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The gallery itself was a vast open space with a maze of floating walls. Around each corner was a collection of art installations and an array of sculptures.
‘I love it here,’ Jasmine said, beaming. ‘Thank you for bringing me.’
‘Anything for you.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘Lead the way.’
She took his hand and they moved through the space, ignoring the other patrons and even the waiters. Jasmine only had eyes for the art, lost in its beauty. But the only beauty he could see was her. They could have been in a cell with pure white walls and Emilio would scarcely have noticed.
‘Whatever you want is yours,’ he whispered in her ear.
She spun round. ‘You can’t be serious?’
‘Of course I am.’
Jasmine laughed. ‘Where would we put it, Emilio?’
‘Where do you want it? The penthouse? I’ll let you redecorate. Any of our other homes.’
‘Ourotherhomes?’
‘You didn’t think we just had New York, did you? We could put them in Rome or Tokyo or Paris or London or Singapore. There are more.’
‘We?’
‘Belleza, my home is our home. Our child’s home.’
‘Emilio.’ Her eyes welled up and, even though they were clearly happy tears, he didn’t want to see her cry. He cupped her cheek. Just as he was about to kiss her, he heard his name.
His blood ran cold.
‘Gia.’
He pulled Jasmine against his side, glimpsing the searching look in her eyes.
‘I haven’t seen you in eight years!’ the familiar voice said.
‘And I would prefer not to have seen you again.’
He felt the truth of the words to his very soul. Looking at Gia now, she hadn’t changed at all, but he felt nothing: not anger; not sadness; not longing…nothing. He couldn’t even remember why he’d thought he was falling in love with her. He knew now how love really felt. Love was what he felt for Jasmine. Jasmine, who was trustworthy and generous and kind. Gia was selfish and greedy, and he had never seen what they’d had more clearly. ‘Have a good evening.’
‘Don’t be like that.’ The woman batted her lashes. ‘It’s like fate!’
She was stunning. Brunette, and curvy in all the right places. Dressed in bright red—sophisticated, if conspicuous for a gallery opening, where the art was meant to shine. She was shorter than Jasmine by a head despite the pencil heels she wore. Jasmine disliked her instantly, and not for any reason other than the waves of hostility pouring off Emilio. A man whom she had come to know as caring. Friendly. Careful.
‘No,’ Emilio replied icily. ‘Fate is how I met the most incredible woman in the world.’
Jasmine looked up to find him glancing down at her with softness and caution in his eyes.
The woman—Gia?—turned her attention to Jasmine now. ‘And who is this?’
‘My wife…’ He placed a curious emphasis on the word. Something strange was going on here. Those doubts Jasmine had tried to ignore began rearing their heads. ‘Jasmine De Luca.’
Jasmine’s fingers were curled around Emilio’s bicep, her engagement ring and wedding band on full display, and she watched the woman’s eyes dip to them, then lower to Jasmine’s belly. She extended her hand. ‘You are…?’
‘Gia Moretti.’ She shook Jasmine’s hand, a hair’s breadth tighter than was friendly. ‘By the looks of it you’re expecting a little Emilio.’ Her tone was pleasant but there was a sharpness there. ‘I would never have thought you to be the fatherhood type, Emilio, but I guess life sometimes doesn’t work out the way we plan.’
‘I’m sure it didn’t for you,’ Emilio said evenly. ‘How is that fame and fortune treating you?’
Jasmine had seen Emilio be antagonistic before, had experienced it when she had surprised him with the news of their child, but this felt different. The words were meant to wound. It only made Jasmine more anxious to know what was going on.