His Fantasy Bride (Things to do Before You Die… #3)(3)

And she’d wanted to help. She’d never really felt like she belonged. Hell, she didn’t even look the part, a blonde and blue-eyed alien surrounded by a sea of black hair and dark eyes. This was her chance to do something, to prove she really was part of the family.

“Did you see that total hottie?” Sally asked, fanning her face, as the door to the dressing room shut behind them.

With the words, the last hope that she’d somehow conjured up his image, drained away. “Total hottie” just about summed Vito up. He was all long, lean muscles wrapped in golden skin. The body of a Greek god and the face of an Adonis. She’d known she was in trouble from the moment she’d first seen him; he’d been way more charismatic in real life than the photos Luca had shown her. She’d only kept her hands off him because of guilt and the ability to completely submerge herself in her role.

She was a good girl.

Hah.

A good actress, maybe.

She’d always had a thing for Mediterranean men. After all, Luca had been her first crush, but perhaps best not to go there. “Best not go there” seemed to be the recurring theme with her love life.

But it looked like she wasn’t going to have a choice in the matter. She was going there whether she liked it or not.

She kicked off her shoes and sank down onto the stool in front of the mirror that ran along one wall of the changing rooms, but she didn’t even see her reflection. Maybe if she sat here long enough, he would lose interest and go away. The chatter of the other girls washed over her. Her mind was numb; she had no clue what to do. What to say to him. Obviously, the truth wasn’t an option. But she was done with lying.

Maybe she could fake a case of bronchitis and pretend she’d lost her voice—except he’d no doubt seen and heard her sing on the stage.

Amnesia?

She liked that one.

The room slowly emptied out, and still she didn’t move. Finally, the door clicked shut behind the last of her workmates, and she shifted on the stool. She couldn’t stay here forever.

Or could she? They’d find her mummified corpse years from now… Maybe not.

She glanced around—there was no other exit, not even a window to jump out of, and the only other door led to a bathroom. A rack with the costumes stood along the wall opposite. A disguise perhaps. Or a hiding place.

Wimp.

She was being pathetic.

Just get it over with.

But put some clothes on first.

She definitely didn’t want to face her ex-fiancé in nothing but a leotard, tights, and legwarmers. She stood up and reached for her sweats as the door handle turned…and the world stopped.

Oh, hell. Too late.

…

He’d been loitering outside for half an hour, like some lovesick admirer, as one by one, the other women had exited what he presumed was the changing room.

But no Gabrielle.

She was in there. He was sure. She couldn’t have gotten past him and left the building.

The door opened, and his breath caught in his throat…then released on a sigh as yet another stranger appeared. She glanced at him curiously, and he stepped forward.

“I’m looking for Gabrielle Harper,” he said.

She gave a little pout but then nodded back toward the dressing room. “Gabby? She’s in there.”

He stared at the door as if willing it to open. What would she say?

When nothing happened and another five minutes passed, he took a deep breath and stepped toward the door. He almost expected it to be locked but the handle turned, and he pushed it open.

It led into a long, narrow room, but his surroundings faded because there she was.

She stood only a few feet away, a startled expression in her wide blue eyes. He pushed the door open further and stepped into the room, enveloped instantly in a wave of feminine perfumes. She took a step back.

He released the door, and it swung shut behind him, the click loud in the silence.

She stared at him for long moments. He stared back. She was the same but completely different. She’d always worn her hair in a tidy blond bob, cut off neat at the shoulders. Now it was pulled into a high messy pony tail and the blond was mixed with bright magenta streaks. Her face was free of makeup, where before she’d always worn a small amount, subtle and understated. Now her skin was clear, her lips dark pink, pouty. His eyes skimmed over her face and then back—she had a diamond stud in her nose, and he started in shock.

It occurred to him that he would never have looked twice at this woman. She reminded him too much of his students, young and edgy and off-limits. It was one of his unspoken rules—never get involved with anyone at his work, and certainly not a student.

But Gabrielle wasn’t a student, and she was twenty-four—five years younger than him. At least, that’s what she’d told him, though now he was beginning to question everything.

He’d always thought her classically beautiful. Now she looked…sexy. Her heart-shaped face had a dimple in the chin. Her nose was small, her cheekbones high, and her eyes huge and midnight blue.

He cleared his throat and dropped his gaze.

Merda.

She still wore the purple leotard, and it was skin-tight and clinging to her curves. Cristo, he could see her nipples pressed against the soft material, and the blood drained to his groin. Her breasts were small but rounded. He was pretty sure she was naked beneath the thin material and saliva flooded his mouth.