Page 34 of For Your Eyes Only
“What’s going on in that head, Gia?”
I file away these thoughts for later. “He asked me to dinner tonight. You’re going to flip out when you see the dress I bought at Carolina Herrera. It is so gorgeous. I’m going to wear it. And I got some shoes at Valentino we’ve got to use in the show. They’re Barbie pink platforms, and they are amazing.”
“You’re giving me a fashion show?” She puts her arm around my shoulders. “Lead the way!”
* * *
At six-thirty,I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror in our bedroom, and my heart is beating out of my chest.
The dress looks even better with my hair and makeup done. Bianca helped me blow out my curls so they’re hanging in large waves down my bare back, and she patted a light shimmer powder on the top of my cleavage and shoulders.
I look like a woman, and I feel like a nervous wreck.
Touching the large, smooth wave hanging down to my breast, I try to hide my trembling fingers. “No telling what my hair will do when the humidity hits it.”
“You look amazing, and the humidity is low.” She’s standing behind me, smoothing her hands down the back of my waves. “He’s going to swallow his tongue when he sees you in this.”
“Gross. I hope not.” I want his tongue right where it belongs—unless it’s where I’ve fantasized it being.
Heat tickles my inner thighs as I imagine him placing his lips there, moving higher, touching my most sensitive places with his mouth. I’ve never done it, but I’ve heard stories.
“Your boobs are unbelievable in this top. Glitter Girl’s got nothing on you tonight.”
Everything she says makes my heart beat faster. I’m excited and nervous and thrilled and…
“You are not taking an Uber in this.” Bianca’s voice turns mother-hen-ish. “I’ll drive you.”
“And how will I get home? I’ll have to Uber back.”
Her eyebrow arches. “If he doesn’t carry you straight to bed after dinner—hell, before dinner—he’s not the man I think he is.”
“Bianca!” Butterflies swirl in my stomach. “Just because a man buys me dinner, it doesn’t mean I have to put out.”
She snorts. “That’s my girl. Make him beg for it.”
Another butterfly swirl. “I don't think he’s the begging type.”
“Every man will be the begging type when you walk in tonight.”
My eyes drift to the clock, and I pick up the small clutch containing my phone, a lipstick, and a hundred dollars in cash. “Ready?”
“Are you?” She cuts her eyes, and I shake my head.
“As I’ll ever be.”
We make the short drive to the luxury resort I’ve only read about. It’s a hundred years old and one of those places super-rich people go—like the really super-rich old people, the ones who’ve had billions of dollars since the country was young.
Bianca tells the guard she’s dropping me off for dinner, and he opens the gate.
“They’re not letting just anybody in here,” she teases and drives her pale yellow Hyundai slowly towards the large fountain in the middle of the circle drive.
The massive Italian Renaissance-style hotel rises, dramatically lit behind it.
“I should’ve had a drink.” I feel very small all of a sudden. “I can hardly breathe.”
“Hey, look at me.” She grabs my hand, and I do as she says. “You look amazing. Youareamazing, and you’re going to have fun tonight. Now, deep breath. Summon Glitter Girl. Pretend you’re about to go on stage for a big performance.”
We inhale, exhale, and I feel fractionally better. “Thanks.”