Page 95 of Sinful Promise

“Did you notice the model?”

“They are a dime a dozen in Italy’s hot spots. Sure, they look incredible, but I’ll never give up my pasta to be that thin.”

“You work out,” I reply.

“Yes, and I do it for myself. Good for the young women who make it in the fashion industry. It’s brutal.” She puts a finger under my chin so I have to look her in the eyes. “Don’t underestimate yourself. You can’t compare yourself to someone who won the one-in-a-million lotto in looks and luck. You can become someone on your own. Besides, Roman notices you.”

Irina rushes to rejoin us. “I found a dress, too.” Then the two of them steer me into a fitting room.

“They are both lovely,” I say as they place the dresses in my cubicle and close the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts of Nadia.

I have to dazzle Roman tomorrow night, and I wonder if Nadia and her entourage are here for the gala as well. I hate to ask. I don’t want to come off as the jealous type.

“You have to model them both for us,” Irina calls over the particle-board door.

“I’ll be out in a minute.” Quickly pushing my jeans down around my ankles, I step out of them and unbutton my top. The gown has a V in the front, so I take my bra off and pull the glamorous black dress off the hanger. It’s silky and has silver sequins that catch the light as I step into it. I find the zipper on the side, and it glides up as if it’s greased with butter.

I observe myself in the mirror. The gown is fitted, so fitted that I wonder if I should be seen in something this revealing. My boobs are barely contained, the fabric scarcely covering the nipples.

Relax, Dasha. You’re in Monaco, and sexy is the acquired taste for fashion here.

I take a deep breath and exhale before I open the door.

I walk out, the long gown dragging on the floor.

“Oh, my.” Irina’s smile hits me like a car light on a dark road. She approves of the dress.

“Wow, well, Roman won’t be able to keep his hands off you,” Francesca says, her arms filled with more dresses. “It’s amazing. Try on the other one and then decide.”

I return to the fitting room, take a look at myself, and change. The dark green dress is a light fabric, airy, more like summertime. It does make my eyes sparkle.

I step out, gaining confidence, and walk a few steps, turning so the flowing dress twirls around me. It’s long and reminds me of a similar one worn by an Aussie actress I saw on pirated intranet.

“Stunning,” Francesca says, straightening the back of the dress so that it lies nicely on the floor.

“Can you walk in it?” Irina asks.

I take one step, then another. It’s as if I’m pretending to be a princess. “Will I be able to dance in this?”

“Oh, my dear, dancing is slow, and fashion is not meant to be comfortable. It’s meant to make a statement,” Francesca says.

“What statement?” I ask.

“That you’re untouchable, off-limits. You’re a class above everyone else. It exudes power. That’s the statement the woman with Roman needs to convey.”

“I’m not powerful,” I reply, confused.

“You’re with powerful men. One is in your bed, and he doesn’t do sleepovers.” Irina winks at me, conveying a secret message.

“Roman loves me. But I can’t believe it. It’s so new. It hasn’t sunk in yet.”

“Duh.” She chuckles. “Francesca is right. Wear green. It’s a dress few women can pull off. Use it to your advantage.”

“Fine. Have you found a dress?” I ask Irina.

“Yes, I’m going with plain black. I don’t need to be pimped out for photographs. Tomorrow is about you and Roman.”

“But his brothers will be there.”

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