“I wasn’t personally putting them on your body, but if you need help?—“
“You know what I mean. What’s the deal?”
“I didn’t realize a husband buying his wife some presents is such a problem.”
I get flustered at that. “You’ve never gotten me anything before. I didn’t know… I wasn’t sure…”
His smile is acid. “You’re my bride now, and I’m going to make sure you look the part too.”
“There it is!” The anger returns. “You don’t think my clothes are good enough.”
“Ilovethe way you dress. That tight skirt, the black one with the subtle pattern? You had it on yesterday when I slipped my hand between your legs. And that navy blouse that’s always a bit too loose in the chest and gives me a lovely peek of your tits whenever you bend over? Or the cream sweater?—“
“Okay, I got it! Jeez, since when did you memorize my outfits?” A tremor runs down my spine as his eyes roam up and down my body.
“Since always. Go try on your new presents, wife, and tell me if anything is not up to your satisfaction.”
He emphasizes the last word. I glance at the pool table.Get it together, Deanna.
Back upstairs I start tearing open boxes. A deep emerald A-line Max Mara column gown, a Saint Laurent tuxedo blazer and tailored trousers, a cream silk blouse from The Row, Louboutin pumps, a silk slip dress from Cucinelli, and dozens of otherpieces, all in my size, all fabulously designer, overpriced, andgorgeous.
I’ve never seen clothes like this before in my life. Not outside of a magazine at least. My paycheck stretches at Target and Marshall’s, and rarely I’ll treat myself to the Gap or Banana Republic. That skirt he likes so much is six years old and from Abercrombie.
This is wealth like I’ve never experienced. My heart races as I lift a black Dolce & Gabbana lace dress, lovely and conservative, and I know instantly it’s what I have to wear. Despite myself, I’m excited to pull it on and strip immediately, kicking off my tattered old jeans and t-shirt from when I went to summer camp at sixteen, and pull the dress over my head. Once it’s on, I turn to the full-length mirror, and nearly scream to find Prime lurking near the bedroom door.
“What the fuck!” I whirl around to face him. “You scared the crap out of me.”
He’s staring like he’s never seen me before. His face is hard, almost angry, as his eyes rake from my ankles to my throat, up to my lips, lingering for a long time there, before meeting my nervous gaze.
“You look incredible.”
“Th-thank you.” I hug myself and look back at the mirror. “You really think so?”
“Absolutely. It’s perfect.” He approaches and stands beside me. He’s so much bigger than I am, so much more handsome. His large hands dwarf my hips as he touches me, smoothing over the dress slowly. There’s a needy energy between us, one I’ve never felt before.
“Were you watching me get changed?” I whisper.
“It’s not my fault you didn’t bother looking around.”
“Prime…”
“It was an accident.”
“Sure it was.” I let my head fall back against his chest. I like the way it feels, like it’s natural and I fit just right. I take a moment to admire his powerful forearms, the veins and the tattoos, and his incredible hands, big and calloused. Not the hands of a CEO, but those of a man used to fighting for his life.
“Wear this tonight.”
“That was the plan.”
“Good girl.” He pats my ass lovingly.
In another life, at another time, I’d tell him off for it.
But here and now? In our bedroom? In this dress?
He can get away with one.
Il Cardinale isa hole-in-the-wall Italian place off Washington Ave. It looks like a restaurant that was built in the fifties and hasn’t changed a bit in the years since. The carpets are beautifully maintained, the tables all have white linens, and there are candles flickering everywhere.
