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“Oh, good grief,” she muttered, rolling her eyes at herself.

Turning away from the door, she crossed the room and opened the double doors to find a walk-in closet that nearly made her knees weak.It was bigger than her entire bedroom back at her father’s estate.The shelves and racks were mostly empty, but four new dresses hung neatly to the side, with several pairs of jeans, tees—and leggings.

Her heart actually skipped.

Leggings.

Her father had forbidden them, declaring them indecent, “cheap.”She’d practically lived in them at boarding school, reveling in their comfort, until she’d been yanked back into her father’s suffocating control.She hadn’t worn them since.

She touched the soft fabric, her fingers lingering as though she might burn herself.Did she dare?

No.Not yet.

She turned reluctantly to the dresses.Two were sheath dresses, like the pink one she wore now.Safe.Restrained.The third was a flowered, flowy thing that practically screamedromance.The fourth—a yellow summer dress with thin straps and a playful ruffle—it felt too bright, too free.

They tempted her, those last two.But temptation was dangerous.

With a sigh, she chose the tan sheath dress instead.

At least there was clean underwear.She blushed scarlet when she spotted the lace, her ears heating at the thought of whoever had selected these.But the bras were the right size, and she chose the least daring one before slipping into the bathroom.

The shower was glorious.Steam enveloped her, the hot water sluicing away the last traces of yesterday.She scrubbed her hair with shampoo and conditioner, inhaling scents of lavender and citrus.Twenty minutes later, she stepped out, skin pink, hair damp, and heart beating a little steadier.

She dressed quickly, applying just a touch of mascara and lipstick from the small makeup kit she found, then blow-drying her hair until it was passably tame.

Catarina caught her reflection in the mirror.Not flawless.Not glamorous.But not broken either.

She drew in a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and whispered to herself, “I can do this.”

Chapter 9

Salfeltherbeforehe even looked up.When he did, he nearly cursed.

Another shapeless dress.This one tan.Tan,of all things.

He was going to strangle his assistant.Tomorrow.No—tonight.He wondered what Catarina would look like in something flowered, or maybe something as simple as jeans.His chest tightened.Jeans on her would probably wreck him.

His stare lingered too long, and he saw the way she fidgeted under it.Damn.He pulled his eyes away with effort, though the image of her—hair glossy and loose over her shoulders, cheeks flushed from her shower—was branded into his head.

“Are you hungry?”he asked, his voice a touch rougher than he intended.He stirred the sauce, then lifted the pot of pasta.“I made dinner.Kept it safe since I don’t know what you like.”He tossed her a glance over his shoulder.“Any allergies?”

She shook her head, stepping closer.“No allergies.”

Sal drained the pasta, plated it, and hesitated with the sausage.“Do you eat meat?”

Her eyes widened at the question, a blush stealing into her pale cheeks.“Yes.Thank you for asking.”

“Excellent.”He topped her portion generously, then added cheese with the flair of a man who’d done this before.

He peeled the apron off and tossed it onto the counter.“Sit.”

Catarina hovered uncertainly.“We’re eating at the breakfast bar?”

“I showed you the dining room,” he said, quirking a brow.“Too big and formal.I don’t need to shout across the table to talk to my wife.”

She blinked, then perched on the stool.“This is…nice.Thank you.”

“Help yourself to more cheese,” he said, nudging the bowl toward her.“Everyone’s got a cheese limit.I just don’t know yours yet.”