No Strings Attached

Chapter Six

I push back my dripping hair from my face. "A package?"

"Yep. Want me to send it up?"

I smile wide. "Please. If I don't hurry, I'm going to miss this entire party."

I let go of the button, my throat tight with nervousness. I'm seeing Giovanni tonight. I sent him the contract yesterday, signed and expected a reply. The fact that I got nothing back makes this ten times more nerve-racking.

There's a knock at the door. I pull it open, hiding behind it.

"A delivery for you, miss."

One of the attendants places the large rectangular, onyx box into my hands.

"Thank you," I say, curiously observing the box as I shut the door. There is a sleek black ribbon holding the elegant box together. It's not heavy, but by the size of the box, I know I'm not about to find a FedEx document from work.

Resting it down gently on the table, I notice a cream-colored card resting between the ribbon. I pull the card out, removing the envelope, my heart beating insanely once I notice Giovanni's signature at the bottom.

I was inspired.

Gio

Inspired?

Confused, I set down the card, grabbing onto the soft ribbon. I grab onto the edges of the box and pull, finding tissue wrapping. I pull back the bright paper excitedly, my eyes drinking in the gift until I realize what it is.

My heart stops then.

Reaching down, I grasp onto cream-colored silk, raising it up and out. The pearl-colored gown drops down into the air before my disbelieving eyes. The dress is shapely but simplistic and strapless apart from material drooped over each shoulder. When I turn it around in observation, my breath catches at the elegant drop over the back.

My head shakes slowly in shock.

He was inspired?

Giovanni designed this? For me? Specifically me?

I drop the towel, immediately lowering the small zipper on the side before I attempt to get the dress over my head. Knowing he has no idea what my sizes are, I expect it to be too tight or too big.

It's perfect.

I catch that the silky material drapes over every curve, every line, as if he made this on my very body. The fabric flows down to my ankles, leaving enough room for heels to show. When I'm parked in front of my standing mirror, I turn, swallowing at the depth of the dip in the back.

I stare in awe, realizing that this man, having no opportunity to get my sizes, tailored silk to my shape... a man who told me he refuses to make clothing for women.

I was inspired.

Everything about it is unlike me, and yet, I feel comfortable in it. I feel beautiful in it. Despite the lack of coverage, the lack of padding or security, I love this dress.

Excitement brewing, it doesn't take me long to style my hair up into a twisted bun and layer some gloss over my already rosy lips. Dangling from my ears are small delicate diamond drop earrings that once belonged to my mother. After that, and with twenty minutes to spare, I grab my clutch, racing for the door.

On my way, I catch sight of myself in the mirror and freeze.

I take a long hard look as doubt seizes my body.

This isn't me. Everyone will see it. He will.

I don't just go out in gowns like this, I don't sign sex contracts.