Caught in the Billionaire’s Embrace(29)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

The only physical mementos, at any rate, since she’d left behind the paper on which he’d recorded all of his phone numbers—something for which she was kicking herself now, even if she had memorized all of them. It would have been nice to have something he’d touched, something personal in his own handwriting.

And when had she turned into such a raging sentimentalist? Never in her life had she wanted a personal memento from anyone. Not even Egan Collingwood. That was probably significant, but she refused to think about how.

Besides, it wasn’t as though she didn’t have plenty of other reminders of Marcus, she thought as she watched Ava Brenner, the proprietress of Talk of the Town, write out a receipt for the return of the rentals. Della had her memories. Memories that would haunt her for the rest of her life. The way Marcus had traced his fingertips so seductively over the rim of his champagne glass when they were in the club. How his brown eyes had seemed to flash gold when he laughed. The way his jacket had felt and smelled as he draped it over her shoulders. How the snow had sparkled as it had fluttered around him on the terrace and came to rest against his dark hair. The way his voice had rumbled against her ear when he murmured such erotic promises during their lovemaking

But mostly, she would remember the way he looked lying asleep in their bed before she left him.

He’d been lying on his side facing the place where she had been sleeping, his arm thrown across the mattress where she had lain—she’d awoken to find it draped over her. He’d been bathed in a slash of moonlight that tumbled through the window from the clear sky outside. His hair had been tousled from their final coupling, and his expression, for the first time since she met him, had been utterly, absolutely clear. He’d looked…happy. Content. Fulfilled. As if he’d learned the answer to some ancient question that no one else understood.

She’d tried to write him a note, had tried to capture in writing what she so desperately wanted to say to him. But when she’d realized what it was she wanted to say, she’d torn the paper into tiny pieces and let them fall like snowflakes into the tiny handbag that now lay on the counter between her and Ava. They had been silly, anyway, the feelings she’d begun to think she had for him. Impossible, too. Not only because she’d known him less than forty-eight hours. And not only because he was still carrying a torch for someone else. But also because Della wasn’t the sort of woman to fall in love. Love was for dreamers and the deluded. And God knew she’d never been either of those.

“There,” Ava said as she finished tallying everything. “If you’ll sign here that we agree to agree that you returned everything safe and sound, I’ll return the full amount of your damage deposit.”

“But I’m late getting everything back,” Della said. “I was supposed to be here at opening on Sunday. Not Monday.”

Ava made a careless gesture with her hand. “I was supposed to be here Sunday, too. But Mother Nature had other ideas for all of us, didn’t she?”

Boy, did she ever.

“So Monday morning is the next best thing,” Ava continued. “I appreciate you being here so promptly.”

Yeah, that was Della. Always perfect timing. Especially when it came to anything that would thoroughly disrupt her life. Had she been five minutes later meeting Egan on New Year’s Eve, she would have missed seeing him with the woman she would learn was his wife. Had she been ten minutes later to the office on New Year’s Day, she would have missed the memo to her boss that had set everything into motion. She would still be living her life blissfully unaware in New York. Even if she’d ultimately realized Egan was married, and even if she’d quit her job because of him, she would have found another position elsewhere on Wall Street in no time. She would still be picking up her morning coffee at Vijay’s kiosk, would still be enjoying Saturdays in Central Park, would still have the occasional night at the Met when she could afford it.

And she never, ever, would have met Marcus.

She couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. Traditional thinking said it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, but Della wondered. Maybe it was better to never know what you were missing. Not that she loved Marcus. But still…

“Did you enjoy La Bohème, Miss Hannan?” Ava asked, bringing Della’s thoughts back to the present.

She smiled, only having to fake part of it. “It was wonderful,” she said. “I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed an evening so much.” Or a night afterward, she added to herself. Or a day after that. Or a night after that.

“I’ve never been to the opera,” Ava told her. “Never mind a red-carpet event like opening night. It must have been very exciting, rubbing shoulders with such refined company in a gorgeous setting like the Lyric with everyone dressed in their finest attire.”

The announcement surprised Della, though she wasn’t sure why. Certainly there were a lot of people out there, especially her age, which Ava seemed to be, who didn’t care for opera enough to see it performed live. It was the red-carpet comment and the breathless quality of her voice when she talked about the refined company that didn’t gibe. There was an unmistakable air of refinement and wealth about Ava that indicated she must move in the sort of social circle that would promote opera attendance and red-carpet events, never mind gorgeous settings and fine attire.

Both times Della had encountered Ava, the other woman had exuded elegance and good breeding, and had been extremely well put together in the sort of understated attire that only reinforced it. Today, she wore a perfectly tailored taupe suit with pearly buttons, her only jewelry glittering diamond studs in her ears—large enough and sparkly enough for Della to guess they alone cost a fortune. Her dark auburn hair was arranged in a flawless chignon at her nape, and her green eyes reflected both intelligence and sophistication.

Standing across the counter from her, Della was more aware than ever of her impoverished roots. Although she was dressed nicely enough in brown tweed trousers and an ivory cashmere sweater under her dark chocolate trench coat, she felt like more of an impostor than ever. Ava Brenner obviously came from the sort of old money background that Della had had to insinuate herself into—and still never really belonged in. She recognized all the signs, having been surrounded by people like Ava in her job.

Not for the first time, she wondered why the other woman ran a shop like this. She was probably rich enough on her own to do nothing but be idly rich, but she’d been at the boutique late Saturday afternoon when Della picked up her clothes, and she was here bright and early Monday morning, too. For some reason, that made Della glance down at Ava’s left hand—no wedding ring. No engagement ring, for that matter. She wondered if Ava had ever loved and lost and how she felt about it.