Page 6 of Dante

CHAPTER 3

GINA

It feels strange that soon I’ll be going to bed with a perfect stranger.

Even though he is my husband. I knew this moment would come.

But what will it be like?

My mother didn’t say anything at all.

Not that I asked.

All I had to rely on was my next-door neighbor, Alice.

As an addicted romance reader, she’s been sharing spicy snippets of “the big night” from her romance novels for the last ten years or so.

And Dante has done nothing to ease my anxiety about tonight.

The way his dark eyes swept over my body when I caught him looking from across the room made my nipples stiffen.

I imagine he’ll be wild and feral in bed, which excites me.

Yet he’s given little indication that he recognizes me as his wife.

Here he is, already walking several steps ahead of me, passing the marble and gold elevator banks outside the ballroom of The Circle Towers hotel.

“Don’t we need to take the elevator to get to your room?”

“I own the Penthouse. A private elevator opens directly into my apartment.”

I’m about to ask if ‘normal people’ can live in a luxury hotel. But nothing about Dante or his world is normal.

Once in the elevator, we stand inside together for a few awkward seconds.

I feel his body heat and inhale his musky, expensive cologne. I’m more curious than ever what the evening has in store.

When the elevator opens, I step out into my new life. “This is amazing,” I say, entering his space.

In front of me stand floor-to-ceiling windows, the whole city of New York sparkles up from below.

A wave of exhilaration washes over me as I take in this magical view.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he says, with a certain amount of pride.

“Yes,” I agree, grateful to get any response from him at all. Angie wasn’t kidding when she called him an iceberg.

Just then a silver-haired man in a well-cut suit enters, carrying a silver tray with two flutes of Champagne.

“Good evening, Mrs. Ricci,” he says, clicking his heels. “I am Ciro, at your service.”

Dante nods to Ciro with approval. “Ciro handles everything around the house,” he tells me before turning to the employee. “Please see that Mrs. Ricci’s wishes are satisfied.”

Ciro nods. “Of course.” He slips a card from his jacket and hands it to me. “I’m available twenty-four hours a day. My quarters are here, in The Circle Towers. Just one floor below yours. If you need anything, you may call or text.”

“Nice,” I say, unable to produce a more intelligent response.

Dante takes the Champagne from the tray and hands me a glass.