We go through another few of his selections, all with similar results.
Then I’m jolted by an impatient knock on the door.“I want to see a dress, Valentina.”
“I’m trying things on.”
“And I’m growing impatient.If you don’t want me in there with you…”
His unfinished threat hangs in the air.
Frustrated, I close my eyes.He’ll follow through; I have no doubt.And this room is too damn small to have him in here.
And I don’t want him seeing me half naked.
“Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes.”Then, unable to help myself, I add a very sarcastic, “Sir.”
Moretti chuckles, a dark sinister sound.“That’s how I like my bride.Respectful and compliant.”
Oh my God.
The bastard liked that?
“Five minutes, Valentina.Or I’ll be the one putting you in a gown.”
My stomach flutters in a mix of defiance and desire.But I hold my breath until I’m sure he’s gone.
If he’s at all surprised by our interaction, Randy doesn’t let on.Instead, he turns away.“Finding out what you don’t like will help us get closer to the perfect one.”
Even though I remain unconvinced, I exhale.
He selects another gown.
I don’t like it either.
Maybe it’s the idea of marriage I hate more than the dress.
Reluctantly I leave the room and step up onto the platform.
The gown’s weight pulling at my shoulders, I face Dante.
His gaze rakes over me slowly, starting at the hem and climbing up, lingering on the way the fabric clings to my waist, the modest neckline that hides more than it reveals.
Heat builds under his scrutiny, my nipples tightening against the built-in cups, and I hate that I can’t control my physical response to him.
Though his expression continues to be neutral, he taps his fingers once on the armrest.
Of course I note the gesture.
It’s a subtle tell that he’s assessing, calculating.
This is knowledge I’ll be able to use against him later.
“Too conservative.”
“But we’re getting married in a church.”Why do I have to argue with him?After all, I don’t like it either.
“It hides you.”His voice is low and resonant, carrying across the room with its finality.“Next.”
