The A-List Collection. Victoria Fox
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who scribbled it down with a flourish. Elisabeth was cross, even though a tiny part of her rather liked it.
‘I have requested a very special cocktail,’ said Alberto, ‘of my own invention.’ His eyes scanned her body, taking in every inch of her long legs, exposed at the thigh in her slip of a gown. It occurred to Elisabeth that she should have kept her distance and settled opposite him, but she’d done it now.
‘Very well,’ she said tartly. She noticed that he was partway through a bottle of Chianti, its bottom squat in a basket of cork, and made a mental note to drink slowly. Whatever was in Alberto’s creation was likely to be far more intoxicating than wine.
The drink arrived–a garish concoction of pinks and oranges in a tall, thin-stemmed martini glass. A glacé cherry hung suspended in the syrup, impaled on the end of a fizzing sparkler. It was gloriously nineties.
Sensing he was waiting for her response, Elisabeth made a face. ‘It’s stunning.’ Which wasn’t entirely a lie.
But it did taste good. Several cocktails later and Elisabeth was starting to feel decidedly woozy. This was accompanied by a blooming sense of recklessness as she basked in the glow of Alberto’s adulation.
‘There is something I hoped to speak with you about,’ he said, taking her hand.
Elisabeth flinched at the contact, but she didn’t move away. ‘What is it?’
‘It is about your mother. About us. You see, we—’
‘Bellini, please …’
‘Listen to me. I have thought very carefully about this, and I must—’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Don’t. I just want to forget about everything tonight. I need to. Let me. I don’t want to talk about her.’
Alberto searched her eyes. ‘What is the matter?’
A pause. ‘Honestly?’ She met his gaze. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Talk to me. You know you can tell me anything.’
Elisabeth smiled. ‘Of course I know. You’ve always been like part of the family.’
He looked sad. ‘Indeed.’
‘Robert and I, we’ve got standing in this city. People look up to us.’ She was talking fuzzily now. Another cocktail arrived and she hiccupped. ‘Sorry, that sounds awful.’
Alberto shook his head. ‘Nothing you say ever could.’
‘I’m losing him.’ She wrung her hands. ‘I can’t explain why, but I am. It’s ever since my father brought him in on this premiere, I just know there’s something he’s keeping from me.’
Alberto waited for her to go on.
‘It’s Bernstein.’ Her gaze hardened. ‘He’s pushing so far he’s just driving Robert away. It’s all his fault.’
‘Your father has always done what is best for you.’ Alberto leaned closer. ‘He wanted to try and make up for what happened–I know that, I was witness to it. Maybe he has gone too far, it is possible. After your mother died, we all—’ ‘Do you think he still loves me?’ she asked.
‘St Louis?’
‘Yes.’
‘I am not best placed to judge it,’ said Alberto honestly. ‘You know how I feel.’
Elisabeth swigged her drink. She looked at him kindly, like she was seeing him for the first time. ‘Funny how you’re the only person who understands,’ she said. ‘You’ve always been there. I’ve never said so before, but I appreciate it.’
His voice was a whisper. ‘I had to be.’
‘No, you didn’t. You always cared for my mom, that’s why you care for me. She’d like that.’
‘Perhaps.’
A pause. ‘I don’t know what to do. He doesn’t talk to me any more, not properly, not like before. I’ve never seen Robert like it. He was always so there, you know; so with you. Now it’s like he’s on a different planet most of the time.’
‘St Louis does love you.’ It pained him to say it.
Her voice cracked. ‘So what’s changed?’
Alberto didn’t say anything.
Her eyes switched to his. ‘Do you think he’s having an affair?’
Leaning in close, Alberto placed a hand on her knee. On each he wore several chunky gold signet rings, one which cloistered an almond-sized emerald jewel. Elisabeth shivered inwardly when she imagined what those hands might be capable of–Alberto had been in Vegas when the mob ruled town.
‘I cannot answer that.’
‘I wish I could.’
He kept his hand where it was. ‘What I do know is this: St Louis is crazy. You are beautiful, Elisabeth. You are strong and you fight and you are good.’
Elisabeth’s heart swelled. She met Alberto’s eyes and fell into their rich dark pools. Suddenly she felt faint. The potency of his ardour was dizzying.
She pushed him away. ‘Bellini, you mustn’t.’ But she had to force the words out. ‘There are people here who will talk.’
‘Let them.’
His eyes held hers for what felt like an eternity.
‘Perhaps we should go somewhere more private.’ The words were out before she could stop them. She almost retracted it–she might have had he given her any opportunity.
‘You go,’ he said hoarsely. She thought she saw his hands shaking. ‘I will follow.’
Fifty storeys up in his private suite, Alberto was like a man possessed. Pushing Elisabeth hard against the wall, he ripped open the front of her gown with his bare hands, sucking at her neck, her earlobe, mauling her skin with his huge paws. It was the single most erotic thing that had ever happened to her in her whole entire life.
Shrouded in a cloak of darkness, his lips dived to her breasts, sucking hard on their peaks. She fumbled to turn on the light, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, but he restrained her arms behind her back. He felt different from Robert: his tongue drier and more abrasive, like a cat’s.
‘Elisabeth, my sweet Elisabeth,’ he moaned, his voice smothered by the task. He muttered something in Italian then he was kissing her on the mouth. He took his time exploring, grinding against her, forcing a knee between her legs to bring her apart.
She tore off the rest of her dress and sent it flying across the room, a white ribbon in the pitch. Instantly he was on his knees, a shock of hair gleaming in the moonlight, bright as a swan. Using both thumbs to open her up, his tongue darted to find her wetness. Elisabeth hooked a leg over his shoulder and pulled him further in, little sounds escaping her mouth as he feasted with growing enthusiasm. As the pleasure mounted, she reached down and took his face in her hands.
‘Wait,’ she breathed, all of her crying out for more, ‘not yet.’
With shaking fingers she released the catch on her diamond necklace, the one Robert had given her. She held the gems up a moment, their bright lights winking in the darkness. Then she dropped them to the floor.
Alberto took her hands and led her to the bed, laying her down and kissing her over and over. She heard him undress, the buckle of his trousers; the shiver of material as he shrugged off his shirt. Silently he mounted her. She groped for his hardness, a quick flash of disappointment that he had none of Robert’s size, and slowly began to stroke, guiding him in. It was as if she were looking down at herself from above, as if none of this was actually happening. This is Alberto Bellini. A man older than your father. But her heart was racing and her head was swimming and her body was all aflame.
When he entered