“What!” Instead her friend sounded wistful as she said, "Where are these jewels? We’re the same size. Before you send any back, save me one."
No she wouldn't. She'd tell her to run. Belle stiffened in her seat and prepped for it. "Not jewels. Dresses."
"I got it the first time. I'm sure there is an extra one for me then. Why are you stressing over clothes?"
"I'm not. It's just strange. I agreed to be Peter Morgan's date to this wedding."
"OMG. The Mr. Peter Morgan? I can’t believe you went out with him of all people. He’s the heir to the American dynasty who owns more money than the United States treasury. You have nothing in common. You’re not out for his money and don’t fit into that lifestyle at all."
“He can keep his money as far as I’m concerned.” Perhaps asking him to stand beside her was slightly too much. She had come here for closure, not to date though Em’s statement about her churned in her gut. She pushed her hair behind her ear.
"Now that sounds like you. You're going on a date with Mr. Monopoly."
“Not exactly.” A chuckle escaped her lips. The image didn't fit. "He doesn't wear a top hat."
"You should ask him too on this big date tonight. Is he hot like he seems in his business profile?"
She leaned her head on the back of the couch. Peter's dimples replayed in her mind along with his warm chocolate eyes.
"He's a womanizing charmer. He gets any woman he wants."
"Including you?"
Maybe. A kiss might not be enough but then it usually was. She shook her head.
"No. I'm just saying he's gorgeous, sexy and charming. He's everything I will never want."
"Sounds like every girl's living nightmare, all right. So you are going out with him...why?"
The sarcasm wasn't lost on her, but Belle had no answer. "I didn't want to be alone tonight, so I asked him."
That hadn't sound so pathetic. She closed her eyes.
"You never ask out a man. You never wanted to date again, and now here you are out with the brother of the woman who stole your fiancé?"
Now that was an angle she should have thought of on her own. Belle opened her eyes as she said, "Where are you and the others, Em?"
"We're on some tour. I am clearly not paying attention to the guide. Wish I was closer so I could come find you."
"We're at the same hotel now, I think. Are you staying at the Biltmore with the other wedding guests?"
"Perfect, he hooked you up with a room so you have your friends."
The penthouse wasn’t so she’d be with friends. "This is far nicer than my last minute plans."
"You deserve the best. Colt and that wedding disaster hurt you. You're beautiful both on the inside and out."
Her heart warmed her chest again. "You're just saying that because I'm your friend."
"I want you to have fun. Don't put your heart on the line to be destroyed again. Just relax and enjoy your date."
She pressed her lips together. "What do you mean?"
"You love deeply and never let go. Colt's ex came back from the dead. Don't let that one thing ruin your future. And if you do let Peter into your bed, remember who and what he is. Try to keep that heart of yours out of it."
Heat now expanded into all her limbs. Em was truly her best friend, though sex with Peter Morgan wasn't something she could discuss. Her face prickled from that thought. "Who is he really, though? There is something else going on."
"I don't know. You met him. You're going out with him tonight."
For one moment, he had her believing in the impossible. A cold shower would cure her. "I did. He's guarded. One woman already wants to scratch my eyes out, but I think he's nice."
"Ignore the jealous girl. He's nice?"
It wasn't hard to believe. "Yeah."
"You're a goner already."
No. This was bad enough. "I don't love easily."
"No, but you do love hard. Try to keep everything simple with this guy. He's not normal. Mr. Monopoly isn't someone you can take home to meet your dad. Your dad likes simple answers and wants you to date a mechanic."
Truer words weren't spoken. "See you soon, Em."
"Bye."
Belle marched up the circular stairs and went toward a bedroom. She found her original suitcase and opened it. She placed her mother's picture on the nightstand as she always did, though she wasn't sure she'd stay.
A knock on the door reverberated in the air. Peter leaning against the door right now would be all she needed to pass out on the floor. Belle clutched the handle then opened it to three women.
As she pressed her lips together, all three charged at her. One held a tape measure and one went for her hair as the other studied her. Belle's legs were restless as tingles grew in her chest.
One of the women said, "You'll need to wash so we can prepare you."
No one prepared her, except her. Her insides practically quivered as she tore herself away from them. "Who are you?"
The same one said, "Hair, makeup and clothes. We're here to ensure you are ready for tonight."
Did Hair, Makeup and Clothes use that as their names? Peter shouldn't pay for all this. Belle wrung her hands.
"I can't do my own hair?"
"Not like Nancy can."
Nancy must be the one that had tugged at her hair a minute ago. The one that spoke must be Clothes as she held the tape measure and said, "Did you pick your dress for tonight? Or was there a different designer you'd prefer we get for you? I need to ensure it's a perfect fit in every way."
The boxes were lined up in the front hall. Perhaps she'd only have to spend some of her savings and might return the others. She let out a breath, though she was still a little dizzy. "I've not looked."
Clothes shook her head. "I've hung everything in your closet."
Of course she had. She rested her arms on the table beside her and gazed toward the floor. "My mind is a whirlwind."
"Do you need us to bring in a doctor?" She rushed to open the closet as she said that. Miss Clothes was too much.
Belle held her stomach as she stood. "No. I need everyone to give me a half an hour to take a shower and then come back."
The three women nodded to each other and went to the door. "Yes, miss."
As soon as they left, Belle slammed it shut and rested on it. This dream was out of control. One night with one billionaire did not have to change everything about her.
Chapter Eight
Peter sat in his office and stared at a balance sheet. His fingers ran through his hair as he considered a request from a South American house for more money. The balance sheets read that this house was bought twenty-five years ago. The same year his mother left him. He had a tingle in his chest that this unknown expense was relevant, but his gut feeling made no sense.
He tapped his hands on his desk and ignored how his gut twisted. He had never seen any Morgan Incorporated figures from this part of that country. He swallowed and wrote an email. Please send the merchandise that was held in this place to my office in Miami immediately.