Chapter 2 - THE PLUM DRESS
The air in the narrow hallway of Leah’s apartment building suddenly felt entirely too thin.
Dante’s hand was warm and firm around hers. The single white rose he had given her rested gently against the silk of her plum dress. She stared up at him, searching his dark, unreadable eyes for any sign of a joke.
“You’re serious,” Leah whispered, the words slipping out before she could catch them.
“I rarely say things I don't mean,” Dante replied smoothly. He released her hand just long enough to offer his arm. “Shall we?”
Leah nodded, feeling as though she had stepped into a parallel universe where she wasn't just a maid, and he wasn't just the most dangerous man in Chicago.
She took his arm, and they walked out into the cool evening air.
A massive, silent bodyguard named Marcus opened the rear door of the black sedan. He offered Leah a polite nod—a sharp contrast to the gruff indifference he usually showed her when she served coffee at the estate.
“Evening, Miss Bennett,” Marcus rumbled.
“Hi, Marcus,” Leah smiled nervously, sliding into the plush leather seat.
Dante got in beside her, and the heavy door closed with a definitive thud, shutting out the noise of the city.
As the car pulled away from the curb, Leah smoothed her dress over her knees. The anxiety that had been clawing at her stomach all afternoon began to morph into something else. Anticipation. And a healthy dose of sheer terror.
“My mother is very observant,” Leah warned, looking out the tinted window. “If she suspects you’re only here because I paid you—or worse, because I begged you—she will spend the entire night giving me looks of profound pity.”
“I assure you, Leah,” Dante said, his voice a low, comforting rumble in the quiet cabin, “by the end of tonight, no one in that room will pity you.”
Leah looked at him. The dim streetlights played across the sharp angles of his jaw. He looked incredibly handsome in the tuxedo. Too handsome for a woman who spent her days scrubbing marble countertops.
“What is the cover story?” Leah asked. “How did we meet?”
“We met at a coffee shop in the Loop,” Dante answered without hesitation. “You spilled an iced latte on my shoes. I was furious. You were charmingly apologetic. I demanded you buy me a replacement coffee. We talked for two hours.”
Leah blinked. “That’s surprisingly detailed.”
“The best lies always are.”
“And what do you do for a living?”
“I’m in logistics,” Dante said smoothly. “Import and export. Which isn't entirely untrue.”
Leah let out a small, breathless laugh. “Import and export. Right. Please tell me you aren't bringing a gun into my mother’s dance studio.”
Dante didn't smile, but his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. “Marcus has the weapons in the car. Tonight, I am merely a logistics executive who is entirely captivated by his girlfriend.”
Leah’s heart gave a sudden, treacherous thump. Captivated.
“Just... don't overdo it,” she muttered, looking back out the window. “Owen will know if it looks fake.”
“Then we won't make it look fake.”
Fifteen minutes later, the sedan pulled up to the curb outside Bennett Dance Studio. The familiar brick building on Milwaukee Avenue was brightly lit, the large front windows glowing with warm, golden light. A small crowd of elegantly dressed guests was already mingling on the sidewalk.
Marcus opened the door. Dante stepped out first, adjusting his cuffs, before turning to offer Leah his hand.
When Leah emerged from the car, she immediately felt the eyes of the crowd on her.
She shrank back slightly, her instinct to hide taking over. But Dante’s hand tightened around hers. He didn't pull her. He simply anchored her.
“Head up,” Dante murmured, leaning in close so only she could hear. “You own this room.”
Leah took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and let Dante guide her through the glass double doors.
The studio was beautiful. Her mother had transformed the large, open practice space into a ballroom, with sheer white drapery hanging from the ceiling and hundreds of fairy lights sparkling along the mirrored walls.
Standing near the entrance, greeting guests with a clipboard, was her younger sister, Chloe.
Chloe looked up. Her eyes went wide, bouncing from the plum dress, to Dante, to their interlocked hands, and back to Dante’s face.
“Leah?” Chloe asked, her voice squeaking slightly.
“Hi, Chloe,” Leah said, trying to sound casual. “This is Dante.”
Dante offered a charming, polite smile that Leah had never seen him use on anyone. “A pleasure, Chloe. Leah has told me so much about you.”
Chloe practically vibrated with shock. “You... you’re Leah’s boyfriend?”
“I am,” Dante said, his grip on Leah’s hand firm and reassuring.
Chloe looked at Leah, a silent, frantic question in her eyes: Where did you find a billionaire supermodel and how much is he charging you?
Before Leah could answer, a sharp, familiar voice cut through the music.
“Leah! Finally.”
Leah’s stomach plummeted.
Her mother, Eleanor Bennett, marched toward them. Eleanor was a tiny, fierce woman who moved with the sharp precision of a retired ballerina. She was wearing a sleek black dress and an expression of profound irritation.
“The caterers are short-staffed,” Eleanor said, barely looking at Dante. “I need you in the back immediately to help plate the appetizers before the opening waltz.”
The familiar, crushing weight of expectations settled over Leah. Help in the kitchen. Stay out of sight. Don't ruin the aesthetic.
Leah started to pull her hand away from Dante’s. “I’ll be right back, Dante. I just need to—”
“I’m afraid she can't,” Dante interrupted, his voice polite but edged with absolute steel.
Eleanor stopped. She finally looked at the man holding her daughter’s hand.
“Excuse me?” Eleanor asked, her brow furrowing.
“Leah is my date this evening,” Dante said smoothly, stepping slightly in front of Leah. “And I haven't seen her all week. I plan on monopolizing her entire evening. I’m sure the caterers will manage.”
Eleanor stared at Dante. No one spoke to Eleanor Bennett like that in her own studio.
“And who are you?” Eleanor demanded.
“Dante Moretti.”
Eleanor’s eyes darted to Leah, then back to Dante. She took in the custom tuxedo, the expensive watch, and the quiet, terrifying confidence radiating from him.
“Well,” Eleanor stammered, entirely thrown off balance. “I suppose... the caterers will figure it out.”
She offered a tight, forced smile and hurried away to deal with a crisis near the bar.
Leah exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding. She looked up at Dante, her eyes wide with shock and gratitude.
“You just terrified my mother,” Leah whispered.
“I politely declined her request,” Dante corrected. “Now, where is the bar? I believe we require champagne.”
As they walked across the polished hardwood floor, Leah felt the stares of her mother’s instructors and old students. But for the first time in her life, she didn't feel the need to shrink.
Then, she saw him.
Standing near the DJ booth, holding a glass of wine and laughing with a group of investors, was Owen.
He was wearing a tailored navy suit. His blond hair was perfectly styled. He looked exactly the same as he did the day he told her she didn't fit into his world.
Beside him stood Jessica. Tall. Slender. Wearing a glittering silver gown that clung to her size-four frame.
Owen turned his head.
His eyes swept over the crowd and landed on Leah.
His smile faltered. His gaze dropped to the plum dress. Then to Dante.
The shock on Owen’s face was so visceral, so entirely undeniable, that a sudden, fierce spark of triumph ignited in Leah’s chest.
Dante noticed the exchange. He leaned down, his lips brushing against Leah’s ear, sending a shiver straight down her spine.
“Is that him?” Dante asked softly.
“Yes,” Leah breathed.
May you like
Dante didn't look at Owen. He looked at Leah, a dark, dangerous promise in his eyes.
“Good,” Dante murmured. “Because they are about to announce the opening dance. And we are going to ruin his night.”
