And then he handed his credit card to a stylist and said, "Get her whatever she wants."
Eighty-two thousand dollars. That's what I spent in one store.
I didn't mean to. I really didn't.
The stylist practically bullied me into it. I kept hesitating, and she kept saying things like, "If you only buy one purse, he'll be offended." Two hours later, I had ten pairs of shoes, four purses, and so many clothes I had to sit down halfway through the try-on just to breathe.
I still don't know what the hell else I should've picked. I gave up before we even hit accessories.
I told Declan that night, over dinner, that I felt like a thief.
He just smiled and said, "You deserve it. Plus, that's modest."
Who the fuck uses the word "modest" for a bill that could buy a car?
I've never lived like this. Never even dreamed of living like this.
Hell, I didn't know people actually lived like this outside of movies.
The last week has been... insane.
I take another sip of champagne, staring at the bubbles in the glass. It all became so overwhelming for me, last night I decided to tell him.
"People like me don't get this kind of thing," I'd told him over dinner.
He'd just took my hand and looked at me, his green eyes serious in the dim light. "You do now."
The certainty in his voice scared me. Like he'd decided my future without consulting me. Like he knew something I didn't.
But the scariest part? I didn't mind.
I finish my glass, and since the water's cold, I think I'll just get out now.
I stand, water cascading down my body, and reach for the towel Nina left folded on a heated rack. It's softer than anything I've ever felt, like drying off with a cloud. I then wrap myself in that new robe with my name on it, and slide my feet into slippers that feel like walking on air.
I step into Declan's master bedroom, still awed by the sheer size of it. The ceiling soars overhead, a crystal chandelier hanging like a frozen explosion of light. The bed could fit six people comfortably. Floor-to-ceiling windows look out over the most beautiful views of his garden and the city, lights twinkling in the distance.
I sit on the bed and listen.
It's quiet here, I'm still not used to it.
No neighbors yelling. No sirens. No glass breaking outside.
I smile and think, Hell, the only screams coming from these walls are mine, and we're not arguing.
The bedroom door opens suddenly, and I jump, pulling the robe tight, heart racing.
It's Declan.
He wasn't supposed to be home yet.
"Sorry, baby," he says, closing the door behind him. "Didn't mean to scare you."
"No, it's fine. I just wasn't expecting you until late."
"Family meeting ended early."
He takes off his coat, rolls up his sleeves, and my mouth goes dry.
