Page 29 of Her Dirty Secret
“Pfff. Am not.” Even I realize I sound like a petulant child, so I work on softening my expression. “Exactly what do you think I’m afraid of? You? Hardly.”
His full mouth pulls to the side in a smile. “That I’m right. That now that I’m not your dirty secret anymore, it’s your own stubbornness holding you back from seeing how good we are together.”
I don’t even think about considering his words. He’s just trouble. “Ugh, fine, whatever. If one date is what it will take to prove I’m right, then that’s what we’ll do.” I stand up. “Coming?”
He stands up, looking down at his clothes. “I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion. And it’s a weekday. I have to get back to work. Are you busy Saturday night?”
I frown, sticking my chin out. He’s going to make me admit my only plans were with a bottle of booze.
I sigh heavily. “I guess I could make that work.”
He smiles so widely it crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Then it’s a date.”
“Fine.” I rise, heading to the door. I make to open it, but he puts a hand up to stop me. He’s uncomfortably close.
His eyes search mine. “Do you have a black tie–appropriate dress?”
“Yes,” I reply, hugging my arms around myself protectively.
His eyes settle on my lips, and I resist the urge to lick them. “Good. I’ll pick you up at seven then.”
I raise an eyebrow, but he says nothing more, simply opening the door. It takes everything I’ve got to tear my eyes from his and walk out the door.
Just before I cross the threshold, I turn to him. “Peonies.” He looks at me questioningly. “They’re my favorite flower.” I don’t wait for a response. I leave. Before he can see me blush.
Eight
Emily
Two days. Two days of going back and forth between almost cancelling and asking myself if he’s right. I want to sink back into a drunken stupor and avoid thinking too hard about it, but I’ve probably done enough of that lately.
So at seven on Saturday evening, here I sit, dressed in a deep blue lace and crystal gown, my chestnut waves tamed into a gentle cascade, nervous as I can ever remember being. Too nervous even to play anything to soothe myself.
When the knock on the door comes, I take a deep breath, rise, and smooth my dress. Opening the door is my first huge mistake. Because it gives me a full view of Alessandro, looking more devastatingly handsome than any man I’ve ever seen. And he’s holding a huge bouquet of the most beautiful pink peonies I’ve ever seen.
He looks just as stunned, staring at me as I take him in, in his tailored black tux, with a black shirt, vest, and tie. He looks lean, and strong, and so hopeful I already feel guilty.
“You look…” he trails off, seemingly unable to form words.
I look down at the neckline that plunges to just above my belly button, the sheer sleeves and leg panels that show swaths of my pale skin under them. One of the perks of being skinny and flat-chested — I don’t have to worry about falling out of the daring neckline. But maybe it was a bad choice.
“Too risqué?” I ask, blushing. “I can go change.”
He closes his mouth and shakes his head, his eyes returning to mine. “No,” he says hoarsely. “You’re perfect.” He extends the flowers. “These are for you. Though they’re not half as beautiful as you are.”
“Yeah, okay,” I reply, rolling my eyes. I take the flowers anyway, quickly darting into the kitchen to put them in water. I purposely don’t invite him in. But I’m back in a flash, only to find him uncomfortably standing on the doorstep. Good. He should be uncomfortable.
He gives me an uneasy smile, extending a hand. “Shall we?”
I slip my hand into his somewhat reluctantly and close the door behind me. “Where are we headed?” I try to sound casual, but I’m kind of dying to know what we’re all dressed up for.
“I was thinking the café and wine bar a few blocks from here,” he replies. “If you’re not too hungry and don’t mind walking?”
“That depends. Is it raining?”
He laughs. “For once, no. I wouldn’t have asked if it were.”
“Okay, then, that sounds perfect. Let’s go.”