"Oh my word ... wow!"

Amelia began cleaning up the tools of her trade. "My work here is complete. Your dress and everything to be worn beneath are hanging in the closet."

Felicia made her way to the adjacent space and flipped on the light. She gasped at the flow of golden silk cascading from the hanger and falling toward the floor. "It's gorgeous!"

"The color is perfect for you. Shoes are in the corner. Hurstgrove has your jewelry for the evening. Good-bye, dear."

"Good-bye. You're a genius."

"You're welcome."

With that the woman and her assistant left. Felicia stared at herself in the mirror, and her confidence surged. A woman like her could attract a man like Simon.

Perhaps, but that didn't make her immune to heartbreak.

Her smile faded as she reached for the dress.

Moments and several troubled thoughts later, Felicia tied the sash around her waist. Amazing. Everything fit perfectly. Slightly Grecian with a twist of Katharine Hepburn, the silky dress hugged her breasts and cinched in at the waist, accentuated by 152

the wide strip of silk, then fell like a dream to her feet. She stepped into strappy black shoes that were clearly expensive and felt like a cloud.

A moment later, Simon knocked on the door. "Ready? We're beyond fashionably late."

She opened the door. He cut a handsome figure with a fresh haircut and a form-fitting tuxedo. Debonair and smooth. Lethal to her heart.

When he clapped eyes on her, his jaw dropped. "Stunning." He blew out a harsh breath. "I always knew you were beautiful, but tonight ... hmm, you're so sexy, Sunshine.

I wish we could stay in."

"Great idea!"

He shook his head regretfully. "Nice try. All part of the plan."

Felicia stifled a curse. "Where are we going? And how many people will have seen our pictures by the time we arrive?"

"It's a benefit dinner, and probably everyone. Just smile. I promise I'll take care of the rest." He took her hand in his.

In the bedroom, he handed her a delicate black wool coat. Around her neck, he clapped a gorgeous string of huge lustrous black and golden orbs decorated with diamond rondelles. He attached matching strings to her ears.

"These are gorgeous!" She gasped. "Are they pearls?"

He nodded. "Black and golden Tahitians."

"They're perfect," she breathed, fingering them in the mirror.

"Then they match you."

Such over-the-top flattery, yet when he spoke the words, there was no mistaking his sincerity. Her heart thawed a bit more.

"Aren't these very rare? And very expensive?"

"So I'm told."

A shocking thought hit her. "Tell me you borrowed these."

A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "If you don't like them, they'll go back tomorrow."

Felicia nearly choked. "You bought them?"

Simon shrugged, which she took to mean yes.

"I can't take something this extravagant."

"You're not taking; I'm giving them to you. No more arguments. Now ..." He handed her a heavy, coordinated champagne bag. "The Doomsday Diary is tucked in there. Amelia put your lipstick inside as well, and I'm to tell you on penalty of death that you must retouch."

Despite the nerves fluttering in her belly, Felicia cracked a smile.

"Hmm. I may have to smudge it myself, just to test your dedication to reapplication."

"Simon ..."

"Ah," he said regretfully. "Another speech where you tell me to keep my distance.

Hasn't it occurred to you yet that I'm not listening?"

No, she'd gotten that, loud and clear. "So my wishes don't matter?"

"That's not it." He took her hand, pressing his forehead to hers. "You're hiding, not just from me, but yourself. Once you see what it's like to be truly loved and to love back ... well, if you'd like to return to your walled-off existence, I'll do my best to give 153

you what you want. But I don't think you want to spend the rest of your life alone."

Felicia sucked in a breath. He got right to the heart of the matter so quickly. How did he voice her biggest fears and make her see them from a totally different angle? What if he was right?

And then what if something parted them?

"You're thinking too much." He tugged on her hand. "Let's go."

In the chilly evening, the valet brought the car around. The paparazzi hovered, jostling and shouting.

"Pictures of you and your fiance's brother are circulating the Internet. Are they real?"

"How long have you been lovers?"

"Your Grace, your brother is denying that you have any sexual relationship with Ms. Safford. Given the recent pictures, how can that be true?"

"No comment," Duke said firmly, then hustled her into a sleek silver limousine that stopped inches from them.

Felicia's teeth chattered when she got inside, not just from the cold, but the apprehension. People had already seen the pictures. Mason, too? Cold dread slid through her stomach. What must he be thinking?

"May I use your phone?" she said to Simon as he climbed in.

He hesitated, then handed it to her. "Is something wrong?"

"I can't do this to Mason. He stood by me, held my hand, assumed so many of my responsibilities after Deirdre's death. I don't want him to discover ... us from a bunch of tabloid pictures."

Simon grabbed her wrist. "I inspected them before I allowed Holly to post anything. Caden watched our back. The pictures are sensual but tasteful. They don't look posed at all. Will Mason know from looking at them that we're lovers? Yes. But I made certain they should neither hurt nor embarrass you." He released her slowly. "Call him."

Felicia did. It was a frustrating but guilty relief to get his voicemail. Not knowing what to say in a recording that wouldn't crush him, she simply hung up.

"I admire you for wanting to soften the blow," Simon said softly. "When you do talk to him, he may say that he loves you, but I'll do whatever it takes to fight for you and make you believe in me."

She swallowed her emotions. With every word and deed, Simon demonstrated his devotion. He took care of her in every way. Would a man with no feelings for her trouble himself to do that? No. That trembling part of her again asked how long his love could possibly last. Her head knew forever was the right answer. Her heart balked for every night as a child when she'd cried in her bed, aching with longing for someone to love her.

Only Deirdre had cared about her, and anguish pummeled Felicia when she remembered walking into the bathroom and finding the only person she'd ever let herself really love dead and cold. At Deirdre's funeral, she'd held in the furious tears until everyone had gone. With a stab in her heart, she still recalled wading through grief for the next days and weeks, but no one really reached out to her. Even Mason hadn't insisted she grieve. He'd pushed her to resume a normal life and hadn't tried to make her face the feelings she'd known she couldn't deal with alone.

But Simon ... if he knew she'd never really let herself cry for Deirdre, he'd be stunned and appalled and insist she do so now.

How could she not love such a man? It was impossible, and her heart knew it.

"I'm trusting you." Her voice shook as she put her hand in his.

He'd likely interpret her words to be about the evening, but it meant so much more. She was too afraid to tell him, but Simon was smart. He would figure out soon that she'd all but fallen for him.

Minutes later, the limousine stopped. Felicia peered out the window. Brown Hotel, another exclusive place for the rich and famous. The driver opened the door, and Simon climbed out. Immediately the press swarmed, shouting lewd questions that rattled her. He ignored them.

Placing her shaking hand in his outstretched one, she clutched her bag with the other and stood on wobbling legs. Flashbulbs went off, one after the other, until the effect was like a strobe light. She clutched his arm.

"Relax," Simon whispered. "They can't do anything to you."

She took a deep breath. He was right. But there was no doubt these vultures had seen the pictures. What were they saying about them? Her?

Felicia turned to him, frowning. "If they can't do anything, why are you so watchful?"

"There may be trouble tonight."

"Mathias?" Horror crept through her voice.

"Perhaps. Just remain cautious and stay close to me."

They pressed slowly through the shouting paparazzi. Cameras and aggressive gossipmongers blocked their way, but thankfully, they were soon at the door, striding through the palatial, expansive lobby, winding their way to an over-the-top ballroom that shouted exclusivity and money. Everyone around them glittered with diamonds and silks, sparkling teeth and perfection. Felicia stopped in her tracks. She recognized actors, politicians, pop stars--a virtual who's who of British wealth.

This was Simon's world, and he looked very comfortable in it. Even without all the magical and Mathias problems, their relationship would be a challenge. She went to work every morning in something faded and cotton, trainers and ponytails. Simon never wore anything less than perfectly pressed designer couture. She winced.

"I don't belong here."

"Don't be silly," he murmured. "I don't like all this pretentious crap, honestly. But you must look comfortable, or they'll eat you alive." He gestured to the other guests.

A gasp nearby startled Felicia. Within moments, the room began to buzz. Stares swerved their way. Felicia felt their dissecting gazes and shifted restlessly, wishing for a hole to hide in.

Simon wrapped an arm around her and nuzzled her, whispering, "You look gorgeous. Elegant. Their opinions, whatever they are, don't matter. Take a deep breath.

We can last a few hours."

Felicia took a deep breath, swallowed. Simon needed her to play her part. If they were going to keep the press buzzing, she had to look happy and in love, not scared to death.

"Sorry." She pasted on a smile and turned to him. "Better?"

"Hmm, not yet, but we'll keep working on it." He snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and thrust it into her hands. "Drink."

She wasn't terribly fond of alcohol, but this was light and sweet and a surprising 155

godsend. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Let's dance."

"I'm not very good," she admitted.

"Good thing I lead and you follow." He smiled.

The orchestra played an old and romantic standard, Someone to Watch Over Me .

How apropos. Felicia swayed in Simon's arms. Here, she felt safe, warm, despite paparazzi snapping pictures through the windows and guests staring. For a few perfect minutes, the world shrank to just her and Simon, dancing sublimely close, his heart beating against hers.

With a pass under his arm, Felicia felt light, happy. He was, not surprisingly, very light on his feet. A firm but smooth leader. He dipped her low, and Felicia bent over his arm.

Only to see Mason storming their way. She scrambled upright and turned to face him, butterflies colliding in her stomach and guilt coursing through her veins.

"What the hell is going on between you two?" Mason snarled at his brother, glancing once at her with open anguish.

Something in her chest crumpled. No doubt, she'd hurt Mason, perhaps even broken his heart in the way she most feared having hers broken. She felt two inches tall.

"We're dancing." Simon carefully shifted Felicia behind him. "And unless I'm mistaken, you're not on the guest list."

Fury contorted Mason's face. "You son of a--"

"Mason," she said gently, stepping closer to him. "I tried to call. I want to talk calmly about this."

He turned a furious glare on her. "The fact he carried you off to 'rescue' you, and you what, fell into his arms?"

The room turned deadly silent. Felicia gaped for something to say. "Mason, I am in danger and--"

"Really? From whom? Are you going to tell me the waiters are armed?"

She hesitated, wondering how to explain Mathias without revealing magickind.

Mason's face tightened brutally in the silence.

"It's complicated." Simon stood between them protectively.

"The only danger to her is you. Look me in the eye and tell me you didn't fuck her."

Felicia recoiled. He spit the words with contempt, his face a snarl. It wasn't concern, but resentment. She hardly knew what to say.

"It's none of your bloody business," Simon insisted. "You don't ever talk about her that way again. She's terrified of her own feelings, and she invested six years in trusting you. After Deirdre's death, sharing any part of herself wasn't easy. I know you know that.

If you really care for her, are you going to humiliate her in public now?"

Simon's words melted everything inside her. She clutched his hand tighter.

Betrayal distorted Mason's face, but he shook his head. "No, I'm not going to humiliate Felicia. But I have the ability and authority to make you regret ever crossing me."

Mason turned and motioned to someone at the door. Moments later, two men wearing distinctive tall, dark blue helmets came at them with purposeful strides. Felicia's stomach clenched. The Metropolitan Police.