She blinked in confusion at the message. Suddenly, she remembered—London Fashion Week. She'd been so distracted by Linda's problems, she'd forgotten that the opening show was coming up. As soon as Geoffrey pulled up to the front door, she hopped out of the car and raced up the stairs to her bedroom. She headed straight to the closet and gasped at what she saw.

A mannequin had been placed in the center of the closet. It wore a scarlet silk gown that glowed like a jewel in the overhead light. Around its wrist, a stunning bracelet of teardrop diamond and rubies glittered and sparkled, and a pair of elegant white high-heeled sandals rested at its feet. She stepped forward, gently taking the silk in her hands—it brushed her skin like liquid, and she smiled.

​​

Excited by the gown, she stripped off her work clothes and changed into the dress, moving slowly to avoid snagging the silk. She ran to the mirror eagerly and gasped. The dress hugged her curves perfectly—the neckline plunged low without being too revealing, and the waist cinched in perfectly. She twirled and gasped. The dress was slit all the way up to the top of her thigh on one side—she'd never worn something so daring before.

She checked her watch and realized she had to hurry. She let her hair loose from the tight bun and heated curling iron, working to give her dark locks elegant, movie-star waves. Satisfied with her hair, she put on the light, natural makeup, buckled the strap on the sandals, and clasped the heavy bracelet around her waist. As she raced down the stairs, she realized she was still wearing her watch. She paused and took it off, tucking it into the white clutch Sean had given her.

Geoffrey waited for her at the bottom of the stairs and raced her back to London. The opening show for the week was to be held at the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square, and the streets around it had been closed to most traffic. Geoffrey flashed her ID, and the police officers moved the barricade and let them through.

As the car crept toward the museum, Catherine found herself growing nervous. She checked her phone, but there weren't any messages from Sean. Biting her lip, she typed out a text: Almost there. Are you close? She checked her phone anxiously, waiting for a reply, but none came.

"Okay," Geoffrey said, pulling up to the columned entrance. "I have to let you out here."

Catherine swallowed nervously and waited for Geoffrey to open the door. She stepped out and was immediately blinded by the flash of cameras. The car pulled away, and she was alone in the chaos and light. She turned slowly, trying to spot Sean in the elegant crowd, but she didn't see him anywhere. With her heart in her throat, she crept toward the museum entrance, checking her phone constantly.

Suddenly the crow parted, and Sean appeared. He wore a classic, black tuxedo and strode toward her with a smile on his face. Her heart fluttered as he approached and wrapped an arm around her waist.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her ear. "I was stuck at an international meeting. Have you been waiting long?"

"Not too long," she said.

He kissed her cheek and then pulled away to look at her. His eyes traveled slowly up and down her body before stopping on her face.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked, looking down at her dress.

"Not at all," he said, his voice low and hoarse. "You look ravishing."

She felt a blush creep up her neck.

"I mean it," he whispered. "Every man here will have his eyes on you."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "This is a fashion show, after all. It's filled with models."

"Just wait and see," Sean said darkly.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and led her up the red-carpeted stairs and under the marble columns. He showed two tickets to a security man and together they passed through a metal detector and into the main hall of the National Gallery.

"This is overwhelming," she said, looking around at the bright lights, gleaming jewels, and daring dresses.

"Just stay by my side," he said. "I want you to have a good time."

She nodded, and he led her into the crowd. As he walked, people parted naturally, and Catherine felt dozens of curious eyes on them. She was grateful when they entered the gallery for the show. The narrow gallery was divided by a long, black runway, and chairs lined both sides of the catwalk.

Sean led her to seats on the left side. Two suited men were already seated, and they jumped to their feet and waved to Sean. Catherine squinted through the dim room and was surprised to see Brad and Leydon.

"Hey guys," she said.

"You're finally here," Brad exclaimed. "We were starting to think you wouldn't make it at all."

"Why would you think that?" Catherine asked.

Brad and Leydon exchanged grins. Brad said, "Sean never comes to these types of events. He hates them. When he told Leydon he wanted tickets, we thought he was joking."

"You talk too much," Sean said.

"Perhaps," Brad laughed. "By the way, you look very nice, Catherine."

"Thanks," she said. "But I didn't know Sean hated these types of events."

"Oh absolutely," Brad said. "He hates most public events. He'd rather be in his study reading some old book or a business report."

"Can't blame him," Leydon said, rolling his eyes. "This place is a circus."

"Let's sit down," Sean said.

Catherine leaned in toward him as they sat, feeling the warmth spread across her chest. Listening to Brad and Leydon, a sudden thought had struck her. He brought me here so I could get inspiration, she thought, even though he hates it.

"Psst," Brad said from the seta behind them. "Sean, check out that girl in the blue. Isn't that Melanie Harcourt from that one summer in Ibiza?"

"I don't know," Sean said coolly.

"She's looking damn good," Brad said. "Didn't you have a fling with her?"

"Shut up," Sean snapped.

Catherine was suddenly grateful for the dim light. She looked around the room, taking in some of Europe's most beautiful women, and she felt her stomach sink. How many of those women had Sean been involved with? How could she ever measure up to so many models and actresses and socialites?

Sean reached for her hand and stroked it with the tips of his fingers.

"Ignore Brad," he murmured. "He's talking nonsense."

"Psst," Brad whispered. "What do you think about that blonde over there in the black? Those legs—damn."

"Brad," Leydon warned.

"Oh, come on, I'm just asking Sean about the models," Brad said.

"Not in front of my wife," Sean snapped.

"She's not offended," Brad said. "Catherine, are you offended?"

Catherine forced a smile, "Of course not. Though, I'm starting to think you came here for the wrong reasons."

Brad put his hand to his chest, pretending to be offended, "How could you think that?"

"It looks like you're more interested in the women than the clothes," she said.

"She's got you, Brad," Leydon laughed.

"I'll have you know I'm here to see one particular woman," Brad said.

Leydon rolled his eyes, and Sean groaned.

"Who's that?" Catherine asked.

"I'm here to support Leydon's sister," Brad said. "She's modeling in the show, and Leydon and I want to support her."

"Maybe you do," Leydon said.

"Fine," Brad said. "Leydon's not here for Clara, but I am."

"Wait a minute," Catherine said. "You're Leydon Fields, that means your sister would be Clara Fields? Oh my god! Is your sister the Clara Fields?"

Leydon's eyes darkened, "The one and only."

"I can't believe it," she said.