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“I doubt that.”
“Seriously?” I ask. “You really think enough zeroes is what magically makes women happy? I don’t think I’m that simple.”
He hands over a sleek black credit card as my weaponry.
“Let’s find out,” he says, meeting my gaze as if it’s a challenge.
“…It’s a little tone deaf.”
“Maybe gift giving is my love language,” he says, rife with sarcasm. I roll my eyes at him.
“Maybe you’re just illiterate.”
I swipe the card from him anyway and stomp into the nearest luxury store where I can prove him wrong. I set my sights on the big money—garish, limited edition luxury label handbags with price tags in the tens of thousands.
“What do you think?” I ask, holding one up. “Not that I have anything to put inside a handbag. No ID, no phone. It’s basically a lipstick holder. A $40,000 lipstick holder.”
“Why not get one in pink, too?”
I call his bluff.
“Good thinking. And maybe one of those in white, for Ava,” I suggest, eyeing his expression more than the bag I’m pointing at.
“And something for Kay,” he raises. “Have a gift for her when you next see her.”
…Is he fucking with me? When I don’t reach for any of the bags, Salvatore asks if I need him to hold something.
I come to two realizations at once. One, Salvatore really does mean it when he says I should buy these expensive, over-the-top bags both for myself and my girls. And two, this really is him trying—trying to meet me somewhere between my own concerns and what he feels capable of providing for me. This is what he can give me, what he can extend to the friends I care so deeply about: his protection and his money. If I want those things, I can take it all.
I have no idea how far his generosity or his credit limit goes. I am morbidly curious to find out, as if I’ve discovered a new superpower.
I put back one of my vengeful choices, if only to pick out something Ava will actually enjoy. I’ve sent her out to shop for me enough. Even if it was on Salvatore’s dime, she deserves something nice for everything she’s done for me.
The cute teal crossbody I find doesn’t come much cheaper than the clunky handbag.
I fall in love with several gorgeous dresses and a cashmere coat. In total, they cost Salvatore $25,000. He doesn’t blink, only comments, “We’ll see how long you fit in those.”
The words nearly take me out like a sniper shot.
“Aren’t you going to get anything?” I ask him, flustered. I’ve run up a $100,000 tab in a matter of minutes in the first store we entered, and I’m starting to feel self-conscious about it.
“I’ve got what I want,” Salvatore says, the words low and meaningful as he looks me over.
I want to personally shoot every single butterfly that springs up in my belly, feeling the heat in my cheeks. I flee across the store to distract myself before I turn into a blubbering idiot in front of him.
One sentence, and he nearly puts me on my knees for him again. Bastard.
Out of the corner of my eye, a gorgeous necklace draws my attention. I gaze at it before I can catch myself—a stunning, delicate collar of endless white diamonds glittering beneath a pane of protective glass.
Salvatore’s hand ghosts against the small of my back, making me jump.
“That’s the first thing you’ve looked at like that,” he says, reading my expression.
It’s beyond beautiful, but I think I’ve hit my limit before I’ve managed to find Salvatore’s. I try to brush past it.
“It doesn’t have a price tag. You know it’s bad if you have to ask someone.”
Salvatore waves over an attendant. Alarm bells start going off in my head. I try to object, but the eager employee is already prattling off a few of the piece’s specifications. The number of natural diamonds, the white gold setting, the diamond carat weight. The only number in the list that catches my attention is the absurd price tag: $275,000. I nearly laugh.
