Page 26 of Under His Protection

“I don’t know…” I seldom showed myself off. My blouse and skirt combo of a waitress uniform was the extent of my ever dressing up. I was modest but unafraid of what I looked like. I just preferred not to emphasize my body for attention.

“It’s classy,” the attendant insisted. As she turned, she muttered, “Not that you would know.”

She likely hadn’t intended for me to overhear her. It proved that my instincts were right. This woman was just another mean girl, flagging me as inferior low class and unable to adjust to the fancy world of designer apparel. Or to know what was in style.

“Nina. Now.” Dante came back to knock on the door and issue those two words. He didn’t yell, but he didn’t need to. His tone carried command, no matter what.

“All right.” I shrugged and shook my head, hating that I had to surrender. Hearing Dante urged me to lose my stubbornness, though. This wasn’t me. This dress wasn’t. Going to Escott’s wasn’t. It was all a sham, so in that mindset, it didn’t matter if I didn’t feel comfortable in this damn dress.

I exited the stall, amazed and shocked at how easily such an outrageous dress could be bought with little more than a rich man’s signature. Dante didn’t look at me, his phone plastered to his ear as he led me back to the car, and I wondered what put him in a worse mood while I changed.

I didn’t take that long. The store employee practically pushed that gown at me as soon as I told her we were going to Escott’s for dinner.

While Dante drove, talking on the phone, I shrank into myself and tried to prepare for the evening. It was still a lot to adjust to, being with Dante and expected to act like his woman. On the way to the restaurant, I steadied my breath and braced for faking it.

Just be near him. Smile. And… follow his lead.

None of those thoughts helped. If I had to follow his lead, it would be sitting next to him while he paid attention to his phone.

Can I do this? Doubt crept in, and I tried to tug the hem of my dress lower on my thighs. Before this moment, it was easy. I’d been able to slowly relax in that guest room, feeling a little bit like a secret hidden away from the rest of the world. After a lifetime of working my ass off, those days of lying around and reading were a vacation.

Now, I felt cheap. Exposed in this dress. Clueless over how to look like I belonged with a sexy man like Dante. Outside his car that night I was lost in that bet, it was just the two of us kissing and talking. At a dinner with other men, I couldn’t rely on a physical way of expressing our closeness—fake or not.

Too soon, we arrived, and as I took his hand and followed him inside, I worried he’d detect the slickness of my sweaty palm. I was nervous, so lost and confused.

I’d never gone to a fancy dinner. I’d never really dated! Neither of those scenarios were happening tonight, and the more I reminded myself that this was all an act, the more I could tune in to my objective.

Look like we’re together. That was it. That was all I had to do.

And I tried.

Dante was in his element here, speaking with other equally wealthy and powerful men, none of whom I recognized. I doubted I’d remember their names, either, because I was the mute plus-one, not talked to or addressed past a hello. He mingled and spoke with many of them in this private dining room of the expensive place, and all I could do was trail along at his side and sip the drink I was handed.

He didn’t hold my hand, but he made sure I stayed near him with glances to the side while he talked with the others. Nudging against my side, he reminded himself that we were in close proximity. All the while, he talked business.

The other men took more notice of me than Dante did, and every one of their lingering, leering, and studying looks bothered me. I hated how their glances got stuck on me—especially my exposed skin—and it reiterated how skimpy this dress was. It wasn’t classy. It was revealing and daring.

Please, please look at me. Every time I caught Dante’s distant gaze, I wished for him to turn his focus to me, even for a moment, to lend me his grounding presence. To remind me that even though it was all pretend and fake, we were here together.

The pre-dinner period wrapped up, and Dante turned toward me with a stern glower. He placed his hand on my elbow and steered me to the side, and I wondered why he looked so annoyed. He couldn’t be mad at me. I’d done my part, being present and sticking to his side.

“What’s wrong?” I didn’t want to wait for him to discipline me or tell me why he was acting like I was bothering him. When he spoke with the other men, he was calm and collected, focused and attentive. With me, he was glaring and scowling.

“I don’t like this,” he admitted. “How they’re…” His exhale was long and harsh. “They can’t keep their fucking eyes off you.”

Whether it was an attempt at flattery or irrational jealousy, he was far off the mark and had no room to blame me. I got dressed as I was told to. I showed up as he expected.

“Don’t look at me like it’s my fault,” I snapped.

He dragged his angry gaze up and down me.

“I’m here playing the part, Dante.” Keeping my voice to a whispered hush lowered the effectiveness of what I wanted to say. It was damned hard to yell at someone talking this quietly. “I’m dressed to be considered your arm candy, right?”

He looked away, annoyed.

“If you don’t want them ogling me, then remind them that I’m here. With you. For you.”

His stare was so dark and menacing, I regretted being so bold as to sass at him. But something about the shock in his eyes seemed a lot like a challenge, too. I wouldn’t back down.

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