Penniless And Secretly Pregnant - Jennie Lucas Page 0,7
couple up the steps to the open door, where they were welcomed by a butler. As he looked over Daisy’s ill-fitting cocktail dress and cheap shoes, the butler’s eyebrows rose. “Your name, miss?”
“Daisy Cassidy.” She held her breath, half expecting that, whatever the chauffeur had said, she’d been dropped at the wrong house and would be tossed out immediately.
Instead, the butler gave her a warm smile.
“We’ve been expecting you, Miss Cassidy. Welcome. Mrs. Berry,” he glanced at a plump, white-haired woman nearby, “will take you inside.”
“I’m Mr. Niarxos’s housekeeper, Miss Cassidy,” the older woman said kindly. “Will you please come this way?”
Bewildered, wondering who Mr. Niarxos was—perhaps the butler?—Daisy followed the housekeeper through a lavish foyer. She gawked at the brief vision of a gold-painted ceiling above a crystal chandelier, high overhead, and a wide stone staircase that seemed straight out of Downton Abbey. They followed a steady crowd of glamorous guests through tall double doors into a ballroom.
Daisy’s jaw dropped. A ballroom! In a house?
The ballroom was big enough to fit three hundred people, with a ceiling thirty feet high. The walls were gilded, and mirrors reflected the light of chandeliers that would have suited Versailles. Waiters wearing black tie walked through holding silver trays with champagne flutes on them. On the small stage, musicians played classical music.
Daisy felt like she’d just fallen through the floor to Wonderland. And there, across the ballroom—
Was that Leo in a tuxedo? Talking to the most famous movie star in the world?
“I’ll tell him you’re here, Miss Cassidy,” Mrs. Berry said. “In the meantime, may I get you a drink?”
“What?” It took her a minute to understand the question. Yes. A stiff drink was an excellent idea. Then she remembered she was pregnant. “Uh...no. Thank you.”
“Please wait here, Miss Cassidy.” The white-haired woman departed with a respectful bow.
Across the crowds, she watched the housekeeper speak quietly to Leo on the other side of the ballroom. He turned, dark and powerful and devastatingly handsome. His eyes met Daisy’s, and she felt a flash of fire.
Nervously, Daisy turned away to stare at a painting on the wall. It was a very nice framed print, a Jackson Pollock she didn’t immediately recognize. Then her lips parted as she realized it probably wasn’t a print. She was looking at a real Jackson Pollock. Just hanging in someone’s home.
Although this didn’t feel like a home. It felt like a royal palace. The castle of the king of New York...
“Daisy.” Leo’s voice was husky and low behind her. “I’m glad you came.”
She whirled around. He was so close. Her knees trembled as her limbs went weak. “The puppy is fine,” she blurted out. “If you were worried.”
“Oh. Good.” His expression didn’t change. He towered over her, powerful and broad shouldered, the focus of all the glamorous guests sipping cocktails in the ballroom. And no wonder. Daisy’s gaze traced unwillingly from his hard jawline, now smoothly shaved, to the sharp cheekbones and his cruel, sensual mouth. How could she tell him she’d fallen in love with him? How could she tell him she was pregnant?
“Thank you for inviting me.” She bit her lip, looking around at the glittering ballroom. “Whose house is this really?”
His black eyes burned through her. “It’s mine.”
She laughed. Then saw he was serious. “But how can it be?” she stammered. Her forehead furrowed. “Are you a member of the staff here?”
“No. I work for Liontari.”
“Is that a store?”
“It’s a company. We own luxury brands around the world.”
“Oh.” She felt relieved. So he did work for a shop. “Your employer owns this mansion? They’re the ones throwing the party?”
“I told you, Daisy. The house is mine.”
“But how?” Did being a salesclerk pay better than she could possibly imagine? Was he the best salesman in the world?
Leo looked down at her, then sighed.
“I never told you my full name,” he said slowly. “Leonidas Gianakos...Niarxos.”
He stared down at her, waiting. A faint warning bell rang at the back of her head. She couldn’t quite remember where she’d heard it before. From the butler at the front door? Or before that? She repeated, “Niarxos?”
“Yes.” And still he waited, watching her. As if he expected some reaction.
“Oh.” Feeling awkward, she said, “So who is this fundraiser for?”
Looking relieved, he named a politician she’d vaguely heard of. She looked around the gilded ballroom. This party was very fancy, that was for sure. She saw people she recognized. Actors. Entrepreneurs. And even—she sucked in her breath. A world-famous artist, which impressed her most