There was a soft knock at the door. A low growl was all I could manage in response.
A soft chuckle sounded from the other side that had my eyes narrowing even as my belly did a little twist.
“I have something for you to wear,” Harrison called.
I sighed, yanking the door open, grabbing the bags he had outstretched—one, a white Dior bag with a pretty spring floral design, the other a light pink Agent Provocateur with a little black bow—and immediately slammed the door.
I hated that I was impressed with how quickly he pulled the task off. Sure, a bunch of the hotels on the strip had designer boutiques available. And, yeah, he likely just called down to have the concierge run the errand for him.
Still, it showed forethought and thoughtfulness that caught me off guard.
I reached into the bag without a lot of hope. I’d never been a designer clothing kind of person. I often wasn’t fashionable enough to ‘get’ the styles and cuts.
So I was pleasantly surprised to pull out a pair of flared jeans that wouldn’t cling too much to my suddenly sensitive body.
And, damn him, they were the right size somehow, too.
I laid them on the sink counter and reached in to pull out… a simple t-shirt.
I didn’t even think Diorhadplain tees. This one was as simple as they could come, too. Just white with a tiny little shamrock and their name under it.
Next, I went to the pink bag.
I’d seen the store more than a few times over the years. It was one of those upscale lingerie stores that some part of me did kind of drool over.
No, I wasn’t a fancy dresser.
But who didn’t like a pretty pair of panties?
I reached inside and found a whole bunch of different pairs of undies in black, red, white, and blue. All of them were lacy and sexy, just how I liked them.
He hadn’t gotten me a bra.
I couldn’t be mad about that. It tookmeyears to find the right size. I couldn’t expect a man who’d only seen my tits once—ugh, twice—to be able to guess.
Besides, the last thing I wanted was to strap myself into a torture device when I already felt like crap.
I put on a pair of black panties, the jeans, and the tee, combed out my hair that was not happy to be without my deep conditioner, conditioning spray, and oil. My hair had always been thick, wavy, a bit unruly. I knew it was going to dry and be tangly and frizzy. But it was the least of my concerns on this particular day.
My gaze slid down to the rings on my finger.
I couldn’t tell you why I hadn’t taken them off yet.
Even as I moved to do so then, there was a weird hiccuping feeling in my chest.
I ignored it, pulling the rings off and wondering what the hell Harrison had been drinking to buy an engagement ring that had to cost six figures, easy.
Clearly, the man was rich.
I’d known that when he’d sat down at the poker table.
And this damn penthouse suite was also evident of that.
But still.
Six figures on a ring for a sham marriage?
“God,” I grumbled, shaking my head.
