“We’ll just get one pair,” Violet says firmly as we enter. “Something that matches the red dress.”
“Sure.”
I guide her toward a display of evening shoes, my hand settling naturally at the small of her back.
She doesn’t pull away this time.
A young woman approaches with a bright smile and eager energy. “Can I help you find something?”
“She needs dress heels,” I say, gesturing to Violet. “And walking shoes. Comfortable ones.”
Violet’s head whips toward me. “Walking shoes?”
“The gala venue has extensive grounds. You’ll need something practical.” I keep my expression neutral. “Unless you want to walk around in fancy heels all day.”
Her mouth opens, then closes. I can see her trying to find a flaw in my logic.
“What size?” the saleswoman asks Violet.
“Seven and a half.”
The woman disappears into the back, and Violet turns to me, suspicion written all over her face. “One pair of heels, one pair of flats. That’s it.”
“Of course.”
I examine a pair of strappy, silver heels that would look incredible wrapped around her ankles—and around my shoulders. I clear my throat and set them down.
The saleswoman returns with an armful of boxes. “I pulled several styles. Let’s start with these.”
What follows is torture of the sweetest kind. Violet sits in the fitting chair while the woman helps her try on pair after pair. As I watch her feet slide into delicate heels, I notice the way they arch, how her calves flex with each movement.
“These are pretty.” She stands in a pair of gold heels, wobbling slightly.
“You can barely walk in them.” I point to another box. “Try the black ones.”
She shoots me a look but complies. The black heels are simpler yet elegant, with ankle straps that…
“Better,” I say, my voice rough.
She walks a few steps. Confident this time, no wobble. The heels add inches to her height, changing the way she moves. She looks powerful.
“We’ll take them,” I tell the saleswoman. “And the silver ones from that display. The burgundy pair she tried on earlier. Those nude ones in the corner.”
“Darius!” Violet stares at me. “That’s four pairs of heels.”
“You have four dresses. Each one needs appropriate shoes.” I nod to the saleswoman, who’s trying very hard not to look gleeful. “And the walking shoes. Multiple pairs. Differentstyles.”
“This is ridiculous,” Violet hisses, but the saleswoman is already pulling more boxes.
By the time we leave, I’m carrying six bags. Four pairs of heels in various colors, two pairs of comfortable, leather walking shoes that Violet actually smiled at, and a pair of ankle boots she tried to refuse until I pointed out that the forecast calls for rain.
“There is no way the company is covering all this,” she mutters as I load the bags into my SUV.
“It’s all necessary.” I close the liftgate. “We have one more stop.”
She looks at me warily. “Where?”
I check my watch. “You’ll see.”
