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The drive was quiet, but not the comfortable kind that usually settled between us. Belle’s face was turned toward the window, her brows pinched like she was deep in thought as the city thinned out behind us on the expressway.
“You want the aux?” I asked.
“I’m good.”
Anytime we were in my car, she wasted no time snatching it and putting on her bad bitches playlist, forcing me to listen to Cardi or Megan or whoever she was on at the moment. I sucked in a breath and put on 21 Savage to fill the silence.
We eventually arrived at Americana Manhasset, which was about forty minutes from the city on Long Island. It was a very if-you-know-you-know kind of place, much better than trying to fight tourists that were guaranteed to be on Fifth Avenue at any of the flagship designer stores.
Belle looked around when we got out of the car with an impressed look on her face. “I’ve never been out here before.”
“None of your other baller boyfriends ever brought you out here?” I joked.
Her face got tight for a second before she fixed it. I fell in step beside her as she moved through the strip, taking in the different luxury stores while making a mental inventory through the windows. We kept going until she stopped at Bottega.
“Here?”
She nodded and walked in.
An associate materialized almost immediately, her gaze moving over us with the practiced calculation of someone deciding whether or not we were worth her time.
“If you’re gonna help, help,” Belle said, picking up a bag off the display. “If not, go do whatever it is that you do.”
The woman turned a bright shade of red, “Please just let me know if you need any assistance,” she stammered.
I smirked. Belle didn’t miss a beat as she moved through the store. She settled on two bags and a wallet.
“That’s it?” I asked as she brought the items to the register.
She flashed me a saccharine smile. “Oh, I’m just getting warmed up.”
We hit four more stores after Bottega. At Kith, she picked up some workout clothes and a mini dress. The stop at Jimmy Choo took the longest because she couldn’t decide between two pairs of heels, even though I kept telling her to get both. She was gracious enough to stop at Sneaker Mrkt because she spotted a pair of retro Jordans and decided I needed them.
“These are a gift from me,” she said at the register.
“We’re spending my money.”
“Right, but this way you’re not spending it all on me. I’m thinking about you.” She kissed my cheek and patted my chest.
The bags were piling up. We made a trip back to the car because it was getting ridiculous.
She’d seemed to have loosened up a bit when we stopped to eat. Not all the way but she’d stopped scowling and was back to shit-talking.
She was sipping her Diet Coke and telling me about one of the bottle girls at Luxe who’d been working her nerves for the past few weeks.
I was listening to her, but my mind kept drifting to the conversation I had with my pops.
“You ever think about getting married?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s a loaded question.”
“It’s just a question.”
“You don’t just ask random questions, Dez,” she chuckled. “Why are you asking me this?”
“I just wanna know if you could picture yourself being someone’s wife.”
She sipped her soda and eyed me suspiciously. “Marriage is a hard no for me. It doesn’t look like anything more than a shitty business arrangement. Watching my mother have to morph and perform for the next man? Her constantly having to give herself away to them? Yeah, I’m good on that.”
