Postcards From Rome: The Italian's Pregnant Virgin / A Proposal from the Italian Count / A Ring for Vincenzo's Heir. Lucy Gordon

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       CHAPTER FIVE

      FOR THE NEXT two hours, Esther was pulled, prodded, poked with pins and clucked at. Well and truly clucked at. As though this woman, Renzo’s stylist, was a chicken. And as though Esther was a naughty chick rather than a woman.

      Renzo had left them to it, and she was thankful. Since the moment he had walked out, the other woman had begun stripping Esther’s clothes off her body and forcing new undergarments, new dresses and new shoes onto her.

      Esther had never felt fabrics like this. She had never seen styles like this on her spare curves. She had been all about experiencing new things since she had left her home, but she hadn’t gotten around to the clothing and makeup. Or hair. That all required a disposable income that she simply didn’t possess. She was more concerned with keeping food in her belly. And clothing herself in the basics, rather than exploring the world of fashion.

      But now she felt as though she had been well and truly educated in which colors looked best on her, which shapes best suited her figure. Of course, most of it had happened in abrupt Italian that Esther could understand only parts of, but still. She could see herself.

      In fact, right at the moment, she couldn’t take her eyes off herself. She was wearing a dark green gown that had little cap sleeves and a plunging V neckline that showed off acres of skin around her neck and down farther. The kind of daring look that would never have been allowed in her family home.

      The skirt was long, falling all the way down to the tops of the most beautiful pair of shoes Esther had ever seen. Of course, they were also the tallest pair of shoes she had ever worn, and she had serious doubts about her ability to walk in them.

      Somewhere in the middle of the clothing frenzy, two men had arrived to work on her hair and makeup. And work they had. Her hair was tamed into a sleek, black curtain, a good half a foot cut off the near-unmanageable length.

      Her eyes, which she had always thought were almost comically large, didn’t look comical now. Though, they still looked large. They had been rimmed with black liner, the corners of her eyes highlighted with gold. They had brushed something onto her cheeks, too, making them glow. And her lips... A bit of pale, burnished orange gloss colored them, just slightly, highlighting them, just enough.

      She looked like a stranger. She couldn’t see so many of the defining features of her face, not the way she usually did. Those dark circles that had permanent residence beneath her eyes were diminished, her nose somehow appearing more narrow, her cheeks a bit more hollow, thanks to a technique they had called contouring.

      And then there was her body. She had never thought much about it. She didn’t have overly large breasts, and for convenience, she typically opted not to wear a bra, sticking to plain, high-necked tops in dark colors that she always hoped concealed enough.

      Even though this gown still didn’t allow for a bra, it created an entirely different effect on her bustline than the simple cotton tank tops she preferred. Her breasts looked rounder, fuller, her waist a bit more dramatically curved, rather than straight up and down. The shape of the skirt enhanced the appearance of her hips, making her look like she almost had an hourglass figure.

      It was strange to see herself this way. With all her attributes enhanced, rather than downplayed.

      The bedroom door opened and she froze when Renzo walked in. She felt hideously exposed in a way that she never had before. Because for the first time in her life she was aware that she might look beautiful, and that there was a man who was most certainly beautiful looking her over. Appraising her as he might a work of art.

      “Well,” he said, turning his focus to the team of people who had accomplished the effect, and away from her, “this is a very pleasant surprise.”

      “She is a dream to dress,” Tierra said. “Everything fits so nicely. And that golden skin of hers allows her to pull off some very difficult colors.”

      “You know all of that is lost on me,” he said. “However, I can see that she is beautiful.”

      Warmth flooded her. Such a stupid thing. To feel affected by this charade. But she wasn’t entirely sure if she cared at all that it was a charade. What did it matter, really? Even playing a game like this was new. Feeling like she was the center—the focus—of male attention was something that she had scarcely gotten around to dreaming about.

      She had been grappling with freedom. Both the cost of it and the gains. With who she wanted to be, apart from everything she’d been taught. Apart from the small rebellions she’d waged hidden in the mountains behind her house, listening to contraband music while reading forbidden books.

      To find it especially appealing to link herself up to a man, even in a temporary way. But now, beneath Renzo’s black gaze, she found something deliciously enticing in it.

      A swift, low kick of temptation hit her hard, making it difficult for her to breathe. And she couldn’t even quite work out what the temptation was. It reminded her of walking past the bakery down in the town she’d grown up adjacent to, and seeing a row of sweets that looked delicious. Treats she knew she wouldn’t be allowed to have.

      That same feeling. Of wanting, feeling empty. Of that intense, unfair sense of deprivation that always followed.

      Except, no one controlled her life now. If she wanted a cake, she could buy it and then she could eat it.

      Which made her deeply conscious of the fact that if she wanted Renzo, she supposed she could have him, too.

      But for the love of cake, she didn’t know what she would do with him. Or what he would do with her if she reached out and tried to get a taste.

      She took a deep breath, craning her neck, straightening her shoulders and doing her best to make herself look even more statuesque. She didn’t know why. Maybe to inject herself with a little bit more pride, so she wasn’t just standing there being subjected to the judgment of every person in the room.

      It was so strange being the center of attention like this. She wasn’t entirely certain she disliked it.

      “That dress is spectacular. However, it is a bit too formal for dinner,” Renzo said, sitting down in one of the armchairs that were placed up against the back wall. “What else is there?”

      “Oh,” Tierra said, turning around and facing the rack, pulling out a short, coral-colored dress that Esther had tried on earlier. “How about this?”

      Renzo settled even deeper into the chair, his posture like that of a particularly jaded monarch. “Let’s see it.”

      “Of course.”

      Esther found herself being turned so that she was facing away from Renzo, and then she felt the zipper on the gown give. She gasped, then froze, СКАЧАТЬ