The Sicilian's Proposition (17 page)

Joanne took a step back and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She must have tried on at least ten outfits for the charity ball and hadn’t been able to set her mind on any of them.

“Well let’s have a look then,” Polly shouted through the curtained doorway.

Joanne emerged to see Polly with a big smile on her face. “That’s the one; you’ll knock them dead in that.”

“But I don’t usually wear red. It’s such a bold statement color. Don’t you think the black one might be better? It’s the safer option?” Joanne frowned.

Polly shook her head. “Believe me, Joanne, that really is your color.”

Her mind drifted back to that autumn afternoon on the boat with Dante and his reaction to her in her red bikini. She’d been so shy emerging from below deck, but his eyes had almost popped out of his head as he gazed at her.

Do you know what, Polly is right, why shouldn’t I make an impression for once?

“Okay, I’ll go for it!” she said, spinning around one final time to view herself in the mirror from all angles. The slinky material skimmed over her curves like a second skin. The dress was figure-hugging and gave her magnificent cleavage. It wasn’t that she didn’t like looking her best, more that she wasn’t used to being the center of attention. Someone like Carla wouldn’t have batted an eyelid wearing a number like this.

Later they browsed around the shops, absorbing the Christmas atmosphere, and went for lunch at a nearby Chinese restaurant.

“Have you got all your Christmas shopping done yet, Joanne?” Polly asked. She took a bite out of a spring roll.

Joanne, struggling to use a pair of chopsticks, gave up and used her knife and fork instead. “Yes, thankfully most of it’s done and dusted now.” She had done rather well. She’d bought a Welsh cookbook for Giovanni for him to try out some new recipes as he enjoyed cooking so much; a smart, sleek, silver cigarette lighter for Vito, and a new handbag for her mother. The only person left to buy for was Dante, and there would be nothing better than to give him herself if he wanted her, but that seemed unlikely with Carla on the scene.

“So what are your plans for Christmas?” Polly searched Joanne’s eyes, slicing into her thoughts.

“Well, I’ll be travelling to see my mother just before and staying overnight at her house, but she’s off on a cruise with my aunt for Christmas up to and including the New Year, so it will be for a day or two at most. My plans aren’t that exciting. I suppose it will be a turkey leg for one and a mince pie at the apartment; after lunch I’ll pull a cracker with myself.” She tried to make light of it, but being alone at Christmas wasn’t much fun. It was the time of the year that reinforced the fact people were alone, she supposed.

Polly grimaced. “But you can’t spend Christmas day on your own, Joanne. I would have invited you to our place, but this year Dave and I are off to his brother’s home in Scotland. That should be fun. A house full of kids, John’s sour-faced wife, and their drunken Uncle Donald for a few days. If I’m honest, maybe I’d rather be on my own this year too.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been alone on Christmas day, though, Polly. What’s the difference? I live alone the other 364 days of the year.”

“True, I suppose.” Polly reached out and patted Joanne’s hand. “Well, I’ll ring you on Christmas day to see how you’re doing.”

Joanne was surprised how well she was getting on with Polly; she’d turned into a good friend.

Darkness descended as they left the restaurant with their packages, well-muffled up in warm coats and scarves. Christmas lights twinkled in shop windows, and strings of colored lights illuminated busy streets. Large, lit-up colorful candles, Santa Claus faces, and snowmen smiled across the night sky, and everywhere she went, people seemed to be in good humor. In the middle of the main street, the Salvation Army was playing
God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
, reminding her of a Christmas with her parents many years ago. She unzipped her handbag and slipped a five-pound note in the collection tin. Yes, she was on her own at Christmas, but there were people far worse off than herself. Some people, though, were better off. What plans did Dante and Carla have for the season?

***

Dante stared at the busy street below from his hotel balcony. Shivering, he stamped his feet to keep warm. It was freezing cold here. It never got as cold as this back home. The weatherman had predicted snow during the next few days, and he said a quick prayer it would hold off until the charity ball was over. The tickets were expensive for people to purchase, but it all went to a good cause. They didn’t get much snow in Sicily, except sometimes around Mount Etna, and he’d been skiing there several times and loved it. He planned to take Joanne someday soon if she accepted his latest proposition.

Joanne’s editor had informed him they’d both be attending the ball tomorrow, and that gladdened his heart. Although they parted the last time on good terms, Joanne had seemed like a new acquaintance to him at that time, but now he remembered her in vivid detail. He intended explaining to her how he felt but over the phone or in an e-mail didn’t seem appropriate somehow. He needed to see her face-to-face. Of course, now he could have kicked himself for getting upset about that sleazy article in the first place, but with all that had been printed about him in the past, he guessed it had been inevitable. His lawyer had made some inquiries and since discovered the article had nothing to do with Joanne. She was innocent. Of course, Giovanni had known that all along. It was that photographer who had sold the story. What a leech the man had been, taking full advantage of his hospitality and Joanne’s integrity. The
Life Today
article written by Joanne had pleased him, though. He had a lot to thank her for.

He was so proud of it, he had the four-page spread professionally framed, taking pride of place on his London office’s wall.

What a woman. She completed him. The woman who made him feel like the man he really was.

He switched on the balcony heater and flipped his favorite swing album on the turntable, his mind drifting back to that wonderful night when Joanne’s cheek had pressed up against his as they danced out here. It sent chills up and down his spine: the musky overtones of her perfume, the tendrils of flowing hair that cascaded onto her shoulders, her feminine curves. The way he’d held her in his arms; she was so soft, sensitive, and sexy.

Now he’d let her go, and all he longed for was to have her back in his arms once more where she belonged. Was that too much to ask? Would she feel the same way about him? There was only one way to find out. It was a risk, yes, but one worth taking.

***

The night of the ball arrived. Joanne and Polly took a hired limo to the Richmond Hotel. There was a plethora of activity as they alighted from their car. Flashbulbs were popping in all directions as the paparazzi fought for the top spots to get pictures of the latest celebs. TV cameras were focused on anything of interest, and crowds lined the streets to try to get a glimpse of their favorite stars.

Joanne swallowed. “I had no idea it was going to be this high profile, did you, Polly?”

Polly smiled a wry smile. “Yes, I did know. I’ve sent a couple of our best photographers to cover it. The magazine can’t allow an opportunity like this to pass by.” She patted her hair as if remembering all eyes might be on her.

Why hadn’t Polly warned her it was going to be like this? At least she’d had her hair styled and worn her new faux fur stole around her shoulders, and the dress had set her back a pretty penny too. Sighing, if she didn’t feel the part, at least she looked it.

A man and a woman stood on separate sides of the red carpet interviewing guests as they entered the hotel.

The woman, a petite bubbly blonde in her mid-twenties, stopped them in their tracks. “Hello. This is
Celebrity Fever,
a CSBC production, and I’m Candy Martin. Could I just have a word with you for our viewers, please?”

Joanne dried up as she struggled to find the words, but Polly beat her to it.

“Yes, you may.” She beamed and looked directly into the camera lens.

“I’ve interviewed several celebrities on their way into this grand event, pop stars, movie stars, models. What’s your connection to this event?” Candy thrust her extra-large microphone beneath the editor’s chin.

Polly straightened and threw her head back. Joanne smiled to herself. Her editor was going into a full-blown speech about the reason for being at the event. “Well I’m the editor-in-chief, Polly Montgomery, of
Life Today
magazine, and this is my head journalist, Joanne Smith. We’re here as guests of Mr. Dante Alphonso. We recently ran a feature article about his life and works in the publication. In fact, it’s still available, you can order back copies from our website, and if you’d like to order a full yearly subscription, then—”

Candy Martin smiled and looked into the camera as she cut her off. “So as you can see folks, this isn’t just a celebrity event, here we have two busy worker bees heading for a night at the ball.”

Joanne could have knocked the woman over. “Busy worker bees,” she muttered under her breath as she followed Polly along the red carpet and into the hotel foyer. Somehow, that woman had managed to conjure up visions of poor Cinderella off to the ball in one fell swoop. If only Prince Charming would arrive.

“Take no notice of her,” Polly said as they got inside. “She’s just one of those airheaded bimbos that TV channel is fond of employing these days. They got rid of one seasoned presenter deemed over the hill at forty. I ask you! You have more talent in your little finger than that elfin-faced filly has in her entire body.”

Joanne stifled a giggle, straightened, and handed her fur stole to the cloakroom attendant, who gave her a ticket that she put for safekeeping in her clutch bag. She followed Polly into the room.
Will he show up?

She gasped when she saw how beautiful the hall looked. There were lots of round tables where most guests were already seated. At the center of each table was a large ice bucket with a couple of bottles of champagne and silver and gold balloon displays, emblazoned with the letters
CHDF
. In front of the tables was a stage with a large Christmas tree on the right and stacks of presents beneath. To the left side of the stage was an orchestra playing
Winter Wonderland
.

“This is absolutely fabulous,” Polly exclaimed. “I hope the photographers are getting shots of all of this.”

Joanne hardly heard; she was too busy scanning the room for Dante. Her heart plummeted when she couldn’t see him anywhere. Maybe he was too busy to make it or had just had a row with Carla in his hotel suite?

They were directed to their table by a man with a clipboard and introduced to the four people sharing it with them, three journalists and an editor of a rival magazine. Any doubts Joanne had that Polly might not like being seated by her arch rival were dissipated as the women greeted one another with warmth, pecking the other on both cheeks. They were enemies when it came to work but friends outside of it.

The evening commenced as the lights dimmed down, and an attractive female
compere
, with a figure to die for, came on stage to talk about the organization and to mention the man behind it. A tingle skittered across Joanne’s spine when she heard Dante’s name.

“Maybe he’ll come on stage now,” she whispered behind her hand to Polly.

A large screen descended from the ceiling and projected a film about the organization and Dante Alphonso at work, showing his visits to sick children at home and in the hospital. Several fund-raising events were highlighted. The clip outlined the dream he had to help ill children, as once he’d been sick as a child himself and almost lost his life. The beaming faces of the children who had gone on special visits to theme parks, Lapland, and Florida shone through the screen. It was a testament to the man and his vision. A mother spoke of the joy her son experienced swimming with dolphins, and a father mentioned his daughter’s delight at meeting Father Christmas in snowy climes.

Then, finally, the film showed Dante seated behind his desk as he made an appeal for people to help the organization and raise awareness. He thanked everyone for coming tonight. Her legs felt like jelly when she heard the timbre of his voice once again and saw his chocolate brown eyes gazing with intent into the camera lens as he made his appeal. If she hadn’t been seated, she might have melted onto the floor.

Surely, he’ll come on stage now?
But still there was no sign of him. She half expected him to emerge from the wings and take a place under the spotlight, waving to a cheering crowd.

Everyone stood and applauded as the film clip ended, and then an announcement was made for the children to queue by the side of the stage for Santa Claus to give out gifts and afterward to make their way to another hall for the children’s Christmas party, leaving the adults to party in the main hall.

It brought a tear to Joanne’s eyes as she watched a little girl, who wore leg braces, walk tentatively toward Santa Claus for her gift. He bowed his head as she whispered into his ear, no doubt telling him what she wanted for Christmas. Her large eyes lit up as he handed her a red package tied up with a bow. Another child waited in line. He was a young lad who appeared to have a disability and was taken on stage in a wheel chair. The children’s visit went on for about half an hour, and then a band came on to play various Christmas favorites as the group of children left the room and dinner was served.