Page 54 of In Love and Revenge

Folding Dove’s clothes, I carry them out of the fitting room. Rafael lifts his head, his gaze sliding over me from my feet to my head. He’s on a call but tells them he’ll call them back before pocketing his phone.

‘You’re going to wear it now? Let me remove the tag for you,’ the sales assistant says.

‘Thank you.’

Rafael watches as I smooth my hair away from my shoulder so she can gently snip out the eye-watering price tag.

‘Ring it up, please. We need to leave,’ he says gruffly, his eyes narrowing on me.

I feel like a bug under a microscope being scrutinised. No doubt he’ll find fault. Deem me unworthy to grace the halls of his precious company, even in such a beautiful dress.

‘Certainly, Mr Fairfax,’ the sales assistant sings.

‘Actually, before you do that,’ he adds, causing her to freeze halfway to the checkout desk. ‘Pencil skirts. Do you have any?’

‘Yes,’ the sales assistant replies brightly, beaming at him.

But his eyes are still burning into my dress. I knew it. He hates it. He’s going to insist I buy something else. Something even more expensive.

I hug Dove’s clothes to my chest like a shield.

‘Show me,’ he commands.

The sales assistant rushes about and plucks a selection of skirts from the full-priced rails.

‘She’ll take those too. All of them.’

‘Of course. And what size would you like?’ The sales assistant smiles, directing her question to him.

‘Twelve. She’s a twelve.’

The sales assistant nods and goes to switch the skirts for my size.

The fact he got my size right must be a lucky guess, but that’s all the thought I can give to it as the sales assistant scans the skirts and bags them up. I wipe my sweaty palm on my dress.

‘I can’t ...’ I swallow, moving closer to Rafael, embarrassment spreading heat up my neck as I prepare to admit I can’t afford them if I want to eat for the next two months.

‘Put them on my account,’ he instructs the sales assistant, sounding bored as he pulls his phone back out of his pocket and types something into it.

‘What?’ I squeak, lowering my voice so only he can hear. ‘Why are you paying for them?’

His lips curl down in a scowl. ‘It’s my money, either way.’

I have no idea what he means. I take the bag the sales assistant is holding out, thanking her.

‘I have a dress. I don’t need three skirts as well,’ I point out as we walk to the exit.

‘I’m replacing the one that got wet. That’s all.’

‘With three?’ I scoff. ‘Anyway, it’ll dry.’

‘Perhaps. But it could be ruined and rendered unwearable.’

‘So?’

‘So that would be a shame.’ He clears his throat. ‘A waste, I mean. That would be a waste.’

‘Why? It’s only a skirt.’