Page 65 of Pretender

Aiden’s voice sounds from behind the curtain next to me, “Signora?”

“Si?” she answers from a safe distance as if seeing Aiden in the changing room would make her burst into flames.

“Per favore, posso avere questa camicia in nero?”

I instinctively turn towards the sound of his delicious Italian words, and catch the view of his naked torso through a gap in the curtain. Heat spreads from my lower back, tingling up my spine, my neck, and across my scalp.

Maybe the shop lady was right to stand far away. I might just burst into flames.

She returns with a black shirt, handing it to Aiden through the gap and when he grabs it, thanking her, the curtain moves a bit more.

She’s clearly a professional, giving Aiden his privacy, but I’m stuck here, staring at a shirtless man as if I was a teenager who’d never seen one in her life. His broad muscular back is to me, and everything else is visible in the mirror. My eyes roam across his abs, the smattering of dark hair across his wide chest, his golden tan skin taut over solid shoulders. He puts the black shirt on in a fluid movement, and I watch him in the mirror—transfixed—as he buttons it up.

“You okay there?” His deep voice startles me and I meet his gaze in the mirror. He’s doing a poor job of concealing his smirk.

Fuck.

I flick my eyes up and around, pretending the top of the curtain is super interesting.

“Yeah, just, umm, really … hungry.” I do my utmost to keep my regular calm exterior, but my ears are on fire. Fuck, I’m going to start sweating. Yep, definitely self-combusting, and I can practically hear Aiden bursting into that wide smile of his next to me.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

“Let’s get an aperitivo after this,” he says, kindly pretending I’m not the most awkward person to go shopping with. What the hell is wrong with me? He’s just a man.

The signora appears next to me, saying something I don’t understand as she opens the dressing booth next to Aiden’s and I’m grateful for the distraction. She hangs up two long, flowing dresses. One coral and one royal blue.

Wow.

I walk over and run a hand over the closest one.

This is gorgeous fabric. So soft, I can barely feel it.

There’s no price tag. I suppose people who shop here don’t need to care about the prices. I used to do well for myself, but I’m currently spending my disposable income on my other employees. This is not on my list of emergency purchases.

“Aiden,” I whisper past the wall, and he opens the curtain fully and I’m somewhat disappointed his shirt is buttoned up. “Are you sure I can’t just wear my own dress to the restaurant?”

“You can, of course. You don’t want one of those dresses? Or both, if you wish.”

“I can’t spend this much right now.” Preferring not to beat around the bush (or to walk around the porridge, as my grandfather would say), I add, “And I’m not saying that to make you pay. I’m just telling you so I don’t act all weird and you’re wondering why.”

“Thanks for being clear, and let me be equally clear,” he says while correcting his cufflinks. “You’re not paying for anything today. This was my idea and I insist, end of story.” He’s smiling, but I get it. I won’t fight his generosity.

“Okay, but only if it makes me look like a goddess,” I answer, inserting a hint of stubbornness—just because.

I close the curtain and let my sundress fall to the floor before I step out of it and hang it up. God, I hope this dress works without a bra because the one I’m wearing will not work with this low-cut back.

As I let the new dress slide down over my body, it falls heavier than expected. It moves like water—it’s almost otherworldly.

Studying myself in the mirror, I’ve never felt more beautiful than right now, in this coral dress. The classy cowl neck hangs just low enough to give my breasts the cover of fabric without a serious nipple situation, but not so low that it reveals too much cleavage.

“Let me see,” Aiden says from the other side of the curtain. I open it, and when his jaw drops, it gives me a serious tickle in my stomach. His eyes rake over me, and I’m enjoying that reaction far too much. No one has ever looked at me like that.

“You… You’re sensational.”

There’s no one to perform for here. He doesn’t have to pretend.

He means it.