[Bianca]
I checked myself in the hotel mirror one last time before Giovanni arrived.
The black dress clung to my hips in a way that was almost indecent, the neckline low enough to draw eyes where I wanted them. My blonde curls brushed the bare skin of my shoulders, and my lipstick was still intact after two cocktails—thank God.
I arrived at the restaurant downstairs half an hour earlier hence why I had been forced to indulge a little. I wasn't drunk, but I was warm enough inside my head to let my nerves loosen.
This wasn't about romance. Not really. It was about forgetting. About proving to myself that I could f**k who I wanted—same as that asshole.
Giovanni showed up a little early, striding into the restaurant in a charcoal suit that made him look like he'd stepped out of some Ital
