I blink at it.
I blink again, my stomach dropping and rising at the same time.Pretty? That’s it?Part of me wants to throw the phone across the dressing room. Part of me wants to send another, more revealing photo, to touch myself, show him how wet I am from the mere thought of him.
Is that it?Just pretty? Like I'm some random girl he saw at one of his Friday night Family meetings? I feel the heat rise to my cheeks, equal parts embarrassment, whiskey, and something else—disappointment.
Anger.
Betrayal?
I can't tell which emotion is winning as I peel the lingerie off with trembling fingers and climb back into my jeans and shirt.
Walking slowly from the dressing room, I’m torn between texting him back and pretending it never happened.
"Are you ready to leave?" Jasmine asks, eyeing my fully clothed form. "You're dressed."
"I'll take this one." I hold it out for the manager, hating myself for allowing so much of my self-worth to be wrapped up in Clay Butcher’s approval. Even if heisthe most powerful man in the city, in the world, in the universe. Like, it’s not as if I had self-worth before him, cause, nah, I didn’t, but at least I knew what I was. I was ready to take on the world alone.
My stomach drops.
What happens when the novelty wears off? When he sees me as just another obligation, another piece of his empire to maintain? The thoughts come unbidden.
"We have it in other colours." The manager folds the lingerie with practiced hands. "Plum, perhaps?"
"Sure." I shrug, picturing his face lighting up at a different shade. Would that have earned more than just "pretty"?
"You look pale," HJ observes.
No shit.
"I'm fine." I grip the stroller handle like it's keeping me upright, gazing down at my sleeping boys. Their perfect little faces blur as my vision swims. Maybe that's all I am now—a vessel. The mother of his heirs.
But that can be enough.
It has to be.
A conversation comes back:Fawn has already given me two sons at only nineteen; my line, my legacy is real. I will have many children. My sons and daughters will be unstoppable. No one will ever question the leadership of the Cosa Nostra in the District again.
Well, kudos to my ovaries.
I guess.
That is what I wanted, right? To find my accomplishments in being a good mother and wife. That was my dream? Does a good wife allow her husband to fuck other women as long as he comes home to her? I’m getting so ahead of myself, but I can’t help it.
Bile fills my throat.
My hands shake.
Why am I so fucking emotional right now?
Your period, silly girl.
Jasmine grabs theprettyGucci-branded bag, and I steer the stroller back through the store. “Oh, wait.” I stop and look at the store manager. “Don’t I need to pay?”
“It’s on the tab, Mrs Butcher.”
“Not yet,” I blurt out.
He looks nervous. “Excuse me?”
