Chapter 1 #2
I opened my mouth to say the dress wasn't mine, that my sister and I just happened to wear the same size. But the clerk had already turned to retrieve the gown, heels clicking on the marble floor.
Forget it. Arguing would just waste more time.
When they pulled the dress from its garment bag, I had to admit—Vera had taste.
White satin. Not blinding white, but a soft shade with a hint of cream. The silhouette was sleek, no excessive lace or sequins. Clean lines from chest to waist, cinching slightly at the middle, then flowing down to a small train.
I let the clerk help me into the dress, movements hurried because I just wanted to finish this bullshit and get to the gallery. Everything happening lately had left me feeling wrecked. I desperately needed the comfort of a place I actually loved.
But when the clerk pulled me toward the mirror, I froze.
The person in the reflection didn't look like me.
That woman was stunning. The fitted bodice perfectly sculpted my curves. The deep V-neck revealed expanses of skin. Pure white silk made my blonde hair striking. I stared in disbelief at those damp green eyes in the mirror.
I looked like a real bride. A bride about to marry Dante Romanov.
Tears fell without warning. I covered my mouth, forcing the sob back down. I felt cheated. If I'd found the courage to talk to him sooner, if I hadn't been such a coward, might I have had a chance to wear this dress and stand beside him?
But there were no ifs. When the sun rose tomorrow, Dante would become my brother-in-law.
I bit my lip, forcing myself to swallow the cry again. No. I couldn't break down here. I blinked hard several times, taking deep breaths in front of the mirror.
"The fit is perfect," I told the clerk waiting by the door, trying to sound normal. "I'll change now."
"Of course, would you like help—"
"No. I've got it."
I stepped into the fitting room, reaching back for the zipper. But it was positioned awkwardly. I fumbled with it, taking a moment before I finally managed to pull it down. Just as I'd successfully slipped the dress halfway off.
Arms wrapped around me from behind.
Those hands slid through my half-removed gown, clamping around my waist from both sides, then a whole body pressed against my back. I felt a hard male form against my spine, heat searing through the thin fabric into my skin.
Heavy alcohol fumes mixed with woody cologne hit me.
I nearly screamed, instinctively struggling. The dress had slipped to my waist. My bare torso was completely exposed to the fitting room's cold air.
"Let go!"
"Been waiting over an hour for you."
The voice was low, rough, drunk, scraping past my ear.
My struggle stopped.
I knew this voice.
On countless late nights, I'd worn headphones and replayed his interview videos, memorizing every slight upturn in his inflection. I'd sketched his profile in my notebooks at least a hundred times, tracing the angle of his jawline over and over in pencil.
Dante.
His lips pressed behind my ear, breath hot and erratic. The alcohol smell was overpowering—I guessed he'd been drinking all night. Last night's bachelor party must have been wild.
His arms tightened, pulling me fully into his embrace, fingertips roaming restlessly along my bare waist.
"You didn't expect me here, did you?" He laughed, words slurred, chin settling into the hollow of my shoulder, nose brushing the skin of my neck. "I missed you so much, baby."
He thought I was Vera?
The realization hit like ice water dumped over my head.
He was waiting here for Vera. He thought the person in the wedding dress in this fitting room was his bride-to-be.
"Don't—don't do this... Let me go!" I snapped out of my shock, twisting desperately, hands pushing against his hard forearms, trying to shove him away.
But the strength difference between us made my weak resistance meaningless. My struggle only seemed to trigger a hint of displeased dominance in him. He held tighter, pressure so intense I could barely breathe.
"Don't move." One of Dante's hands slid from my waist to the front, warm palm against my bare stomach, slowly traveling upward.
My whole body shook—from cold, from fear, or from something else I didn't dare admit.
No, no, he'd be my brother-in-law tomorrow. How could I let anything happen between us?
"Let me GO!!"
I used all my strength. Dante finally stumbled back slightly.
That pissed him off—I saw from the corner of my eye as he walked to the fitting room door and locked it. Then he came back behind me and pulled me close again.
"You dare push me away? Looks like I need to teach you some manners." He said in my ear. "Spitfire."
Dante spun me around in one motion.
Facing him, I felt intense fear. I threw my hands up instinctively, trying to cover my face. I didn't know what I was afraid of. Revealing my identity and stopping this—wasn't that what I wanted?
But Dante didn't look at my face at all.
He pushed me against the wall, yanked off my dress, then urgently bent down, scalding lips pressing directly against my stomach.
I couldn't help the small trembling sound that escaped. His kisses felt like ignited fire, traveling up from my stomach, skimming my ribs, finally settling between my neck and collarbone, biting and sucking with savage hunger.
I looked down at the man marking my throat.
Even blackout drunk, Dante Moretti was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen.
Dark hair slightly mussed from a night of partying, top two shirt buttons undone, tie long gone.
But none of that diminished his looks—it only added a dangerous edge.
His eyes were a black so deep you could drown in it, now glazed with alcohol, pupils slightly dilated, like obsidian wet with rain.
He looked at me. Or rather, at whom he thought was Vera.
His right hand rose, thumb pressing under my chin.
"Don't you want me?"
Dante had never been this close to me. His voice right there, the man I'd dreamed about begging me—it made me wet almost instantly.
I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to feel his heat.
Finally, I closed my eyes.
"I want you. I've always wanted you."
God, if You're really out there, please forgive my depravity and greed in this moment.