Everything You Are (7 page)

Frowning, Jane stared at her reflection in the changing room's mirror, at the tight dark-green dress that was cut so low at the back that it exposed the small of her back, and had high slits on each side. The dress highlighted her flat chest, narrow waist and large hips. It made her feel exposed and like a child playing dress-up with her mother's clothes. There was no way she would parade around in front of Ian in a dress that made her feel as if half of her upper butt was visible, let alone wear it in public. Ian would probably laugh at her. Through the curtains she peeked at the blond, who sat on one of two sofas facing the mirror wall to the left of the changing rooms.

“Signorina, are you ready?” the saleswoman stepped closer to the changing room.

“No,” Jane said. “This doesn't suit me. Could you bring me something else, something less revealing?” Yearningly, she glanced at the dark blue silk that hung on the hanger on the wall. She loved the dress with the corset that flattened her small breasts and pushed them up, giving her cleavage, while a transparent blueish top that peeked from under the corset and covered shoulders and her upper back veiled her skin. She wanted it, but Ian had dismissed it with a wave of his hand and a scowl on his face. She would have bought it herself, but even without the price tag attached to it, she was very well aware that she couldn't afford it. No, the decision of which dress she would wear at tonight’s dinner party was, since he was the one paying, Ian's to make. It made her feel as if she was in some romantic movie, playing a concubine with Ian her master. What would it feel like to be Ian's concubine? To feel his hands and his mouth on her? Hot shivers shot through her body, warming her cheeks.

The woman pushed the curtains aside. “You are beautiful. Che bella.”

“I really want something less revealing.” This dress was not flattering at all.

“What's going on?” Ian appeared behind the woman. With his tall build and wide shoulders, he towered over them.

Jane hid behind the woman. There's no way she would allow Ian to see her like this. “I don't like the dress.”

“Let me see it.”

The woman said something in Italian.

“I don't like it,” Jane repeated.

“Let me see.” He pushed his way past the woman, his fingers wrapped around Jane's arm and he gently tugged her before him. His gaze slid down her body. “It looks fine to me.”

Don't look at me
. “Fine?” With her hand Jane covered the small of her back and turned her back to him, glancing at him over her shoulder. “It's like I'm naked.”

His eyes lowered. His jaw tensed and his eyes darkened.

Why was he looking so displeased? Why couldn't he look at her the same way he was looking at that stylist girl? Her eyes lowered to her cleavage. Well, she knew why.

He swallowed and lifted his head. “We'll have to do something about that.” He turned to the woman and said something in Italian, too fast for Jane to even distinguish the words, let alone memorise them so that she could later type them into Google Translator.

The woman disappeared from their view, leaving them in a tense silence during which Ian glowered at her as if she had just insulted him.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.” He stepped backwards, out of the changing room, and crossed his arms. His jaw was still tensed and his eyes darted around, looking everywhere but at her.

The saleswoman returned with a simple black dress over her arm. She showed it to Ian, who gave her a short nod, before she gave it to Jane.

Jane pulled the curtains closed and slipped into the silken dress. It was a simple sleeveless dress that reached her knees. If she hadn't tried the blue dress before it, she would have been quite pleased with it, and Ian liked it well enough to give it his approval. After Ian paid and made arrangements for the dress and the matching shoes to be delivered to the hotel, they stepped out onto the sun-lit street. It felt slightly surreal to be here, in Rome, stationed in a hotel with a rooftop terrace that offered a side view of Piazza S. Pietro. What was she doing here? She doubted that she would be of any help to Ian, who had told her that he had been sent to Italy to negotiate with their business partner. She didn't know a word of Italian, except
per favore
and
grazie
, which she had learned five hours ago, from the boy who led them to their suite, pushing a trolley with their luggage. “Where to now? To the hotel?”

“I was thinking I could give you a quick tour.” Smiling, he offered her his arm.

“Really? I thought we’d be too busy for that.” She wrapped her arm around his and at the touch of their skin a small shiver spread through her body. She ignored it.

His smile widened and he pulled her closer against his side. Hadn’t he been in a bad mood just a second ago? His blue eyes looked so warm as he lowered them to hers. “We'll make the time. If nothing else, you have to see the Colosseum and the Spanish Stairs.”

She had seen the Colosseum in pictures often, but it couldn't compare to seeing the real thing. If Mark had been with her, they would be oohing and ahhing loudly, but with Ian by her side, she quietly studied the stone arches. There was so much history in these stones that had stood there for centuries. They could tell many stories, most of them sad, since they had seen the worst part of men, when blood was spilled just to satisfy people's hunger for entertainment.

Ian took her inside; with one arm looped around hers he guided her through the massive structure, telling her a little about the Colosseum’s history, all the while glancing at his phone as if he were expecting a call.

She stared at him, charmed, not only because of his knowledge of history or his willingness to waste his free time on her, the lowly assistant, but because of his eyes, which glittered in the sun, and the warmth of the smile that shone down on her. Yes, he had his faults -- he was too cocky and in some cases too self-absorbed -- but, despite that, he took time for people; he listened to them with understanding on his face. He was kind. And so likeable. Her eyes lowered to his phone's display. She frowned. “You're reading? You don't know anything about the Colosseum's history, do you? You're using the internet.”

“I hoped you wouldn't notice.” He grinned, making no attempt to deny it.

She shook her head, smiling. He might not know everything about history, but he still spoke three foreign languages (or so he told her) and he was still nice... Her eyes slid down his body. And so gorgeous.

“Come.” He hooked his arm with hers and guided her away from the iron fence overlooking the stone walls and patches of grass on the Colosseum's ground floor. “We deserve a break,” he said.

They walked out of the Colosseum, crossed the four-lane street and went to a restaurant, one of three that stood across from the Colosseum. Ian chose it because of the terrace. They ordered drinks and food, then fell into chitchat about nothing in particular. The atmosphere was pleasant and the attention he was giving her flattering. With gentleness in his smile and eyes as he gazed at her across the table, it felt as if they were on a date.

He was telling her about the ruins hidden under city's streets. “Romans weren't used to removing old buildings,” he said. “They removed roofs, filled them with dirt and used them as foundations for new buildings. They didn't do that to single buildings, but levelled whole neighbourhoods.”

“How do you know?” Jane laid her utensils on the empty plate before her and pushed it aside. She was full. She shifted closer to him until the edge of the table dug into her belly. She rested her elbows on the table. “From Discovery channel?” She had learned about really nifty things watching Discovery channel and National Geographic. If she ever found herself stranded in the desert, she knew how to find water, or more accurately, she thought she knew how to find water.

“Izzy -- you remember my sister?” Ian picked up his glass of white wine and took a sip.

Jane nodded.

He lowered the glass and left his hand lying beside it. “She has a travel agency that specialises in extraordinary travel. Her agency got a client, a caver, who wanted to explore the city below. She mentioned how hard it was to find a guide for him and about how much paperwork they had to fill out.”

She glanced down at her fingers that were just a small distance away from his. She liked his hands. They were strong hands, with long fingers. He had held her hand for a moment when they were in the Colosseum, to pull her with him past a group of tourists. His hold was strong but gentle, and his big hand fit so well with hers. She was tempted to tiptoe her fingers closer and to push his fingers up and backwards until her palm was pressed against his, as if she were comparing their hand sizes.

“...we could go there now.”

“Huh?” She lifted her eyes.

“San Clemente, the basilica. It's near here. It has stairs that lead into the lower area.” His hand wrapped around hers. He stood up, tugged her up and around the table. “I don't know if it's open, or if the lower area is open to the public, but it doesn't hurt to try, right?”

“Yes,” she agreed, staring down at his hand.

“Okay. Let's try our luck, then.” He led her away from the table. He released her hand when they got downstairs, where he paid for their meal, but when they stepped onto the street, his big hand again found hers again and he laced their fingers.

The warmth of his touch sent small tremors up her spine. She should have wiggled her fingers out of his grip, but it felt so nice to be holding hands with him. “How will we find it?”

“I'll Google it.” With his free hand, Ian took his phone out of his jacket pocket,

Jane looked at their hands again. If he weren’t her boss, and if they weren't on a business trip, she might really think that they were on a date. She snorted. As if she would ever be able to spark an interest in a rich player like Ian, who preferred girls totally different to her.

#

The door of the library opened and Jane, who sat in a chair in the living room across the hallway, rose. When Ian had told her that she needed an evening dress for dinner, she had assumed they were invited to a party or to dinner in a high-end restaurant, not to a dinner in a family circle of ten.

Mr. Antonio, an elderly man, walked through the door of the library, Ian right behind him. The blond smiled at her.

She hoped that meant that his business dealings were over and they were going home soon. It was already past midnight; she was tired and the food from the three-course meal that lasted from eight to ten weighted her stomach almost painfully. The food was delicious, but she wasn't used to eating so late, and to please the hostess she had forced herself to eat everything they set before her. It was a good thing that they hadn’t bought that blue dress, because if she had been in a corset, she would probably be having trouble breathing.

Ian gestured for her to join him. “Are you tired?”

“A little.”

Giuseppe, a back-haired man of about her age, appeared by their side and accompanied them to the entrance, where he took hold of her hand and invaded her personal space. “Jane.” A flirty smile flashed on his youthful face. “Sleep tight and dream of me.”

She refrained from rolling her eyes and instead forced her mouth into a smile while she gently tried to wiggle her hand out of his. He was a pleasant boy, who had kept her company in the hours Ian had been tucked in the library talking business, and he had told her a lot about Rome and places she should visit. But she hadn’t appreciated the sexual innuendo he had inserted into the conversation, his disregard for her personal space and his repeated insistence on showing her around, even though she had politely told him that she wouldn't have time for that.

Ian glanced down at her, his brow furrowed. His hand curled around her shoulder and he tugged her away from Giuseppe and over to his left side, closer to the door. He said something in Italian to the young man.

Giuseppe only chuckled and in English added, “Jane doesn't mind.”

“I don't mind what?” Jane asked, but they ignored her question and were saying goodbye. In the next moment, Ian led her through the door and toward the hired limo parked by the pavement. After they were seated in the backseat, she asked him, “What did you tell him?”

“To stop bothering you.”

“Oh.” That was nice of him. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” He smiled at her, the corners of his eyes slightly curving up.

He had such a beautiful smile and she couldn't help but smile back.

“You'll be able to sleep in tomorrow.” He cast a quick glance at his watch before he gave her another one of his sunny smiles, correcting himself, “Today.”

“That's good to hear.” From her handbag she pulled out her phone, hoping that Mark had texted her. She hadn't looked at it during the evening, assuming that it would be impolite. Yes, a small envelope decorated the left corner of the narrow grey bar at the top of the phone's display. “It's Mark,” she told Ian. She frowned. Why had she told him that?

“How long have you two known each other?”

“Since we were little,” she said. “He lived next door, and since we're the same age and our parents were friends, we often played together.” When they had started school, their paths divided. But then at the end of elementary school they rekindled their friendship and became best friends. He hadn’t entrusted her with his sexual orientation until the third year of high school, but she had known about it, waiting patiently for him to reveal it on his own.