Chapter 40
I can’t help myself.
I leave my bags on the floor near the elevator, then approach the apartment, overcome with a burning curiosity.
But when I’m almost there, just as I catch a glimpse of the interior through the narrow vertical gap—the edge of a sofa, one corner of an ornate metal end table, a tantalizing patch of wall painted light blue—the door swings closed and clicks shut.
“Angelo?” I knock on the door. “Hello?”
I receive no response. If Angelo is on the other side of the door, he isn’t answering.
I almost grab the handle and check to see if the door is locked, but I don’t. The door didn’t close on its own, which means that someone is in there, and they clearly don’t want me around.
Reluctantly, I walk back to the elevator, pick up my bags, and head upstairs.
When I enter our apartment, Sam appears and follows me to the kitchen, then paws through the bags with the unbridled excitement of a kid tearing the wrapping off their presents on Christmas morning.
My fiancé is a foodie and practically squeals with delight when he discovers the cheeses, bread, and jars of marmalade and honey.
He has a fondness for all things organic, and if it’s also local, even better.
I almost expect him to demand that we dig in to it all right away, but when he turns around, the tasty treats laid out on the kitchen island are quickly forgotten.
Because I’ve unpacked the last bag and pulled out the cocktail dress, which I’m holding up for him to see.
“Holy smoke, that’s hot,” he says, wide eyed.
“I hope you don’t mind that I splurged on this,” I say, hoping to head off what I suspect will be the next question—how much the dress cost. “I know our expenses are higher since we moved in here, but—”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, still ogling the dress. “You just landed a fifteen-thousand-dollar commercial client. Hopefully, the first of many. You’re allowed to treat yourself.” He steps closer and reaches out, touches the dress. “I mean, assuming it didn’t cost like four grand or something.”
“It was a hundred bucks,” I tell him. “It’s vintage and I love it. Figured I’d wear it to the next cocktail party.”
“You’ll be the best-dressed woman in the room,” he replies. “No one else will hold a candle to you, not even Kali—” He stops himself before the entire name tumbles from his mouth. A look flashes across his face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“It’s fine.” It’s not really. Dawn’s words echo in my head, and I’m overcome with a sudden desire to prove that Kalina isn’t the only one who can turn heads. Draping the dress over my arm, I turn toward the bedroom. “Stay right there.”
“Where are you going?”
“Just wait. You’ll see.” I hurry to the bedroom and close the door.
It only takes me a moment to climb out of my clothes and slip the dress on.
When I look at myself in the full-length mirror, I almost gasp.
The dress looked good when I tried it on in the booth at the market, but looking at it now in the comfort of my bedroom, at the way it hugs my curves and accentuates my breasts, I’m floored.
It’s truly dazzling. A chic, sophisticated piece of fashion from another era that somehow feels as relevant and fresh in the twenty-first century as it must have done eight decades ago.
I tear my gaze away from the mirror and go to the door, walk out of the bedroom with a flourish. “What do you think?”
“Wow.” Sam’s eyes are practically bugging out of his head. “You look like a million dollars.”
I give him a twirl, and I’m delighted at how the hem of the dress swirls and flows as I turn. My imagination conjures up a ballroom in another era, with Glenn Miller and his band playing “Chattanooga Choo Choo” or “Pennsylvania 6-5000,” as I glide across a packed dance floor.
Sam can’t stop looking. “We should go out tonight, and you should wear that dress.”
“Go out where?”
“Remember that quaint tapas restaurant we went to for your birthday a couple of years ago?” Sam wraps his arms around my waist. A hand roves up to the bare skin of my back.
“Of course.” It would be hard to forget. The food was beyond delicious, and authentic, too. It conjured memories of a trip to Spain we took when we were first together. “Dali, right?”
“Right. That’s the place. It’s upscale, and that dress would be perfect. What do you think?”
“I thought you were excited about the bread and cheese and all the other stuff I brought home from the market.”
“I am, but it’s Saturday evening. Remember when we were first together? Our weekly date nights? We haven’t done that in ages, and I think we should.”
“We stopped going out because we were saving for a house, remember?”
“Right. And now we have one, so . . .”
I slip my arms around his neck and peck him on the lips. “Fine. We’ll go out. But if I’m wearing this dress, you’ll need to change into something a bit smarter than jeans and a sweater.”
“On it.” Sam kisses me, then extricates himself and starts for the bedroom. When he reaches the doorway, he stops and glances back over his shoulder. “You really do look hot!”
“Thanks.” I flash him a demure smile. And for the first time since Kalina gave me that look, I don’t feel like I’m playing second fiddle to our neighbor.