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Marcello yanked on my arm and dragged me toward the door. “It’s not charity. You need to look the part.”
“Please keep manhandling me,” I deadpanned. “Because I love it so fucking much.”
A middle-aged woman with long black hair, wearing a tight red dress that stopped at her knee, strolled over to us with a bright smile. She was pretty and polished. Her smile widened as she appraised Marcello, who looked like he’d just fallen out of a fashion magazine.
“Mr. Salvatore,” she cooed. “Welcome back to Caio Bella.” Then she turned her gaze to me. “And this must be the lovely Alexandrea. I’ve heard so much about you.” She extended her hand to me. “I’m Domenica Gallo, the owner of this boutique.”
I shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
She steered me toward a quaint sitting area at the center of the room. “I set aside Mr. Salvatore’s order. He’s very particular, as I’m sure you know.”
“You mean Luca?”
“Yes.” She pressed her lips together, smearing her red lipstick. “Mr. Salvatore called this morning. He said you needed a new wardrobe.”
The smile I forced burned my cheeks. “I can’t wait to see what Luca picked out for me.”
The Salvatores controlled every part of my life. Why would my choice of clothing be any different?
“Give me a few minutes to grab everything, and I’ll be right back.” Domenica headed toward the back of the store and called out, “Valentina, champagne for our guests.”
Racks and shelves rounded out two sides of the boutique, with a long row of fabric couches and tables interspersed down the center aisle. It had a homey vibe, bright white with little pops of black, gray, and red.
A young brunette emerged from behind a velvet curtain with a silver tray in her hand. “Mr. Salvatore, welcome back to Caio Bella.”
I assumed this was Valentina, who handed a glass of champagne to Marcello. He took it with a thankful nod and passed it to me, waving her off when she offered him another glass.
“Alexandrea,” she beamed. “Everyone in Devil’s Creek has been talking about you.”
I sipped my champagne and nodded. “I’m sure they have.”
When Domenica reappeared, she had at least two dozen items draped over her arms. She called out to Valentina for help, and the pretty brunette rushed to her side, taking some clothes from her. Domenica slid a plush curtain along a metal bar, and the women got to work hanging everything from dresses and skirts to jeans and expensive shirts on hooks.
The modest-sized dressing room had a comfortable-looking bench and a floor-length mirror, which spanned most of one wall. Valentina told me about each piece’s designer. I loved art, not fashion, and zoned out halfway through her speech.
Most of the time, my clothes had paint or chemicals on them, so I stuck to cheaper brands. I would never order a five hundred dollar shirt for myself.
Ridiculous.
“If you need different sizes, let us know,” Domenica said before exiting the dressing room.
I tried on a skirt that clung to my thighs, pairing it with a sleeveless pale pink top that showed some cleavage. Domenica was spot on with my sizes. I stuffed my feet into ballet flats, jeweled sandals, and heels of varying heights. I changed out of a pencil skirt and blouse and grabbed a lipstick red dress with a small bow on the right hip. The fabric stopped mid thigh, leaving little to the imagination.
It was cute.
My breasts were a size too big for the top, and when I reached behind me, I couldn’t grab the zipper. I slid the curtain to the side and beckoned Marcello with my index finger. He moved toward me without complaint and shut the curtain.
With my back facing him, I pointed to my zipper. “I need your help.”
Marcello pressed his hand on my lower back. “You look like a present,” he said against the shell of my ear, caging me against the mirror with his muscular body.
“Maybe you should unwrap me,” I quipped.
His fingers traveled up and down my spine as he pulled up the zipper. I held my breath as our eyes met in the mirror. He looked so much like Luca. And for a second, I wondered if they tasted the same.
I shook the thought from my mind. Marcello was no better than Luca.
“Looks like Luca ordered the wrong size,” he said in that sexy voice that made my pulse pound as his fingers swept across my breasts.
