Page 27 of And Back

We talk about color schemes next. I lean towards bold, dramatic hues—emerald greens, midnight blues, rich plums.

"Don't forget to play with textures," Valerie advises as we discuss innovative techniques. "Layering different fabrics to add depth and interest."

I take note of her words, imagining how the layers will come together in the final pieces. The vision in my mind is becoming clearer, each element falling into place.

"Valerie, I want to use the emerald green silk for the main body of the dress," I say, pointing to the fabric swatch on the table. "And pair it with the midnight blue velvet for the sleeves."

Valerie nods approvingly. "Bold choice, the contrast will definitely stand out. How about adding some plum accents for a touch of drama?"

"Perfect," I reply, my excitement growing. "We can use the plum for the lining and some subtle embroidery."

Dante sits at the far end of the room, engrossed in something on his phone. I lean closer to Valerie and whisper, "I need you to get a message to Ettore. Tell him to come meet me later tonight."

Valerie's eyes widen with concern. She brushes some notes aside and looks at me intently. "Are you sure that's wise?"

I nod firmly. "Yes, there are things we need to discuss."

Valerie hesitates for a moment before sighing softly. "Alright. I'll make sure he gets the message."

"Thank you," I say, grateful for her support."

"Absolutely," Valerie says, her tone supportive.

We dive back into our work with renewed focus. The hours pass in a blur of creativity as I finalize the designs and select the perfect fabrics for each piece. Valerie's mentorship is invaluable, as she guides and makes suggestions with her seasoned insights.

"Zoe, don't forget to consider the flow of the fabric," she reminds me at one point. "The way it moves can add a lot to the overall impact."

"Good point," I say, adjusting my design. "I'll make sure the cuts enhance the movement."

By the time Dante and I leave Valerie's shop, I feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and determination. I have finished the sketches and I chose the fabrics. All that is left is to join the materials together to bring my vision to life.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ZOE

Isit on the edge of my bed, lost in thought, when the door creaks open. Dante steps in, carrying a garment bag draped over his arm. He doesn’t say a word, he just walks over to the bed and lays it down carefully. His eyes meet mine for a brief moment—there’s something unreadable there, something that makes my skin prickle.

"I’ll give you some time to get ready," he says, his voice smooth but with an underlying edge I can't quite place.

I nod silently as he turns and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. The sound of the lock clicking sends a shiver down my spine. I know this is part of our deal, part of what I agreed to when I decided to spend this week with him. But it doesn’t make it any easier.

With hesitant fingers, I unzip the garment bag. The soft swish of fabric is almost mocking in its gentleness. Inside is an outfit complete with accessories and lingerie—a perfectly coordinated ensemble designed to make me look... perfect.

I feel a mix of embarrassment and resentment wash over me as I take in the sight. It’s beautiful, sure—Dante has impeccable taste—but it’s not what I would have chosen for myself. Virgilio never imposed his will on me like this.

I run my fingers over the delicate lace of the lingerie and feel a familiar knot tightening in my stomach. This kind of controlling behavior reminds me too much of my time with the Bratva—the way I was dressed up and stripped down like a doll for the men who bought me. The thought alone makes my skin crawl.

But I made a deal to save Virgilio’s life, and I’m determined to see it through, no matter how much it hurts. Taking a deep breath, I start to undress and slip into the outfit Dante chose for me. The fabric is luxurious against my skin, but it feels like a costume—another layer between who I am and who I have to pretend to be.

As I put on each piece—first the lingerie, then the dress, then the accessories—I can’t help but feel like I'm losing bits of myself in the process. Each item is another reminder that I'm not in control here; Dante is.

Once I'm fully dressed, I glance at myself in the mirror. The reflection staring back at me is stunning—flawless even—but it's not really me. It's an image crafted by someone else’s hands, for someone else’s pleasure.

I think back to Virgilio again, to how he made me feel valued and seen as an individual rather than an object to be adorned and displayed. A pang of longing shoots through me—I miss him so much it hurts.

But there’s no time for self-pity now. I've made my bed and now I have to lie in it. Smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in the dress, I take one last look at myself before heading towards the door.

I follow Dante through the doors of an elegant restaurant, its exclusivity apparent from the moment we step inside. The soft lighting casts a golden glow over the rich decor—plush velvet chairs, dark wood tables, and intricate chandeliers that sparkle like a thousand tiny stars. And yet, I can’t shake the feeling of discomfort gnawing at my insides.

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