“SO WHY DID YOU need me to get you an invitation to this party?” I hear Allegra say as I help her out of her coat.
I watch my agent, a very attractive woman in her mid-fifties, hand her coat to the young girl working the coat check tonight. She smiles kindly, reminding me that she can be nice when she wants to be. Known as one of the toughest agents to land in the art scene, she will stomp on your dreams without an ounce of remorse. But if you’re lucky enough to catch her notice, you won’t find a bigger advocate and supporter for your work. Allegra will either make you bleed or go to war for you.
She teases her silver gray hair, giving it some volume. “The Fitzpatricks aren’t exactly your crowd. Very boring people.”
I look around past a sea of guests, searching for her. “Does that make them more acceptable to you?”
“Of course,” she says unashamedly. “God, I need a drink.”
I grab two champagne flutes from a passing waiter and hand her one. “Here.”
We clink glasses. “Santé.”
“Santé.” She takes a sip while studying me. “Have I told you you’re my favorite client?”
“You have, but I’m sure you say that to all of your clients,” I counter smoothly.
She laughs airily. “Just the handsome ones like you. But tell me, why did you want to come? And don’t say it’s because you wanted to celebrate Loretta’s ninetieth birthday because I won’t buy it.”
I give my bowtie a tug. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Oh?” Her interest sparks. “And who may that be?”
Back in Paris, all I had was a name and a town to go by. Valentina Fitzpatrick from Greenwich. Sophie came through for me, though. Greenwich high society was a small, incestuous pool. Her friend didn’t know her personally, but they belonged to the same country club. Her husband golfed with William sometimes. Everything was relatively easy once I knew where to find her. I gave Allegra a call to ask her if she knew of the Fitzpatrick’s. She didn’t, but she’d heard rumblings about an upcoming party where the crème de la crème of New York and Connecticut would be in attendance. It was being hosted by Mr. and Mrs. William Alexander Fitzpatrick IV.
Allegra worked her magic and got us in.
When I first found out that Valentina had gone back to her husband, anger, hurt, and jealousy boiled inside me, burning me alive. But the same voice that kept telling me what we had was real urged me to go after Valentina. To not give up. She was planning to end things with her husband, so something must have happened to change her mind. It didn’t make sense then. It still doesn’t.
So here I am. Standing in Valentina’s home with nothing but my heart to offer her. I want answers, and this might be my only chance. I clench my fists. I don’t know where the night will take me, but one thing is for sure.
Tonight, I will leave this house either a whole or broken man.
I down the champagne in one large gulp as the image of Valentina dancing in my kitchen flashes before my eyes. “Someone I have unfinished business with.”
“Ooh … the plot thickens.”
Allegra scans the room, studying crowds of people mingle amongst each other. We’re about to move when she sees someone she recognizes and stops to chat with him. She introduces me to the man, but I can’t recall his name, my attention elsewhere. My gaze follows every woman who resembles Valentina, hoping—dreading—to finally find her in a sea of meaningless faces.
And that’s when I see her. My Valentina. Different scenarios of what our first encounter would be like kept playing in my mind since I stepped on the plane to New York, but none of them matter anymore. As my eyes drink her in, consuming her, all I want, all I need, is to hold her in my arms. To hell with her husband and the consequences. She’s mine. Mine.
Valentina rushes down the grand staircase, bumping into some guests, apologizing to others.
Just as my feet begin to move of their own accord, I see a blond man following her close behind …
Earlier in the night …
I HAVE TO GIVE it to Val. She sure knows how to throw a damn good party.
Wherever you look, people are having fun, enjoying the expensive caviar and champagne. A famous ballad singer croons one of his latest hits on the podium, an orchestra playing behind him. Loretta’s ninetieth birthday party is in full swing, and even my grandmother won’t be able to find one flaw in this evening.
Val stands next to me while I share skiing anecdotes with a group of our friends. Larry just got back from Zermatt in Switzerland and swears he won’t ski anywhere else. As more people chime in with their own opinions, I take a moment to study my wife dispassionately. Hair swept in a perfect updo. Demure black gown. Eyes blank. How did I ever think she was full of life? There’s nothing warm or inviting about her. Hiding behind a frigid calm, she’s nothing but ice. No wonder I fuck around.
Gwyneth comes up to us and hooks her arm in mine. Smiling politely, she asks if I have a minute to talk to her, so I excuse myself from Val and our friends. I’m pretending to be a concerned brother, though there aren’t any brotherly thoughts occupying my mind as I admire the way the skintight dress molds to her fucking gorgeous ass. Now that’s a woman’s body. We reach a hidden rose arbor where the grass is longer and its smell stronger. Relaxed, I sit on an iron bench.
Gwyneth follows me, a sinful tilt on her lips. “I see your plan worked.” She sits next to me, her bare thigh touching mine, and raises a hand, letting her fingers slowly trace my thigh. She hides behind a cool, flirtatious veneer, but she can’t fool me. She’s jealous of Valentina. “You’ve got Val back.”
“I do,” I say, amusement in my voice. “And I don’t think I’ve had a chance to thank you properly for that.”
She leans toward me until her lips are tracing my jaw and her tits are pressed against my chest, her soft breath tickling my skin. “How about you thank me now?”
I lift her off the bench and pull her on top of me, her legs straddling mine. My cock’s already hard. Hungry.
“You want me to fuck you like a whore?” I taunt, lifting my hips slightly, showing her how much I want her.
She groans, closing her eyes momentarily. “Yes, fuck me while your pathetic wife waits for you. Show me that you only want me and not her,” she whispers huskily as she grinds her pussy against my erection.
“We can’t right now,” I murmur, peripherally aware of any sounds that could signal someone’s arrival.
“What?” She pretends to pout. “Afraid to get caught?”