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Next to Armando.
As his date.
Not a date. Calling tonight a date made the evening sound like it was something special rather than two friends attending an event together. Which the two of them had done dozens of times before. The only thing different about tonight was the seating arrangement.
And the fact he was picking her up.
And that the concert would be broadcast across all of Corinthia. With her seated by Armando’s side, which would make her look like his date.
Had he known that when he asked her?
Her palms started to sweat. Moving to rub them on her skirt, she caught herself in time.
Squaring her shoulders, she turned left, then right, looking for any unshapely bumps or bulges. The saleswoman had been right about one thing—the dress certainly emphasized her shape. Daily walking had made her legs firm and toned, while good old control-top undergarments had firmed up the rest. She looked, dare she say it, not that bad. If only the dress weren’t bright. So attention seeking.
What makes you think anyone is going to be looking at you?
Three years and Fredo’s voice was as loud as ever in her head, taking her confidence and crushing it into bits.
You’re a cow. You’re an embarrassment.
The last thing she wanted was to embarrass Armando.
Maybe she had time to change. The black dress from last Christmas, he had liked that one, hadn’t he? Or the navy blue one she wore two years ago with the sequined bodice. Could she still fit into it?
She never stressed like this over dresses before.
Then again, she’d never been Armando’s date before. Not a date, she quickly amended.
Just then her living room clock chimed seven. Barely had the last clang sounded when the doorbell rang. Rosa jumped. What the—Three years of having to hustle him out the door, and the one night he had to get ready without her, he was on time?
She opened the door to find him with one shoulder propped against the door frame. Naturally, he looked amazing, the stiff white collar gleaming against his darker skin. In a flash, Rosa’s mind peeled off the clothing to picture the man she saw swimming this morning. All six feet three inches of carved muscle.
“Hi.” The greeting came out a breathy whisper, far too intimate sounding for the circumstances. She cringed inwardly.
Armando eyes widened. “You look...”
She knew it. The dress was too bright.
“Gorgeous,” he finished. “I mean it, that dress is...”
“Thank you. The woman at the boutique talked me into trying something different.”
“Good for her. You should wear red more often. The color suits you.”
Rosa hoped so, because now her cheeks were the same color as her dress, a combination of modesty and embarrassment over her reaction. This wasn’t the first time Armando had ever paid her a compliment, yet awareness ghosted across her skin like it was. Made her feel more feminine and beautiful than she had in years. “You look nice, too,” she told him, looking up through her lashes. “Very...regal.”
“Damn. I was going for dashing.”
Mission definitely accomplished. Almost. “One little thing,” she said. His tie was crooked. “You never can get your tie proper,” she said, reaching up.
“That’s because you weren’t there to help me,” he replied, lifting his chin. “Arianna had to tie it for me.”
“Well, that explains why it’s better than usual.”
Rosa felt his warm breath on the top of her head as she adjusted the tie. Despite having done this dozens of times, she’d never noticed the distinctness of his aftershave until now. Reminded her of a wood after summer rain, earthy and cool. The kind of scent that made a person want to run barefoot through the moss.
Or comb their fingers through their hair.
“There.” Smoothing his collar, she stepped back before her thoughts could embarrass her again. “Much better.”
He gave her a smile. “Whatever would I do without you?”
“Spend eternity with a crooked tie, for one thing.” Once again, her body reacted as though he weren’t making a comment he’d made before. This was ridiculous. Tonight was really no different from any other night. Why, then, was she acting as though it was? Surely she wasn’t so desperate for male validation that her subconscious needed to assign deeper meaning to everything Armando said and did. “I just need to get my wrap and I’ll be ready to go.”
“You’re not...”
“What?” She’d not gotten more than a few feet before he spoke. Turning around, she caught the hint of a blush crawling down his cheekbones.
“You’re not going to put on some jacket and wear it all night, are you?”
