10. Nina
10
NINA
Nina
I nearly jumped out of my skin at Dante’s rough order to move it. I didn’t have much time to pick something suitable for Escott’s, a fine establishment I never in a million years thought I’d go to. But the indecision I battled was fierce, worse than the pressing short deadline.
“I’m telling you,” the boutique’s employee said. She rolled her eyes so quickly I could’ve missed it. “Trust me on this. Get this one.”
She was too pushy, likely wanting to make the commission on selling this designer gown. Her imploring me like that, to “trust” her, wasn’t a show of sisterly advice given because she was an expert. It felt more like a joke. Like she was flaunting her supposed know-how that I lacked.
“I know it’s probably not what you’re familiar with…” She emphasized the dig by scooting past the chair where I’d placed my shirt and jeans. While Eva handled the online shopping for a new wardrobe to suit someone of the Constella caliber of wealth, I had yet to actually wear any of the designer garments. I had been sitting around reading at the mansion, not going anywhere with Dante to look good.
Until now.
His dinner “invitation” surprised me, but I’d known something would be coming.
However, my gut instinct about this so-called gown wouldn’t quiet. I felt exposed, literally, with the deep cuts and flashiness of the clingy material. I felt out of my comfort zone, wearing this provocative dress. For dinner?
“I don’t know…” I seldom showed myself off. My blouse and skirt combo of a waitress uniform was the extent of my ever dressing up. I was modest but unafraid of what I looked like. I just preferred not to emphasize my body for attention.
“It’s classy,” the attendant insisted. As she turned, she muttered, “Not that you would know.”
She likely hadn’t intended for me to overhear her. It proved that my instincts were right. This woman was just another mean girl, flagging me as inferior low class and unable to adjust to the fancy world of designer apparel. Or to know what was in style.
“Nina. Now.” Dante came back to knock on the door and issue those two words. He didn’t yell, but he didn’t need to. His tone carried command, no matter what.
“All right.” I shrugged and shook my head, hating that I had to surrender. Hearing Dante urged me to lose my stubbornness, though. This wasn’t me. This dress wasn’t. Going to Escott’s wasn’t. It was all a sham, so in that mindset, it didn’t matter if I didn’t feel comfortable in this damn dress.
I exited the stall, amazed and shocked at how easily such an outrageous dress could be bought with little more than a rich man’s signature. Dante didn’t look at me, his phone plastered to his ear as he led me back to the car, and I wondered what put him in a worse mood while I changed.
I didn’t take that long. The store employee practically pushed that gown at me as soon as I told her we were going to Escott’s for dinner.
While Dante drove, talking on the phone, I shrank into myself and tried to prepare for the evening. It was still a lot to adjust to, being with Dante and expected to act like his woman. On the way to the restaurant, I steadied my breath and braced for faking it.
Just be near him. Smile. And… follow his lead.
None of those thoughts helped. If I had to follow his lead, it would be sitting next to him while he paid attention to his phone.
Can I do this? Doubt crept in, and I tried to tug the hem of my dress lower on my thighs. Before this moment, it was easy. I’d been able to slowly relax in that guest room, feeling a little bit like a secret hidden away from the rest of the world. After a lifetime of working my ass off, those days of lying around and reading were a vacation.
Now, I felt cheap. Exposed in this dress. Clueless over how to look like I belonged with a sexy man like Dante. Outside his car that night I was lost in that bet, it was just the two of us kissing and talking. At a dinner with other men, I couldn’t rely on a physical way of expressing our closeness—fake or not.
Too soon, we arrived, and as I took his hand and followed him inside, I worried he’d detect the slickness of my sweaty palm. I was nervous, so lost and confused.
I’d never gone to a fancy dinner. I’d never really dated! Neither of those scenarios were happening tonight, and the more I reminded myself that this was all an act, the more I could tune in to my objective.
Look like we’re together. That was it. That was all I had to do.
And I tried.
Dante was in his element here, speaking with other equally wealthy and powerful men, none of whom I recognized. I doubted I’d remember their names, either, because I was the mute plus-one, not talked to or addressed past a hello. He mingled and spoke with many of them in this private dining room of the expensive place, and all I could do was trail along at his side and sip the drink I was handed.
He didn’t hold my hand, but he made sure I stayed near him with glances to the side while he talked with the others. Nudging against my side, he reminded himself that we were in close proximity. All the while, he talked business.
The other men took more notice of me than Dante did, and every one of their lingering, leering, and studying looks bothered me. I hated how their glances got stuck on me—especially my exposed skin—and it reiterated how skimpy this dress was. It wasn’t classy. It was revealing and daring.
Please, please look at me. Every time I caught Dante’s distant gaze, I wished for him to turn his focus to me, even for a moment, to lend me his grounding presence. To remind me that even though it was all pretend and fake, we were here together.
The pre-dinner period wrapped up, and Dante turned toward me with a stern glower. He placed his hand on my elbow and steered me to the side, and I wondered why he looked so annoyed. He couldn’t be mad at me. I’d done my part, being present and sticking to his side.
“What’s wrong?” I didn’t want to wait for him to discipline me or tell me why he was acting like I was bothering him. When he spoke with the other men, he was calm and collected, focused and attentive. With me, he was glaring and scowling.
“I don’t like this,” he admitted. “How they’re…” His exhale was long and harsh. “They can’t keep their fucking eyes off you.”
Whether it was an attempt at flattery or irrational jealousy, he was far off the mark and had no room to blame me. I got dressed as I was told to. I showed up as he expected.
“Don’t look at me like it’s my fault,” I snapped.
He dragged his angry gaze up and down me.
“I’m here playing the part, Dante.” Keeping my voice to a whispered hush lowered the effectiveness of what I wanted to say. It was damned hard to yell at someone talking this quietly. “I’m dressed to be considered your arm candy, right?”
He looked away, annoyed.
“If you don’t want them ogling me, then remind them that I’m here. With you. For you.”
His stare was so dark and menacing, I regretted being so bold as to sass at him. But something about the shock in his eyes seemed a lot like a challenge, too. I wouldn’t back down.
“Be with me if you want them to back off. Act like I’m with you.”
Careful, Nina. Careful . This was supposed to be fake, but here I was talking like a whiny girlfriend who’d have an actual right to his attention. He wasn’t interested. He’d made that clear, but I struggled not to blur the lines, wanting him to really notice me.
“All you’ve done is talk business.” I lowered my gaze, too intimidated to keep up this direct eye contact. I couldn’t read him, and I was nervous I’d pushed him too far.
His finger and thumb gripped my chin, and he tipped my face up so I’d see him.
“Be careful what you wish for,” he growled.
I opened my mouth to retort something, but he slid his thumb up to snag my lower lip. “This is a business meeting.”
“I know, but?—”
“Dante,” another man said, clapping him on the back as he approached.
Dante didn’t take his gaze off me, not as he pulled me closer and turned with the man. We went to the table to eat. Our argument was cut short, but my words made an impact. Now, he held my hand. In the firm grip of his fingers wrapped around mine, I had a hunch he was going to prove me wrong.
Be careful what I wish for?
I bit my lip, wondering if he’d just issued a dare I wouldn’t win. Because I wanted him—for real.