her when we couldn’t get the parrot’s beak, but she didn’t return our calls even when we said it was an emergency.”
He brushed his fingers down her soft skin because it was impossible not to touch her. She wore her hair up, a red flame so intricate he longed to take it out, one pin at a time, and watch the strands fall around her. He had chosen her dress for her and there had been a minor protest, but it was beautiful, and she knew she would look amazing in it. The slip was from fabric made in France by the Archambault family, cousins of the famous riders. The green was a perfect match for her eyes and brought out their color and shine. Like the rider suits, the fabric seemed alive, breathing with every step as it clung to every curve, but was lightweight and stretchy.
The overlay was translucent with white embroidered roses scattered across the fishtail gown as it dropped to the floor. The green slip beneath was low across the curve of her breasts, but the translucent overlay had a rounded neck and long sleeves. The fitted silhouette was gorgeous, the slip contrasting with the embroidered lace. Scattered over the roses were tiny glimmering diamonds, catching the light to add glimpses of fire to the gown to match the fire in her hair. Vittorio knew Grace would never have touched the gown had she known the cost, but he knew it was perfect for her. He thought she was the most beautiful woman in the room. It was sexy and yet elegant, exactly as he’d envisioned her when he’d seen drawings of it.
He cupped her face, his hands framing the beauty there. “I appreciate that you think it’s your job to put up with Eloisa’s bullshit, but it isn’t. This isn’t her event alone. The Ferraro family puts it on jointly. She might talk to the planners, but she can’t fire them without the vote of the entire family. If you’re worried about that . . .” His thumb slid over the little indentation on her chin.
She shook her head. “Eloisa lives for these events. She enjoys them, every step of the planning all the way to the final night. She has a vision and usually, it’s one that is beautiful and successful. We might help her tweak it a bit, but she visualizes what she wants better than any other client we have. Each event has been better than the one before it and raised more money for her causes. If I have to put up with her haranguing me over flowers that should have been here, I’m okay with that.”
He bent to brush a kiss over her upturned mouth, his heart clenching hard in his chest. “I know you’re okay with it, but I’m not. You’re mine. My woman. You’re going to be my wife very soon. She doesn’t get to abuse you any more than I want her to abuse my sister.”
“Your mother vents. She expresses her frustration in anger. She isn’t good at pulling her punches. It’s clear she has few friends and no one to talk to when she doesn’t understand what is happening around her. All of you are grownups now . . .”
“Don’t think of her as being an empty nester.” Abruptly he let his hands slip away from her face as he straightened, his mouth hard, his eyes warning her there were some things he wouldn’t tolerate. Eloisa abusing her was one of them. “She never wanted children and when she had them, she didn’t take care of them. She left that to her oldest son, who was barely school age. Eloisa doesn’t see us as children.”
“Maybe not, Vittorio, but when you were older, she interacted with you. She had someone to talk to.”
“To criticize,” he corrected.
She smiled at him and slipped her hand into his. “Perhaps that’s her way of talking. In any case, as long as it pertains to this business, we’re going to agree to disagree.”
Vittorio swallowed down his decree. He shouldn’t have made the bargain with her. He should have just announced he was the one in charge and gone on from there. Now he didn’t have a leg to stand on, even when he knew how really bad Eloisa could get. Sasha hadn’t put up with her continual criticisms, but Emmanuelle mostly did, which only encouraged Eloisa to leap on her daughter and tear her to shreds emotionally every chance she got. She