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I’d wandered around downtown for a while with a latte from Grounds and Gears. Then, I’d stumbled into a boutique perfume shop. I had only picked out two bottles before the scents swirling around began to give me a headache. After I got a little dizzy, I paid and moved on, walking slowly down the street as I studied the gold-foil paper bag my purchases had come in.
A weird, giddy part of me couldn’t believe I’d dropped seven hundred dollars on two teeny bottles of perfume. The adrenaline that had spiked in my veins as I’d whipped out the gold credit card—Who would’ve guessed Matthew was Colt’s real first name?—had taken me almost as high as Colt’s cock had last night.
And the sales clerk hadn’t batted a fake eyelash as I’d scribbled a barely legible smudge onto the receipt. No one cared as long as the card wasn’t declined.
Mom had never spent that much money without running the purchases past Colt. It was something she’d complained about more than once. He’d given her nearly anything she’d wanted, but he’d never truly let her run wild.
But I was different.
Why?
I sipped my drink and hummed. Why was he giving me free rein like this? I was strangely thrilled and worried at the same time. Was this a test to see if he could trust me? Shrugging, I walked past Sheer Avenue, a shop that Mom had always wanted to buy clothing from but couldn’t ever talk Colt into letting her blow a few grand in.
I looked at the Open sign on the glass door.
Well, he’d said to buy dresses anywhere. I smirked. He would regret not giving me any limits for this card. I patted my messenger bag. No, I didn’t want to piss him off, but I wasn’t convinced he hadn’t done something specific to send Mom running. Hell, look what he’d done to me!
I pushed open the door and walked inside.
With barely one foot in the door, I gasped and almost fumbled my drink. I hadn’t realized that the three-story brick building the entrance was located in was all Sheer Avenue. I was able to look up to the top at a skylight, and all three floors were ringed in balconies that gave hints of the clothing beyond the railings. An escalator went up ahead of me, and the bottom floor was mostly dresses, from what I could see.
“Oh wow.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about this.
Was I really going to wear dresses for Colt? A filthy tingle started low in my belly. Well, I didn’t have to be certain about wearing the dresses to buy them, and either way, I would feel better about life if I set some of his money on fire. With a nod, I started forward, then slowed. I knew what looked good on Mom. I’d gone shopping with her more than once. But me?
“Can I help you? Are you looking to buy something for a special someone in your life?” a woman asked, catching me off guard. She wore a cream pants suit and had her dark hair up in a simple chignon that I probably could also pull off. Would my hair look good that way if I were dolled up? I spun toward her, and she stood on my right near a display of dresses so artfully arranged I was sure they were probably well out of my usual budget....
Not that I had a dress budget, typically.
I cleared my throat. “Uh. You know, funny thing.” I twirled a strand of my hair around my finger and decided to just go for it. “My husband said he would like for me to wear more dresses.”
She blinked, and then a smile spread across her cute round face. “Your husband?”
“Oh, yes. He said to spend as much money as I want today.”
Saints didn’t have smiles as blinding as hers. “Oh, you look like you’re a size four. Maybe a two.”
I glanced at the dresses on the wire display mannequins. They didn’t have any weird faceless heads, thankfully. “Um, I don’t see any racks anywhere?”
She cringed and waved a hand. “Oh, goodness no. Not here. I’ll curate your experience. You decide on the styles you think you’ll enjoy, and then I’ll gather them so you can try them on all at once. I want to make your experience as streamlined as possible so I don’t waste your valuable time.” She held up an iPad. “You walk around and let me know what you like, and I’ll make notes! I’m Morgan, by the way.”
For about an hour, shopping with Morgan wasn’t significantly different than shopping with my mother. I would just say “Oh, that looks great!” and Morgan would nod and agree. Only this time, I was talking about clothing I thought might look good on me, not Mom.
“What styles does your husband prefer?” she asked as things were winding down. We’d been through the first and second floor, not skipping an inch. She beamed at me. “Sometimes it’s nice to reward them when they spend a lot.”
“Oh. Well, he wants a 1950s housewife.” I rolled my eyes.
She smiled so wide her nose crinkled. “We have a few things he would love,” she whispered, using her iPad to shield her face. “They’re on the top floor near the lingerie. You need some of that to go with all these dresses.” She winked, then glanced around, and I got the feeling she was trying to avoid someone as she hustled me to the escalator. There were at least six women with salespeople at their sides, and when we arrived on the top level, Morgan did the same thing, checking all around, and I frowned but shrugged it off.
“The panties won’t be a good fit,” she said, giving me a sad smile. “We don’t carry anything that can accommodate you easily, but the chemises, slips, and nightgowns will definitely work.” She gestured at a corner that was mostly silky gleaming fabrics.
“Is there a store in New Gothenburg with men’s stuff?” My cheeks heated and I cleared my throat.
She gave me a sad pout. “No, but I know of one in New York City, and I can definitely give you the details.”
She led me to the fitting area, which was a little odd because it was missing the chairs for forgotten husbands and boyfriends—and in my case sons—that I was used to loitering around when I went places like this with Mom. Morgan guided me into a small room with a couch and vanity, and I plonked down on the soft white leather, stifling a yawn.
