“Is she decent?”
“Define decent,” Lara calls back, laughing.
Oh God.
Gabriel is here in my room while I’m half-naked and trying to figure out how to zip myself into a dress that probably costs more than everything in my apartment put together. I gulp, suddenly wanting to hide, to dive into the racks of clothes and never come out.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Lara,” I hiss through the closet door, “what is he doing here?”
“Watching the show, apparently. Come on—let’s see it.”
I look down at the emerald gown. It’s beautiful—off-shoulder, fitted bodice that hugs every curve, with a flowing skirt that pools at my feet like melted jade. But it also leaves nothing to the imagination.
My arms, my shoulders, the swell of my breasts, the curves of my waist and hips—everything that I’ve spent my whole life hiding—is all on total and complete display.
“I don’t know.”
“Thea.” Valentina’s voice is firm, but kind. “Trust me. Come out.”
I take a deep breath, then open the door.
Gabriel is sitting in the armchair near the window, one ankle crossed over his knee. He’s completely relaxed. He’s still in the same trousers from earlier in the day, but his jacket is gone, his tie loosened, and his shirtsleeves are rolled to his elbows.
He looks up when I emerge, and then he goes completely still.
“Dio,” Valentina breathes. “I knew it.”
I stand there, frozen, my arms moving instinctively to cover myself before Lara moves over and gently pushes them down.
“No hiding,” she says. “You lookwaytoo hot for that. Let him see.”
Gabriel’s gaze travels slowly from my face down to my feet and back up again. His jaw is tight, his knuckles practically white from where they grip the armrest.
But he doesn’t say anything. He just looks.
“Well?” Valentina prompts. “What do you think, Gabriel?”
“Turn around,” he says. There’s a roughness to his voice, as if he’s barely able to keep himself in check.
I hesitate, then I turn, the skirt swirling around my legs.
His silence stretches.
Then he takes a long, slow draw of breath.
“Green is good,” he says finally. “But show me the others.”
The second dress is navy blue—sleek and sophisticated, with a high slit that makes me feel like a femme fatale in an old movie. Valentina adjusts the straps, commenting about how the cut accentuates my waist. I try not to think about the way Gabriel’s eyes tracked the slit when I walked out.
The third dress is a lovely burgundy—deep, rich, appearing almost black in the low light of the walk-in. It has long sleeves, a plunging neckline, and is fitted through the hips before flaring slightly at the knees.
“No, this one,” Valentina says, wagging her finger at me. “This is the one.Dio, you look like a vision.”
I look at myself in the mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me.
She’s not invisible, not apologizing for taking up space, not trying to hide herself under baggy clothes, hoping no one notices the curves. She’s?—