I squeezed his hand back and smiled, hoping it wasn’t shaky. “Trust me, I’d love to spend the night with you instead.”
“Oh!” Beau gestured with his chopsticks at the large box he left on the counter. “There was a package on your front step.”
I frowned, popping some tuna into my mouth before I got up to investigate. The red box was embossed with the gold logo for Valentino. I looked up at Beau with wide eyes, one hand automatically covering my mouth as it dropped open in shock. Returning my eyes to the box, I carefully lifted the lid and pulled back the voluminous layers of tissue paper.
Beneath it lay a pool of deep red silk.
I loved fashion.
And no matter my attempts to contradict it, I was an Italian.
Valentino was one of the country’s most covetous brands and inside this luxurious box lay something I knew in my bones was tailored exactly to me.
My fingers trembled slightly as I lifted the heavy, cool silk up and out of the box to hold against my body. It was the same color as my fingernails, as my favorite lipstick, just a few beautiful shades brighter than my own deep red hair.
“My God,” Beau breathed, knowing exactly how exquisite the dress was because he was a fashion photographer. “Elena, that’s vintage Valentino.”
I didn’t have the words to respond. Instead, in a fit of uncharacteristic immodesty, I gently settled the dress on top of the box and undressed. Beau didn’t bat an eyelash until I was lifting the sumptuous fabric up to my body and then, he only gasped slightly before getting up to help me fasten it closed.
I couldn’t stop petting the silk that skimmed perfectly over my hips as I stepped away from Beau then turned to face him.
“Well?” I breathed, completely seduced by the garment.
“You look sensational,” he promised. “If I wasn’t a gay man, I would get to my knees right now.”
My laugh was slightly breathless as I lifted the excess fabric off the ground and tiptoed to the full-length mirror by my hall closet.
Oh.
I’d worked hard on my self-image over the years even though it often seemed like a fruitless, uphill battle. When you had a sister who was a supermodel, a brother who was an actor, and another sister who had stolen the only two men you’d ever dated, it was difficult to appreciate your own beauty. Dr. Marsden taught me self-affirmations, meditation, and acts of kindness that helped, marginally, but I’d never felt the way I did standing in my hallway in that dress.
I felt transformed.
Like Cinderella in her ball gown, it seemed to me I was a totally different person, the woman I’d always aspired to me.
The bold red wasn’t a color I would have ever picked myself, but it made my pale olive skin pop beautifully and contrasted wonderfully with my cool gray eyes. My hair seemed darker, a red as deep as fine Italian wine. The fabric skimmed my long, lean planes and nipped in at my waist and breasts, plumping the slight mass of the latter until I had natural cleavage.
I looked dangerous, dramatic, and powerful.
Confident.
Only the right kind of man would dare to approach a woman wearing such a dress, and I found the idea of that wonderfully appealing.
“Lena, there are shoes,” Beau called, drawing my gaze to see him pull towering black spike heels from the nest of tissue. “And a card.”
With one last look at the stranger in the mirror, I went over to pluck the envelope from his fingers. I dug my red nail under the edge and ripped it open.
Wear it tonight.
–– Capo
A noise somewhere between a laugh and groan emerged from my mouth as I read the short card three times in quick succession.
“Dante?” Beau asked, leaning over my shoulder to peer at the spiky script.
“Mmm,” I agreed, staring at the card as if it would reveal the secrets of the man who wrote it.
“He likes you,” Beau decided.
I let out a little scoff, but I couldn’t deny it confused me. “At the most, I would say I intrigue him. The way one predator intrigues another.”
Beau considered me for a second. “It sounds as though you might have met your match.”
I fought the urge to snort because it wasn’t ladylike, but as Beau ushered me into my bathroom to freshen up my makeup, I wondered with a tangled sense of dread and wonder if perhaps he was right.
DANTE
The party was in full swing by the time Elena Lombardi deigned to show up. I was leading a toast for the Feast of San Gennaro when the air in the room seemed to shift, the particles rearranging themselves to make room for a bold new presence.
I continued my toast, but I could feel her eyes on my skin like an electric prod.