Trust Me (56 page)

“
Très bon, merci
,” Creighton answered, his arm slipping around Sandra’s waist. The two men exchanged a few more comments in French before she found herself being escorted out the door, at a leisurely pace. They climbed back into the limousine where Sandra literally collapsed against the leather cushions.

“You
did remarkably well,” Creighton praised, kissing her hand again as the car pulled back into traffic. “There wasn’t a person in that room who didn’t admire you.”

“I’m
sure they were all wondering how they could trade places with me.”

“I
know the men were wondering that of me,” he smiled, glancing down to her chest. “That dress is stunning on you, or you are stunning in it; I'm not sure which it is.”

“It’s
the dress. At the price it cost, it would make a sow look good.”

“Don’t
say things like that,” Creighton frowned. “I swear I am going to line every wall in our bedroom - as well as the ceiling - in mirrors just so you have no choice but to see how beautiful you are.” Sandra blushed, but dropped the subject, leaning her head against the back of the seat; she didn’t feel much like arguing tonight. The car came to a halt in front of
The Opera Bastille
and Sandra found herself actually excited; her heart thrumming in her ears.

“Ready?”
Sandra nodded eagerly listening to the man’s amused chuckle. He took her hand briefly, kissing her knuckles again as the door opened.

Sandra
stood at the base of a long set of steps that led to the glass-enclosed building; there were at least a hundred people standing outside, talking, gossiping, and visiting while they waited for the show to begin. Sandra held Creighton’s hand tightly as they ascended the steps, smiling at those who turned to watch them. While everyone was dressed in formal attire and black tie, she doubted any of them were wearing anything nearly as expensive as she and Creighton were, and that made her feel very nervous and anxious.

“Relax,”
Creighton told her as though reading her mind. “You’re safe with me.” Sandra smiled at the later part of his statement, relaxing instantly at his side.

“I
highly doubt I will ever be safe with you,” she teased, listening to the man’s soft chuckle.

“You
have a point there, Miss Dennis.”

Creighton
nodded at several people, stopped and spoke briefly with others, shaking hands and introduced her to at least a dozen people on their way to their seats. Once they had obtained their programs and sat down, Creighton waved to a young waiter who brought them each a glass of white wine.

“I
didn’t know they served drinks at the opera,” she said when she took the glass from the tray.

“Typically
no, but this is a special evening; all the proceeds are going to charity, so the tickets are much more expensive than normal. In order to make up for the cost, special accommodations have been made, such as an after show cocktail party and wine during the performance.”

“So
was it difficult to get tickets?”

“Not
really,” he smiled. “I have season tickets, so all I had to do was call and say I’m using my seats. Besides, I make a very generous donation to the arts every year; people would bend over and expose themselves if I asked.”

“Once
again, proof that money speaks?” Creighton smiled as he sipped his wine.

“You’ll
get used to it,” he said simply when the lights began to flicker, signaling the start of the show.

People
filtered through the aisles to their seats, the noise of cheerful laughter and chatting continuing until the lights flickered again and all fell silent. A few moments later the lights went out and the curtain rose. Sandra felt her stomach clench with excitement when the orchestra began to play. This was definitely going to be one memory she would never forget.

“What
did you think?” Creighton asked as they reclined against the leather seats in the back of the limousine. They attended only a few minutes of the cocktail party, meeting and mingling with Paris’ high society. Creighton took pride in introducing her as his fiancée, knowing full well that there were reporters mingling among the guests.

Sandra
smiled and stretched her legs out in front of her, slipping her shoes off and wiggling her toes.

“It
was amazing,” she said. “I never realized the opera could be so enjoyable.”

“So,
would you like to go again?”

“I
would love to, just not tonight,” she teased. “I’m really tired and want to get out of this dress.”

“I
like that idea,” he assured her, taking her hand and moving to the bench seat where he lifted her feet across his lap, massaging her ankles and toes with his strong hands. The car drove on toward their hotel; the soft sound of music echoed through the back speakers and Sandra found herself relaxing even further. She was really tired, but knew they would undoubtedly spend the rest of the night making love, which she was very eager to participate in.

“What
are you thinking?” he asked, his hands traveling up to her calves.

“I
was wondering what you had in mind for us back at the hotel?” she said with a deep blush. Creighton chuckled, lifted her foot and kissed the sole, nipping at the pads of her toes.

“Well,
I thought we could have some dessert before we go to sleep.”

“What
kind of dessert?” He narrowed his eyes to her and smiled wickedly.

“How
about a little
Peinture de carrosserie
?” Sandra frowned at the wicked grin he gave her. “You know a little chocolate sauce and whipped cream.”

“I
like chocolate and whipped cream,” she said with a blush.

“Good.
Let’s go home and have some fun.”

“But
I thought we were going to have dessert?”

“We’re
going to do both.”

A
few moments passed before the car pulled to a halt in front of their hotel. Sandra slipped her sore feet back into her heels and stepped out of the luxurious limousine, walking through the lobby with Creighton’s arm around her waist. Sandra glanced around at the few guests who were returning from a night on the town, seeing a man who looked very familiar sitting in a chair near the lifts. He looked to be a few years old than Creighton; he had dark hair, a rugged appearing tanned face and was wearing a pair of black jeans and a cream colored pullover sweater. His dark eyes were feigning interest in the newspaper he held in his hands and he looked up, nodding to Sandra as they continued on their path.

“Creighton,
who is that?” she asked quietly.

“Irwin Clark; he’s one of my security,”
he said flatly. The lift arrived and they stepped into the box, along with seven other people. Creighton and Sandra remained silent as the lift rose to the upper floors, waiting patiently while the people slowly filtered out each time the lift stopped. Once everyone was gone and they were alone, Sandra turned to Creighton, frowning.

“Why
security?” she asked softly.

“I
have security following me all the time; Irwin Clark, Finlay Parker and Rhett Harvey. They guard me and anyone with me, but they don’t interfere in my activities.”

“Aren’t they your deck hands for the yacht?”

“Yes, but they are much more than just deck hands; they are my private security guards. They have been following us around every day, you just haven’t seen them and it’s their job to stay hidden.”

“I
can’t believe you didn’t tell me about them.”

“Sandra,
you have to understand. I am worth a great deal of money and now, so are you. Three years ago, I was nearly killed by a bugger who thought he could make a few euros by kidnapping me. As a result, I spent two weeks in hospital from gunshot wounds to the back and leg. Since then I don’t go anywhere without being followed.” Sandra didn’t say anything as the doors opened and they stepped out, walking to their suite.

Creighton opened the door and
held it for her to step through, closing it again and locking it once they were both inside. He removed his jacket and tossed it across the back of a bar stool before stepping to her side and pulling her into a warm embrace, holding her silently for several seconds.

“Don’t
be scared,” he told her, his hands caressing her back gently. “I know all of this is new to you, but it’s just how my life is.”

“I
think we need to get a few things straightened out,” she said softly causing him to sigh and pull her away from his chest to look into her eyes.

“Ask
what you wish and I’ll answer.”

“The
truth?”

“I
have never lied to you Sandra and I never will.”

“Tell
me about The Don’s boys?” she asked suspiciously. “Is there any real threat from them?”

“Not
really,” he said quietly. “They are two of Aryana’s brothers; they would never cause her harm.”

“Then
why did you allow me to think they were after us?”

“Because
they are. The Don wants us back in Milan and sent his boys to get us. He keeps his two sons, Demarco and Silvano, as errand boys and while Demarco is logical and calm, his brother is not. Silvano likes people to think he’s mafia; it excites him to know he frightens people, especially women.”

“So
The Don, is he really mafia?” Creighton sighed, taking her hand and leading her to the sofa where they sat down next to each other.

“No.”

“You did lie to me,” she said softly.

“No
I didn’t. You were the one who called The Don a mafia king; I just didn’t deny it. You wanted an adventure and I wanted you with me; because of Aryana I was able to do both.” Sandra was silent for a few moments thinking about everything he was saying. It was true; she did want an adventure and she had much more than that these past few days.

“Why
do you call him
The Don
if he isn’t associated with the mafia?”

“His name is
Donato. he picked up the nickname when he was younger because he was so bossy with his three siblings, it stuck with him.”

“How
did you meet him?”

“He
owned the lemon orchard I used to start my business. I met him when I was a teenager. I told you, I spent the summer that followed the Miriam incident at my grandparents’ horse ranch. The Don came to buy a pair of horses for his stables. He and I spent hours talking about the theory of organic farming and how to reduce greenhouse gases. I called him a few years later and asked if I could use his orchard to try an experiment. He agreed and within a short time, I purchased his land and began manufacturing the fruit in various products. He is also a limited partner in three hotels I own, but that is only because he wanted a place to stay when he travels. It is easier for him than renting.”

“This
is all a little overwhelming,” she said honestly, sighing deeply.

“Why
don’t you go relax in a hot tub and I’ll bring you in a glass of wine.” Sandra nodded absently and stood up, walking into the bedroom. She slipped her shoes off and removed her jewelry, unzipping her dress and stepping out of it. It had been a long day, filled with one adventure after another. Though it had been a wonderful day and a memorable evening, she had to ask herself if she could really trust anything Creighton said. He may not have lied to her, but he didn’t tell her the truth either; wasn’t that the same thing?

Sandra
walked into the bathroom, turned on the faucets to the large soaker tub and went to the sink removing her makeup. She thought over the conversation she had with her grandparents and with Creighton’s mother and frowned. Nana told Papa she never did anything without thinking it through, but had she thought about all of this clearly enough to be confident of her decision? How did she go from being a librarian in a small town, to being engaged to a multimillionaire in the span of a few days?

The
door to the bathroom opened as she sat down into the tub as Creighton walked across the threshold, two glasses of wine in his hands. He had removed his tie and shoes and loosened the top two buttons of his shirt; his hair was ruffled as though he had been running his hands through it and he looked apprehensive to approach her. Sandra frowned; had she done this to him? Had she somehow turned him timid with her own fears and concerns?

“You
look tired,” he said as he sat tentatively beside her on the edge of the tub, handing her a glass.

“I
am,” she said honestly. “It’s been a long day.”

“That
it has,” he remained silent for several seconds, looking down into the glass in his hands.

“When
I first met you, it was only a few months after I had been shot,” he said, quietly thinking back on the past few years. “I didn’t go out in public for months after I got out of hospital. I even considered selling my company, I was afraid like I never had before; even Miriam’s father hadn’t frightened me as badly as I was that day.