Page 54 of Our Chaotic Love Affair

The slit started at the hip and went higher than anything I’d specified for this evening. It was just a little risqué. I could see the black panel that prevented anything from being flashed, but it gave the illusion of “one move and there will be vag.”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Cleo said, watching my face.

I searched for the professional response and couldn’t find it. “Rossi is conservative. He’s from a different generation.”

“I’ll wear this underneath.” She turned back to Giulia, who produced a black nylon overlay so sheer it was almost theoretical, but which technically addressed the slit situation. “See? Compromise.”

The jewelry she’d chosen herself. Earrings that were long and dramatic and not what I would have selected, which meant they were exactly right for her. Several rings. A stack of bracelets I knew weren’t from the cases we’d been provided.

Her hair was half up in a way that looked deliberately undone. Her makeup was dramatic around the eyes in a way that walked the line between event-appropriate and unapologetically Cleo.

She looked like herself. But elevated. Like the best version of the thing she already was, poured into black silk and given access to a city that knew how to appreciate beauty.

She looked extraordinary.

“Fine,” I said.

She didn’t gloat, which I appreciated. She just stepped off the platform and disappeared into the bathroom once again.

I looked at the ceiling for a moment and collected myself. My plan was to present my demure fiancée, fulfill my end of the bargain, and save the contract.

Wasn’t it?

When I had called Cleo, I knew damn well there was no denying her energy. The woman marched to the beat of her own drum. No one was going to diminish her and try to put her in a box.

The following morning, Cleo was up early. I would have expected her to be jet lagged, but she was up and ready to go.

We walked three minutes from the hotel to a café so small, tourists never found it. She scanned the menu, clearly considering her choices. We ordered and sat back to do a little people watching.

“I can’t believe I’m in Rome,” she said. “Yesterday or two days ago, I don’t even know what day it is. I went to bed thinking I was going to do laundry today. And now I’m in Rome.”

“Surprise.”

Our meals were delivered shortly after. Cleo took her first bite and moaned.

“This is amazing,” she said. “So good.”

I watched her tear her croissant and groan with the pleasure of someone who was genuinely present in their own experience. I thought about how rarely I saw that. People in my world ate at restaurants to be seen in them. They discussed the food and business but never really just enjoyed the meal.

Cleo was just eating. Enjoying it. Completely here.

“I need to tell you about tonight,” I said.

She put her fork down and gave me her full attention. Just like that, she was switched on, focused, and ready.

“The client is Federico Rossi. Old European family money, significant business interests with a current contract with Bancroft Holdings that he’s trying to exit illegally. I’m here to find out why and to prevent that exit, or at minimum to understand what’s driving it.”

“What are your instincts telling you?”

“That something’s wrong on his end that he doesn’t want us to know about. He’s pulling out to protect himself from something, not because of anything we’ve done. He’s trying to say it’s the Summer Situation, but that’s bullshit. That problem has been handled and it’s old news. He’s just using it as an excuse.”

She nodded. “And the gala?”

“His foundation’s annual fundraiser. The guest list is in poor shape. There are significant absences which create a credibility gap. He needs the event to go well. My presence provides a bump.” I paused. “My presence with a fiancée provides a different kind of credibility. The kind he responds to.”

“Old money family values,” she said.

“Exactly. And a Bancroft showing up with a previously unknown fiancée is going to be big news. More attention on him.”