Page 24 of His Princess

“What’s going on?” He waved a hand at me.

Her smile faltered. “Quin, here, is buying a very wide selection of clothing from us.” She fought her smile back into existence.

“But why is he up here?” Mr. Allard snapped, pointing at the floor furiously.

“I was trying on clothes,” I said.

The man’s face went from irritated to irate. “No.”

“Uh, yeah?” I tilted my head and frowned at him.

“This is a women’s clothing store,” he hissed.

Morgan rolled her eyes, and if looks could kill he would’ve already been on fire. “Quin is spending about thirty thousand dollars with us today,” she said with all that faux cheeriness bubbling in her tone.

My heart nearly stopped. Jesus Christ, that was a down payment for a really nice car. Colt’s credit card was going to get a workout.

“No, he’s not,” Mr. Allard said forcefully.

“You’re going to cut me out of a six-thousand-dollar commission so you can do whatever this is?” Morgan asked, and I got the impression she was trying to be nice for some reason. I would’ve tossed him over the railing of the balcony, if I was her.

He drew himself up taller. “My grandmother wouldn’t indulge this if she were still here today. I’m the owner now, and I say no.” He ran a hand down his tie.

Morgan’s lip rolled into a sneer. “You have no idea what your grandmother did while she owned this place. She was a generous person who didn’t judge others.”

He shrugged. “Too bad. I don’t care how much money he planned to spend. He needs to leave.” Mr. Allard gave me a nasty look.

I snorted. “Really? You’re going to Pretty Woman me?”

Morgan closed her eyes, clearly holding in a laugh.

His nostrils flared. “If you were a woman, even a hooker, I wouldn’t care, but I won’t have you going out into New Gothenburg, slinking around in clothes that you bought at Sheer Avenue. No. Leave or I’ll call the police to escort you out.”

Morgan mouthed “sorry” behind his back, and I knew she would’ve wheeled those packages out to the curb herself if this man hadn’t caught us before I’d paid. That was what she’d been so sneaky about. I held my head high. This wasn’t the first time someone had said something to me because I didn’t fit into a mold. I was gay and not exactly subtle about it, but as I walked outside an ache began in my chest.

By the time I arrived home in an Uber, my face was too hot and I was having trouble breathing. As I stepped in the front door, I held my breath, then let it out, but my eyes still burned.

“Is that my wife?” Colt called from deeper in the house.

Tears slid out of my eyes and I began to climb the stairs. I was almost to the top when I realized I’d forgotten my messenger bag and perfume at Sheer Avenue, and I sat down right there on a step and covered my face with my hands.

Before yesterday I probably wouldn’t have thought too much about what it might be like to buy dresses in New Gothenburg. I probably would’ve growled a little if someone had told me a story like what had happened to me. I would’ve ranted about the bigot who owned the place and demanded the person telling me the story sue them.

But today it felt a lot more personal and mean. I couldn’t hold in a sob.

9

COLT

“PRINCESS?” I called when I didn’t receive an answer. I stalked out of the den, the subtle sound of crying reaching my ears. I’d spent all morning with Derek, overseeing a situation that put blood on my hands—literally. While I wasn’t usually the one who did the dirty work, sometimes the moment called for it. It’d been over a year since I’d killed someone, and my ears roared with the rush of adrenaline that hadn’t quite dwindled after beating a man to death. Now, I wanted the next best thing—to fuck my wife.

Except, after hearing what I assumed was the shedding of tears, I was back to the urge to kill someone, specifically the person who’d made Quin cry.

I found him at the top of the stairs, his face buried between his knees and his shoulders trembling so hard that I was surprised his teeth weren’t rattling.

“Baby girl?” I took two steps at a time until I reached him, then sat on the stairs at his side. Curling an arm around his shoulders, I dragged him closer. I scraped my fingers over his scalp, gentle and comforting. “What happened?”

He shook his head and mumbled something.

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