Page 123 of Pretender

“She was here while I was screaming in the shower!”

He shrugs, but I gape at him and he laughs.

“Nothing to be ashamed of.” He grins. “I’m sure my bass-grunting carried further than your voice but you don’t see me blushing about it.”

“I’m not blushing,” I say, touching my ear. Yes, I am.

“Sex with you is out of this world, I’m not going to be quiet,” he says.

I beam at him. “It really is divine.”

The doorbell rings just as Aiden takes a container out of the fridge. He knits his brow and checks his watch.

“Not expecting anyone?” I ask.

“No…” he says, dragging the word out. “Odd.”

He answers the intercom, but I can’t hear what the other person says. Sounds like a delivery. He buzzes them in and returns to the kitchen with a glint in his eye.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“What?”

“It’s something I ordered for the wedding—if you want to wear it then, that’s up to you.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll see in a minute.”

There’s a knock on the door and we both go to answer. A black-haired young man stands at the door with a large garment bag held up.

It has large, swirling golden letters.

Casa Aurato.

“Aiden,” I breathe, my stomach tingling at the sight of the logo.

“The lady said she had a few favourites you’d suit, but the main thing is the dress.” He turns to the man and thanks him, and passes me the bag. I carry it over to the couch, in a trance. And while I zip it open and see the royal blue dress, I only distantly register they’re speaking in Italian.

“Wow,” I whisper at what I find inside. I need to hang this up so I can take the rest out. I look up to tell Aiden, but he’s still talking to the man. He glances at me and says something more to the man. Seems a bit heated, but it’s hard to tell when it’s a passionate kind of language.

Aiden ends the conversation in what seems a rather abrupt way. I need to translate those words later.

Or I could just ask…

I’m still standing with the garment bag in my hands when Aiden returns, and seeing him with a worry crease makes me tense up. He says he never worries.

“What’s wrong? Who was that?”

Aiden exhales, and I put the bag down and walk to him, wanting to be close when he seems upset, to rub away the lines from his forehead.

“Uh… He just had a lot of questions about where I got the clothes. Was getting a bit annoying in the end there.”

“What did you say to him, dico sono something?” I ask, completely butchering the words, I’m sure. “You said it in the end.”

“Dica loro che non sono interessato,” he repeats, his voice clipped, almost cold. “Tell them I’m not interested.”

“Tell who? What are you not interested in?”