I glare at him, and he angles the rim of his cup toward me.“Wanted to make this as easy for you as possible, darling.”
It’s all I can do not to snarl.
The annoying-as-hell man settles into a plush armchair that faces the platform, legs spread wide, one ankle crossed over his knee, exuding the authority of a lord surveying his domain.
“Let’s get started, shall we?”Randy claps his hands lightly, his energy infectious despite my reluctance.
Still holding my coffee, I follow him to a private dressing area.
He closes the door behind us.
The room is surprisingly spacious, and there are mirrors on three sides, along with a velvet bench.There’s also a small table for my coffee.
Randy points out a silk robe bearing the shop’s logo.“If you’d like to slip into that, we can begin.”
No doubt refusal will mean that Moretti will stride in and strip me.
And part of me is tempted to push him.
“Something to eat?”he asks.
After everything I’ve been through, I’m ravenous.“One of those croissant sandwiches, please.”
He leaves, and I study the robe and the entire rack of dresses.All of them are white.
Needing fortification, I drink my coffee before reluctantly changing into the robe.
When he returns, he’s carrying my breakfast, and he’s thoughtfully warmed it up so the cheese is all gooey goodness.
Even after I’ve finished eating and I’ve wiped my fingers on a damp, warmed towel, I’m no closer to wanting to try any of them on.
“Where would you like to start?”
I wrinkle my nose.
“How about this one?”He plucks a silk A-line with a high neckline and long sleeves from its hanger.
His touch is totally professional, and within moments, the fabric slides over my skin like cool water, hugging my curves before flaring gently at the hip.The train pools behind me in a whisper of luxury.
I turn toward the mirror.The material catches the light.It’s smooth and unadorned, simple in its elegance.
It feels fine—understated, maybe, but that’s what I want.
But as Randy pins a veil into my hair, doubt creeps in.It’s not perfect.
Then again, will anything be?
“What do you think?”
“I’m not…” I turn several different directions.There’s technically nothing wrong with the fit, but I’m not convinced I like it.“I don’t know.”
“Shall we get your fiancé’s opinion?”
I want to tell him none of this is real, but I keep my mouth shut.
Valentina Russo doesn’t air her dirty laundry in public.
But still… “No.”I don’t like it nearly enough to spend more than five minutes in it.
