Bared to You

party style—fitted bodice with a knee-length skirt
that flared out from the waist. It was even white
with flowers. But that’s where the tea-and-
crumpets style ended.
The edginess came from the strapless form, the
alternating layers of black and crimson satin
underskirts that gave it volume, and the black
leather flowers that looked like wicked pinwheels.
Cary had picked the red Jimmy Choo peep-toe
pumps out of my closet and the ruby drop earrings
to give it all the finishing touch. We’d decided to
leave my hair loose around my shoulders, in case

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we arrived and learned that hats were required.
All in all, I felt pretty and confident.
Clancy drove us through an imposing set of
monogrammed gates and turned into a circular
driveway, following the direction of a valet. Cary
and I got out by the entrance, and he took my arm
as my heels sank into blue-gray gravel on the walk
to the house.
Upon entering the Vidal’s sprawling Tudor-style
mansion, we were warmly greeted by Gideon’s
family in a receiving line—his mother, stepfather,
Christopher, and their sister.
I took in the sight, thinking the Vidal family could
only look more perfect if Gideon was lined up with
them. His mother and sister had his coloring, both
women boasting the same glossy obsidian hair
and thickly-lashed blue eyes. They were both
beautiful in a finely wrought way.
“Eva!” Gideon’s mother drew me toward her,
then air-kissed both of my cheeks. “I’m so
pleased to finally meet you. What a gorgeous girl
you are! And your dress. I love it.”
“Thank you.”
Her hands brushed over my hair, cupped my
face, and then slid down my arms. It was hard for
me to bear it, because touching was sometimes
an anxiety trigger for me when the person was a
stranger. “Your hair, is it naturally blond?”
“Yes,” I replied, startled and confused by the
question. Who asked a question like that of a
stranger?
“How fascinating. Well, welcome. I hope you
have a wonderful time. We’re so glad you could
make it.”
Feeling strangely unsettled, I was grateful when
her attention moved to Cary and zeroed in.
“And you must be Cary,” she crooned. “Here I’d
been certain my two boys were the most attractive

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in the world. I see I was wrong about that. You are
simply divine, young man.”
Cary flashed his megawatt smile. “Ah, I think I’m
in love, Mrs. Vidal.”
She laughed with throaty delight. “Please. Call
me Elizabeth. Or Lizzie, if you’re brave enough.”
Looking away, I found my hand clasped by
Christopher Vidal Senior. In many ways, he
reminded me of his son, with his slate green eyes
and boyish smile. In others, he was a pleasant
surprise. Dressed in khakis, loafers, and a
cashmere cardigan, he looked more like a
college professor than a music company
executive.
“Eva. May I call you Eva?”
“Please do.”
“Call me Chris. It makes it a little easier to
distinguish between me and Christopher.” His
head tilted to the side as he contemplated me
through quirky brass spectacles. “I can see why
Gideon is so taken with you. Your eyes are a
stormy gray, yet they’re so clear and direct. Quite
the most beautiful eyes I think I’ve ever seen,
aside from my wife’s.”
I flushed. “Thank you.”
“Is Gideon coming?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” Why didn’t his parents
know the answer to that question?
“We always hope.” He gestured at a waiting
servant. “Please head back to the gardens and
make yourself at home.”
Christopher greeted me with a hug and a kiss
on the cheek, while Gideon’s sister Ireland sized
me up in a sulky way that only a teenager could
pull off. “You’re a blonde,” she said.
Jeez.
Was Gideon’s preference for dark-haired
women a damn law or something? “And you’re a

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very lovely brunette.”
Cary offered me his arm and I accepted it
gratefully.
As we walked away, he asked me quietly,
“Were they what you expected?”
“His mom, maybe. His stepdad, no.” I looked
back over my shoulder, taking in the elegant floor-
length cream sheath dress that clung to Elizabeth
Vidal’s svelte figure. I thought of what little I knew
about Gideon’s family. “How does a boy grow up
to be a businessman who takes over his
stepfather’s family business?”
“Cross owns shares in Vidal Records?”
“Controlling interest.”
“Hmm. Maybe it was a bailout?” he offered. “A
helping hand during a trying time for the music
industry?”
“Why not just give him the money?” I wondered.
“Because he’s a shrewd businessman?”
With a sharp exhalation, I waved the question
away and cleared my mind. I was attending the