, blocking his view of everyone else in the room.

“Stop calling me that,” he said under his breath, thankful the music was too loud for them to be overheard.

A crestfallen expression drifted down her face. All practiced, right down to the tail end of the wince that followed. Gabe wasn’t moved. Nothing about this woman moved him. What did surprise him, though, was that she’d stuck around in Santa Barbara this long. On the few occasions she visited, she tended to split as soon as Harrison or Mariella scrawled a handful of zeros on a check.

She was up to something. He was almost sure of it.

But he had too much to deal with tonight to include the woman who’d given birth to him on his to-do list. He’d find out soon enough.

Also, he needed her to stop looking at him with those mournful eyes before she sparked another torrent of rumors.

Resigned, he held out his hand and watched her brighten dramatically.

Her pleasure seemed so genuine that, as he led her to the dance floor, Gabe wondered if perhaps his mother had gained a tiny fraction of humanity.

* * *

“Are you happy?”

It took concerted effort for Mariella not to startle as she waltzed across the floor in Joe’s arms.

There were so many ways she wanted to answer that question. A few short weeks ago, she would’ve said yes, with perhaps a hint of cynicism. Hell, a few days ago she would’ve imagined herself happy enough to be incapable of doing what she’d done with Joe on the beach, and last night in his room. So much had changed, while so much remained the same. Was she happy? Hell, no.

The scales had been cruelly peeled from her eyes.

But this was her only daughter’s wedding. So Mariella chose the most obvious answer as her daughter and new son-in-law glided across the dance floor, complemented by their bridesmaids and groomsmen.

Elana was smiling, but Mariella knew it, too, was a facade, not the happily-ever-after smile of a blissful bride. Had there ever been such a thing, she thought cynically. Had any woman ever found a love that lasted forever? Who was truly, madly, deeply happy without an ounce of heartache or disappointment?

“Mariella?”

She blinked and refocused on Joe as his arm tightened around her a fraction with the question. This close, she could feel his hard torso, his powerful thighs. The outline of his cock. The memory of what he’d done to her mere hours ago dragged slowly across her senses. Firing her up. She wanted to sway closer still. Brush her own thighs against his and deepen the intimacy.

But. No.

“I’m happy my Elana is married,” she replied to his first question. “Now I have one less thing to worry about when I go to sleep at night. Thom is dependable. He’s successful, ambitious and rich.” She shrugged. “What else can a mother ask for?” she asked.

A look passed over Joe’s face. She knew she hadn’t answered to his satisfaction. But she didn’t intend to. Not here. Not now. Maybe never. How could she, when she had no clue herself?

His answer was to smile down at her, the arm around her waist drawing her a fraction closer.

She sighed.

A few familiar faces were staring at them from the edge of the dance floor. Her sister, as she danced with Gabe.

Teresa St. Claire, the wedding planner and MSM team member, looked refreshingly different in a dress despite her customary headset attached.

A few of the women from the handful of specially selected charities who she hadn’t been able to not invite, despite despising them.

Gossipmongers and carrion lovers. One or two were even brazen enough to openly gossip about her, their rabid eyes fixed on her and Joe as they sipped the vintage Krug Clos d’Ambonnay and nibbled on Iranian Almas caviar on crackers she’d provided.

She should care about the gossip.

She should create some distance between herself and Joe, or she risked inviting the kind of speculation she couldn’t afford right now, when her whole world seemed to be poised on the edge of an abyss.

She would.

As soon as the song ended.

* * *

Look at them, gliding around in their ten-thousand-dollar dresses and priceless diamonds. Self-absorbed. Pampered and primped and made to think they were kings and queens. Not a care in the world.

The urge to bare her teeth and scream out her secret rose like a tidal wave within Nora. She could march onto that dance floor right now, drop her grenade in the middle of their snobbish existence and watch their world detonate.

And why not?

Harrison, the handsome fool, deserved it for abandoning her. Would she feel an ounce of remorse?

Absolument pas.

They all deserved it.

She didn’t doubt that each and every one of them would look down their fake noses at her if they knew who she was and what she’d been to their precious Harrison. He kept her tucked away at home in Paris like some dirty little secret.

Nora suppressed a bitter laugh. No, she didn’t plan on remaining a secret much longer. As for being little...well, her bump would tell its own tale in time.

A waiter walked past bearing a tray of the golden caviar Nora had only read about in Marie Claire and on Billionaire.com. Since her arrival at the reception, dozens of trays of the stuff had been carted around as if it cost nothing, except she knew the true cost of the world’s most expensive caviar. These people treated it like nothing when one mouthful could pay her rent for a month! Not that she’d ever paid rent. Since she’d turned sixteen, her many lovers always cared for her. And Harrison was no different. Until he walked out a few months ago, leaving her future uncertain...

She flicked her hand out to stop the waiter as he would’ve walked past her. For an instant he looked startled to see her standing there, in the shadows beside the delicate cake tree bearing three hundred cupcakes frosted with edible twenty-four-carat-gold leaf.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am, I didn’t see you there,” he blurted, confirming her suspicions.

She waved his apology away, took her time to spoon a heap of the expensive gold onto a delicate cracker, then flicked her hand in dismissal.

As he hurried away, she turned back to observe her quarry, musing on how best to strike for maximum effect and maximum gain. With a smile, she placed the cracker on her tongue, let the flavor of success suffuse her senses.

Her hand dropped to rub her bump. “Very soon, mon cher enfant, this will become our daily staple.”

* * *

Vanessa smiled as the band struck up a more up-tempo beat. The waltzes and slow smooch songs were fine for a bit, but while she’d thoroughly enjoyed the Cinderella dreaminess of it, the dancer in her preferred music that heated her blood and spoke to her soul. Even in this dress that cost more than she would earn in a year, even feeling as she did today—like a fairy-tale princess granted one night’s reprieve from drudgery—she couldn’t deny who she was. Or what she was.

Tomorrow would come soon enough, and with it the uniform that announced to whomever she came into contact with just what her role was within the esteemed Marshall household.

But right here, right now, she could pretend she was one of these people.

You are one of them.

She smothered the voice inside her head and smiled wider at her dapperly dressed dance partner.

“Thanks for agreeing to come with me. I’m sorry for the short notice.”

Her date, Bernard Atwater, raised his eyebrows. “Are you kidding? This is one of those times when I’m not ashamed to admit I don’t mind coming second on your list. Although I was a little surprised to hear from you. What happened to your date, anyway? Did she bail on you at the last minute?”

She laughed. “Yes. Her loss is your gain.” Joy had decided at the last minute not to come, preferring to stay back at Casa de Catalina and defy Mariella’s strong hint that she wanted all her staff to be here.

Vanessa got the feeling her absence wouldn’t go down well. One of the mounting set of negative marks the disgruntled chef was accumulating. Fireworks were brewing between her friend and her employer, and Vanessa, for one, wasn’t looking forward to the eruption.

She caught the smitten look in Bernard’s eyes. “You look sensational.” His gaze dropped to subtly brush her cleavage on the way down her body.

She tried to fight the blush that rose in her cheeks and failed miserably. The dress Mariella had lent her fit like a dream. Her jaw had dropped when she’d spotted the label. And she hated to be superficial, but God, the dress made her feel like a million bucks. Finally she was beginning to get why these filthy-rich people looked like they were walking on air all the time. Money certainly gave one a cushion against most things. Not everything, though...

“Thanks. But you don’t need to say things like that,” she murmured.

Bernard smiled. “Why not? It’s true.” He leaned closer. “I know I’m supposed to say the bride is the most beautiful woman in the room, but to be honest, you beat her hands down.”

Vanessa shook her head as she laughed. “Seriously, stop it.” She couldn’t let it go to her head.

Just like she couldn’t let this thing between her and Luc continue.

As if she’d conjured him straight from her imagination, he crossed her line of vision with his woman on his arm. Tall, broad shouldered, suave and elegant, he carried that inherent sophistication all the Marshalls seemed to have been born with so effortlessly, it was almost impossible to overlook him. The laughter dried in her throat, and her whole body stiffened before she could stop the reaction.

“Hey, what’s the matter? Did what I said offend you?” Bernard’s gaze held a touch of contrition.

She hurried to reassure him. “No, not at all. I just...there’s someone here that... I’m trying not to bump into someone and...” She stammered to a halt and hid a grimace.

“Someone like...an ex-boyfriend?” he inquired. His voice was light, but the question in his eyes was serious.

Her heart lurched. She and Luc Marshall could never have a relationship like that. Not that he seemed prepared to take the hint. Even now she could feel his gaze on her. She’d felt the sensation on and off throughout the day. “No. But he’s determined to be...something.” How could she elaborate without giving away her secret?

Bernard frowned. “You’re my date.”

“Yes.”

“Is he watching you?” Bernard pressed.

The question threw her for a moment. “Um...yes. Why do you ask that?”

His grin reappeared along with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Well...do you want to send a clear message that we’re together?” he probed as she continued to stare at him.

Her eyes widened, her mind darting in several random directions. Did she? What if she pissed Luc off enough to jeopardize her position at the Marshall household? Her job meant everything to her. She didn’t want to lose it. “Uh... I don’t think...”

“Relax. I’m not suggesting anything risqué. And the last thing I want to do is embarrass you, but I really want to kiss you again.” He leaned forward, and his soft lips were on hers.

Dios mío! He was a good kisser. They’d gone out several times after striking up a conversation over the past six months when he’d started delivering the exclusive brand of bottled water the Marshalls preferred to have on hand at Casa Cat.

Finally coming up for air, Bernard asked, “Do you trust me?”

“Sure,” she answered, slightly breathless.

He laughed. “You could sound a little more convincing, but...look, just go with the flow, okay?”

Vanessa wondered if she wasn’t risking jumping from the frying pan straight into the fire. Before she could make up her mind one way or the other, Bernard dragged her closer, clamped his hand on her hip and began to move to the unmistakable rhythm of a tango.

It was the last thing she’d expected. So much so, her mouth dropped open for an inelegant second before her ingrained rhythm kicked into place. Another second later, she was moving with him and they were flowing together as if they’d been practicing for years.