Page 19 of Tell Me You Want Me

“You could wear a burlap sack and make it look cute,” Seraphina teases, changing the subject.

“Romy, can you reserve it for six o’clock?” I ask.

“Yes, the fashion show will promptly begin then. Don’t be late,” she replies.

After a chorus of goodbyes and tossed air kisses, the call is disconnected, leaving my office area quiet. I lean back in my chair, excited to help Gennie step in the confidence I know she has. We’ve all supported each other through heartbreaks, terrible exes, and life-changing career shifts, and seeing her finally reclaim a little bit of her light back in her eyes, well, it’s the icing on the cake.

My phone buzzes on the desk. I pick it up, expecting it to be a message from our group chat, but Dante’s name illuminates the screen.

Dante: Do you miss me yet?

I bite back a ridiculous smile while typing out a quick response.

Alexandria: Barely. I have an emergency girls’ night to help Gennie prep for the charity gala.

His reply comes almost instantly.

Dante: A charity event? I might have to buy out the entire auction to keep my wife home with me.

Alexandria: Considering you’re now my plus one, I don’t think buying the whole event is necessary. Then again, Gennie is looking for more contributors. Care to make a sizable donation?

Dante: Depends on what I get in return…

Alexandria: Anything you want?

I’m playing a dangerous game when I send my last text. It could be anything when it comes to Dante Lombardi.

Dante: Your last name changed, this weekend in Medina, and you in no clothing.

Alexandria: Deal.

Dante: Writing the check now. See you at home, wife.

Alexandria: See you at home, husband.

I shake my head, rolling my eyes at his relentlessness. There’s a warm flutter in my stomach that refuses to fade. I set my phone aside and pull up the email I was working on, ready to power through the rest of my workday so I can be there for Gennie and go home to Dante.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

alexandria

By the time Friday evening rolls around, my back is aching and my feet are screaming in my heels. Vik calling a last-minute meeting right as I was packing up my desk was not on my bingo card. Dante left earlier in the day to head to his house, excuse me,ourhouse in Medina. The drive across Lake Washington gave me time to decompress, the evening sun painting the water in hues of golds, oranges, and purples.

When I pull up the long, gated driveway to the sprawling estate, the house is quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the interior accent lighting, and it helps relax me even more. I park the car in the garage, next to Dante’s, another change I’ve had to acclimate to. A car, in the city, seems unfathomable, but when I left the penthouse apartment today, Dante gave me three options: drive in with him, which is what I’ve been doing, but it also meant leaving with him, and I couldn’t do that with work. Take a hired car from work then to Medina, which seemed really crazy to me. Then there was the last option: I drive one of his cars to work and then to the estate. I chose the last, he followed me to work, and then he made me promise to text him before I left work. I did that, too.

I get out of the car, grab my things, and walk inside, slipping off my high heels in the mudroom off the kitchen with a long, satisfied sigh. Dante didn’t just move my things—he practically transported my entire apartment. My favorite plush velvet chair is positioned perfectly near the glass window overlooking the lake here, and the penthouse has all of my potted plants thriving in the natural light that shines through.

And then came boxes and garment bags.

Earlier this week, I mentioned I needed to do a little weekend shopping for a few essentials. In true Dante Lombardi fashion, he took that as a personal challenge. An entire rack of designer clothes, beautiful shoes, and luxury purses are neatly arranged in the penthouse apartment, all in my sizes and favorite colors.

I don’t even want to go upstairs yet; I can only imagine the damage he did yet again for this home. He’s insane, intense, and wildly over the top in a loving, possessive, stalker-alpha way. He also made sure I had zero reason to leave him this week or step foot back in my old place.

I drop my work bag and purse on the kitchen island and spot a piece of heavy cream cardstock stationary. Resting next to it is a glass of chilled champagne. I pick up the handwritten note, instantly recognizing Dante’s sharp, slanted penmanship.

Wife,

I’m cashing in on my demand for the weekend in Medina. The one where clothing isn’t an option. Drop everything and meet me in the pool.