I stared at the box, my throat tight. “What is it?”
“I wouldn’t know, miss. I’m only the delivery man.” He gave a slight bow. “Is there anything else you need?”
“No, I—thank you.”
He’s gone before I can say more, the door clicking shut behind him. Marcus and I stand in stunned silence, staring at the three garment bags as if they might explode.
“Well,” Marcus said finally, breaking the quiet. “That was dramatic… I approve.”
I reached for the first bag, my fingers trembling as I unzip it.
It’s a white knee-length dress; when I pull it out fully, I see the delicate beading along the neckline.
“And this isn’t enough,” Marcus said, already reaching for the second bag. “Let’s see what else Daddy Crime Lord picked out.”
The second dress was more fitted, elegant, with a plunging back that would leave almost nothing to the imagination.
The third was a simple off-the-shoulder dress, with a flowing skirt that made me think of old Hollywood glamour. It’s softer than the others, more romantic.
And then there’s the velvet box.
Marcus snatched it before I could, flipping it open with a dramatic flourish. Inside, nestled on black satin, is a pair of diamond earrings. Not small, not subtle. The kind of earrings that cost more than my rent.
“Holy shit,” Marcus yells.
I can’t speak.
He pulls out the tag on the first dress, squinting at it. His eyes went wide, and he let out a low whistle. “Zara. This dress costs more than my car.”
“What?”
“I’m serious.” He held up the tag, and I leaned in, reading the numbers. My stomach dropped. “This is insane. This is—this is ‘I could pay off my student loans’ insane.”
“Marcus—”
“And the earrings?” He pulled one out and holds it up to the light. “These are Cartier. Cartier, Zara. I know because I spent an embarrassing amount of time looking at their website during my ‘I deserve nice things’ phase.”
I sank onto the edge of the couch, my head spinning. “I can’t accept this.”
“You absolutely can.” Marcus carefully placed the earring back into the box and planted his hands on his hips. “And you will. Because if this man is going to buy you ridiculous, obscenely expensive things, you are going to let him. That’s the deal. That’s the arrangement.”
“It feels wrong.”
“It feels uncomfortable,” he corrected, sitting down beside me. “Which is different? You’re not used to people doing nice things for you. You’re used to being the one who gives, who sacrifices, who makes do.” He nudged my shoulder. “But this? This is someone who wants to take care of you. Let him.”
I looked at the dresses, the earrings, the evidence of Lorenzo’s obsession laid out across Marcus’s cheap dining chairs.
“He barely knows me,” I whispered.
“He knows enough.” Marcus stands, grabbing the second dress and holding it up against me. “Okay. Try them on.”
“What?”
“Try them on. We’re having a fashion show. I’m going to judge each one, give my honest opinion, and then we’re going to drink more wine and pretend we’re not both terrified of how deep you’re getting into this.”
I laughed despite myself. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m supportive. Now strip.”
