Page 150 of Ruthless Vow
Giada helps me with the zipper. The ivory silk pools at my feet, and I step out of it with reverence. That dress carried me down the aisle. That dress made me a wife.
But this next one? This one is for dancing. For celebrating. For the woman I’ve become.
The champagne gold slides over my skin like liquid fire. Form-fitting through the bodice, flaring at the hips, a slit that climbs high on my left thigh. When I look in the mirror, I don’t see the invisible daughter anymore.
I see the Donna.
“He’s going to lose his mind,” Giada says, grinning.
“That’s the idea.”
She laughs and pushes me toward the door. “Go. Before he comes looking.”
I find him at the edge of the garden, talking to Marco about something that stops mattering the second he sees me. His whole body goes still. His lips part, then press into a hard line. His eyes travel from the gold fabric at my shoulders, down the curve of my waist, to the slit that reveals my bare leg with every step. His chest expands on a breath he doesn’t release. His hands flex at his sides, fingers curling into fists and opening again, like he’s fighting the urge to cross the distance himself.
When I reach him, he doesn’t say anything. Just looks at me. His gaze moves over me the way his hands will later. Slow. Deliberate. Claiming every inch before he’s touched a single one.
“You like it?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“We’re not staying long.” His voice drops to gravel. A promise and a warning in the same breath.
Marco clears his throat. “I’ll just be somewhere else.”
Neither of us watches him go.
The first dance is ours. The band shifts into a slow number, one with too much saxophone and not enough rhythm for anyone who knows how to dance. Dante doesn’t know how to dance. He holds me too tight, moves a half-beat behind the music, and steps on my foot twice in the first thirty seconds.
It’s perfect.
“You’re terrible at this,” I tell him.
“I know.”
“I don’t care.”
His hand spreads wide across my lower back, pulling me closer.
“Good. Because I wasn’t planning on getting better.”
I rest my head against his chest. His heart beats strong beneath my cheek.
Weeks ago, I wasn’t sure I’d ever hear that heartbeat again. Now it’s the only sound that matters.
“I love you,” I say, my mouth pressed to his shirt.
His arms tighten. His lips brush my hair.
“Ti amo, tesoro.”
My father finds me between songs. He stands at the edge of the dance floor, looking like he’d rather face a firing squad than ask his daughter to dance. But he’s here. He showed up. After twenty-four years of looking through me, he’s looking at me now.
“May I?”
I take his hand.
The dance is awkward. Silent. His grip is stiff, unfamiliar, like he’s forgotten how to hold someone without breaking them. We’ve never done this before. Never had a reason to.
I count his steps because there are no words to count. His hand sits on my waist like he’s holding a bird he’s afraid will fly away. Too light. Too careful. Twenty-four years of distance living in the two inches of air between us.
