ALERA

The moment Dante leaves the room, I release a breath I didn't even know I was holding. My chest rises and falls like I've been underwater for too long. The stylist, Jean Claude, claps his hands together dramatically. "Mon Dieu, he is so handsome, no? That man, he walks in, and poof! The air changes."

Yeah. It does. He does. I admit grudgingly.

I lean back in the chair, trying to slow my racing thoughts. Dante Moretti looked like he'd stepped out of a ...