Seduced by the Heir. Pamela Yaye
effect, Paris hollered like a cheerleader. Her best friend had always been a low-key, no-fuss type of girl, but there she was, in her third dress of the night. She was draped in thousands of dollars’ worth of diamonds, and her blue silk gown made her look as graceful as the Duchess of Cambridge. “I love the color of your dress, and how it shows off your killer bod. Your fiancé is one very lucky man!”
Giggling, the friends linked arms and exited the bedroom.
“We better hurry,” Cassandra said, as they slowly descended the spiral staircase. “It’s time for dessert, and if we’re late there’ll be nothing left. Julietta is a little, bitty thing, but boy, can that girl eat!”
Paris followed Cassandra through the grand foyer and out the French doors. Music, laughter and the pungent scents of fresh fruit and flowers filled the night air. With a dry mouth and an erratic heartbeat, Paris stepped inside the tent, hoping Rafael was long gone. At the thought of him, blood rushed through her veins. Try as she might, she couldn’t squelch the butterflies swarming around her stomach. He had a hold on her still, after all these years. One Paris didn’t understand, and couldn’t explain. Memories sneaked up on her, scrolled through her mind in slow motion. The first time they’d kissed and the nights they’d made love were deeply cherished memories, ones she had relived hundreds of times over the years, and nothing would ever change how much she’d once loved and adored Rafael Morretti.
Once loved him? her conscience repeated. When did you stop?
To that, Paris didn’t have an answer.
Rafael sat in the media room, playing chess with Stefano, but he was having a hell of a time concentrating on the game. His thoughts were on Paris. Had been from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Seeing his old college sweetheart again, after more than a decade, had his mind so twisted he couldn’t think of anything but her. Stefano had won the last three games, and if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d bragged about his landslide victories on Facebook and Twitter.
Realizing he didn’t have a chance in hell of beating Stefano, Rafael threw his hands up in defeat and reclined in his leather chair. Low-hanging lights, plush furniture and colorful artwork gave the room a one-of-a-kind look. The air smelled of roasted peanuts, and the mouthwatering aroma made Rafael’s stomach grumble. The wet bar was only a few feet away, but he was too tired to get up and fix himself a snack. It had been a day filled with surprises, and he still couldn’t wrap his mind around Paris St. Clair being at his best friend’s wedding celebration.
Raising his eyes to the ceiling, he contemplated calling it a night and heading upstairs to his bed. Paris was staying on the second floor, only three doors down from his room. And knowing that his ex—the woman he’d once loved more than anything in the world—was only a breath away would be the ultimate torture.
Rafael heard his cell phone chime, and glanced down at the coffee table to read the number on the screen. His eyes narrowed, hardened with disgust. It was Cicely Cohen. His ex-girlfriend. The woman who’d betrayed his trust for fifteen minutes of fame. She’d been blowing up his phone for weeks, had left dozens of teary voice mail messages, but Rafael hadn’t returned her calls. Wasn’t going to, either. He had nothing to say to her, and the sooner she got the hint the better. They were over for good, and there was no way in hell he was taking her back.
“Rafael, is everything okay? You seem distracted.”
“I’m cool, man. Don’t worry about me,” he said. “How are you feeling? The big day is fast approaching, so if you’re having second thoughts, now’s a good time to skip town!”
Stefano wore a proud smile. “Proposing to Cassandra last year in Aruba was the best decision I ever made, and I can’t wait for her to become Mrs. Stefano Via.”
“I’m glad to hear that. You’re an incredible couple, and she definitely brings out the best in you.” Rafael wanted to say more, but stopped himself in the nick of time. He couldn’t fire off questions about Paris—not without raising suspicion—so for now he’d just have to cool his heels. “Have you guys decided where you’re going to live after you get married?”
“We’re going to stay in England for the time being. We love living in London and now that my consulting firm has taken off, I’m in no rush to return to the States.”
“Congratulations, man. It sounds like everything has finally come together.” Rafael picked up his wine cooler and took a swig.
“Where’s Nicco?” Stefano asked. “I thought he was joining us for a nightcap.”
“That’s what he said, but Jariah probably had other ideas. My brother thinks he’s running things, but make no mistake, his fiancée is the one in charge.”
Stefano chuckled, and nodded in agreement. “I know what that’s like, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. If my woman’s happy, then I’m happy. Cassandra means the world to me, and I’ll never let anything come between us.”
“You sound like an online dating ad!” Rafael joked.
“And you have no idea what you’re missing. Now that I’ve found my soul mate I—”
“Have you met Paris’s husband?” Rafael felt his cheeks burn, heard his pulse hammer in his ears, but faked a smile. It was too late to stuff the words back down his throat, and besides, he was curious to know about the man who’d captured his first love’s heart.
“Who told you Paris was married?” Stefano asked, wearing a puzzled expression.
“She’s not?”
His frown deepened, caused fine lines to wrinkle his forehead. “Nope, last time I checked she was single and ready to mingle!”
“But she’s wearing a massive diamond ring on her left hand.”
“Paris loves jewelry. Most women do.”
Surprised, and oddly relieved by the news, Rafael pressed on. “Is she dating anyone?”
“Why? Are you interested?”
“I didn’t come to Venice to make a love connection.”
“Nicco said you dated Paris in college. How come you never mentioned her?”
He shrugged. “Because we weren’t serious.”
“Why did you guys call it quits?”
“What’s with all the questions?”
“I just couldn’t imagine you dating someone like Paris, that’s all, and I wonder—”
“Someone like Paris?” he repeated, interrupting. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re polar opposites. She’s a high-maintenance diva and you’re Mr. Laid-back.”
Rafael thought about what his friend had said, wondering if there was any truth to it. In college, Paris had been the girl every guy wanted, and every girl wanted to be. But he couldn’t recall her ever copping an attitude with him, or behaving like a diva. Loved by everyone, and admired by all, she’d easily made friends. She had shone as the student council president, and gained the respect and admiration of the faculty and staff, as well.
Had Paris changed? Was she like all the other shallow, materialistic women he’d had the misfortune of dating in the past? Unlike his friends, Rafael didn’t flaunt his wealth, and derived great pleasure from the simple things in life. Hot summer days spent jogging through the park with his beloved dogs; spending Sunday afternoons playing golf and watching football. He’d yet to find someone who loved the great outdoors, and humanitarian work, and doubted he ever would. Most women he met were more interested in driving around town in his Bentley and dining at five-star restaurants than getting to know him as person. And since he had more than enough work to keep him busy,