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She broke into a smile when she saw me. “Hey. You’re early tonight.”
I showed her the bag in my hand. “I’m taking you on a picnic.”
“You and me?”
“Mm-hm. Get your coat.”
“Sweet!” She did a happy little dance on the couch, which didn’t help my hard cock. No, I pictured dragging her onto my lap and ordering her to do that sexy, wriggling dance—naked.
Down, boy.
“Okay, just let me tie this off.” Clearly unaware of where my thoughts had gone, she finished affixing a silver bead to the filmy gray material and laid it on the coffee table.
I picked it up. It was the beaded shirt Rio had insisted on bringing from New York. “You’re repairing it?”
“Yeah. Just be careful, all right? It’s fragile.”
I gently set it back on the table. “To wear?”
A shake of her head. “It wouldn’t fit.”
“So you’re going to give it away?” I asked, curious now.
“Or sell it.”
“To sell?”
She shrugged like it didn’t matter, but I could tell it did matter. “I hate to see clothes like this—vintage, maybe even hand sewn—thrown out.”
I frowned. “But anything you want, you just have to ask. I told Rio that. And I put the money you earned as a thrall in escrow. That’s yours—I’m planning on returning it eventually. You don’t have to fix up old clothes and sell them.”
“I’m not doing it for the money.”
“Then why?”
She looked down and I thought she was going to shrug again. Instead, she ran her palm over the beading.
“Explain it to me,” I coaxed. “I want to understand.”
“Someone spent a lot of time on this. This is hand beading—I can tell because of the way it was tied.” She turned the hem up to show me the tiny knots on the inside of the fabric, beneath a silky inner layer. “The fabric is still good. There was a small tear along the seam and half the beads had fallen off, but I was able to find some almost like the originals to replace them. If I repair it, someone can wear it. I feel like that honors the original designer, the person who created and sewed it in the first place.”
Her sparkle was back in full force, her beautiful face animated, her blue eyes gleaming. I gazed down at her, drinking in her enthusiasm like it was a glass of blood-champagne.
Something clicked. “That’s why you were working at that store. You didn’t need the money—you wanted hands-on experience.”
“Oh, I needed the money. You know how expensive it is to live in New York City? And I was afraid to touch what I hadn’t already withdrawn because—well, you know. But yeah, I went to every vintage clothing store in the city until I found one that would hire me. Someday I want to open my own store. But that was before—you know.” She looked away.
“I see.” But I didn’t, not really.
Eden didn’t need to work. On top of the money she’d already earned, she’d get more for each year she was a thrall, cash she could access as soon as I trusted her again. Plus, there was the baby. Even I knew a new mother didn’t have much time.
My fingers tightened on the picnic bag. Maybe it should’ve occurred to me that Eden had dreams, dreams she’d never shared with me.
Not that I’d asked.
She scooted to the edge of the couch, preparing to rise, and I moved to help her. She stretched up to kiss me, her gaze sliding to my hand. “What’s in the bag?”
I held it away from her. “A surprise.”
