Page 7 of Dante

“You may leave, Ciro.”

After another nod, the front door closes. Dante and I are alone.

“To our union,” Dante says, lifting his glass. I touch the rim with mine.

Then he motions me toward a white sofa positioned to overlook the city. I obey. “I’m told my bride is a virgin,” he says casually.

My stomach flips. “How does everyone know that?” I ask before I can stop myself.

He doesn’t answer. He just takes a sip of Champagne, watching me over the rim of his glass. “Is it true?”

“Yes,” I say, my voice sounding smaller than I intended.

He nods once, then takes the Champagne from my hand. “If you’re finished, I’ll show you your room.”

My room? I follow him down the hallway, where he opens a door and gestures inside.

The room is enormous. A king-sized bed. Too many pillows. Floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides. The bathroom beyond gleams with marble.

“This is yours,” Dante tells me. “Mine is next door, but you are not permitted to enter. When I visit you at night, it will be in here.”

Oh.

“Your luggage has been brought up. Your things unpacked. Don’t change. I’ll be back shortly.”

The door closes behind him. And suddenly, I’m alone in my wedding dress, waiting for my husband to return.

CHAPTER 4

GINA

Istand listening to the quiet hum of the city outside the glass while I look at myself in the mirror.

My reflection stares back at me.

Who is this stranger in a seven-tiered Southern Belle style wedding dress? The bodice hugs my normally moderate breasts so tightly I can barely breathe, pushing them up and together like an offering.

I turn slightly from side to side. Each flounce is accented with a fabric rose, which holds the whole thing together.

This dress is 100-percent a fantasy of my mother’s, who loves Scarlett’s dresses in Gone with the Wind.

I run my hands down the tight bodice to my hips, wondering if Dante has the patience to undo the two dozen pearl buttons in the back.

The dress feels heavier now that I’m alone. “Don’t change,” he said.

No. Ordered.

I assume that means I’m allowed to use the bathroom. I move across to the marble floor, my fingers trailing along the cool countertop as I take in the sunken tub. It’s deep enough to submerge completely.

And the separate oversized shower with glass walls would hide nothing from view. Would Dante watch me as I shower? Or would he shower with me, his body pressed against mine under the hot spray.

My body tingles at the thought.

When I turn to the soft, fluffy folded towels, I imagine Dante’s hands on me, drying every inch of my damp skin after we’d shared that shower.

When I step back into the bedroom, I gasp to find Dante standing near the bed.

My stomach flips.