Which leads to me being the equivalent of a paper doll as dress after dress is put on and taken off me. Tommy watches with a critical eye the entire time, not once speaking to me, but to the staff. Always in such soft tones that I never hear what he says.
I’m not opposed to it. It’s oddly comforting not to have to decide. Something I was familiar with in my dance life, when I was told to try this or that on and then parade in front of others who had the final say. I never chose the outfit, so I never cared beyond that it fit comfortably. Similar to what’s happening now.
I’m a pawn. Something for Tommy to use in some way that I don’t know about quite yet. If this were a private event, I would dance. Since it’s a dinner with those in his family, big or small, I’m assuming I’m just meant to be the person who sits beside him. Who hangs off his arm. Just a prop.
But a pretty one. One draped in fabric that’s soft as butter and glides with my skin, molding to accentuate every part of me and still leave me covered appropriately. Others might think I’m wearing too much, especially since I work at a strip club, but no one knows who I am here. No one has asked what I do or what Tommy is to me.
Which is fine, because I don’t know the answer myself.
He pays and has things in bags before I come out the last time in my own clothes. He doesn’t hesitate to hold the door for me to exit the store or open the one for his car. It’s as if this is a normal thing, him shopping for a woman.
I embrace the bit of jealousy that stabs at my heart. I need to. Because despite all this, this… fairy tale, I’m not his girl. I’m not in his life because he likes me, but for what I can do for him and how much money he can get out of me to pay him back.
“Can we stop at CVS?”
He raises an eyebrow.
“I need to pick up some makeup.”
“Anything else?” he asks as he pulls out into traffic.
I shake my head.
“Well, in that case….” He leaves the rest unspoken as he takes a left instead of right toward the CVS that’s down on the next block.
“I’m not her.”
He glances at me and then back to the road. “Not who?”
“Vivian fromPretty Woman. I know you bought my debt, but… but you didn’t buy me. I can pay for my own stuff.”
I don’t know why I’m speaking up, but I am. It’s one thing for him to buy me a dress for a function he wishes for me to attend. But it’s different when it’s obvious that he intends to do the same with makeup that will last more than one night. If I go by what I’ve learned about him over the last few hours, he looks for long-lasting, wanting things that aredurable. If he buys me the makeup, it will last. It’ll probably be a year’s supply that I can turn into five. And the day the debt has been fulfilled and I go back to who and what I was before him, I’ll have the makeup as a reminder that I was part of this. Part of him.
In this moment, I already know it’ll be hard to walk away without wanting something more. I never gave an ounce of faith to the idea of Stockholm syndrome before, but I get it now. Two days and I feel as if a lifetime of being with him won’t be enough. There’s something about him that calls to me. I fear it, but I also yearn for it.
So far, he hasn’t scared me to the point that I fear what he can do to me. I already know. He’s a man. Men are always stronger than me. But he can break me, more than I already am. The small part of my heart that’s not shattered could crumble if I don’t protect myself. I need to put space between us. To separate the difference between who he is and what I am to him.
He huffs out a laugh.
“I know a Vivian.” He glances at me with half a smirk before looking back at the road. “Even she isn’t thePretty Womantype. And she’d deck me in the face if I ever even mentioned that to her.” He shakes his head at whatever thought he has, but nothing more.
No mention about me buying anything. Nothing about him not buying me more than what he already has.
And when he pulls up to another fancy store, this one filled to the brim with makeup and anything else a person could ever need, I already know I lost.
The worst part is that I don’t even have the heart left in me to feel bad about it.
Chapter 19—Tommy
“Tommy,” Vinny calls out a second before he pulls me into an embrace. It’s quick, more for appearances than for anything real between us.
“Vinny,” I say as I pull away, taking the drink off the bar top that the bartender just set down for me. Red wine. It’s a decent year, but I’d prefer something stronger. Something that will have to wait till I get home and can relax enough to let my shields down.
“I hear you brought a date,” he says before nodding to the bartender to pour him the same as me.
I nod as I look out at the vast number of people here. We might be with thefamiglia, but this is more than a family affair. Everyone here is tied to the Leone business. They’ve come to talk business and show face. Nothing more. We might all have loyalty to the name, but not all are to be trusted in the same way.
Vinny holds these events monthly. It’s his way to connect with the people, but it’s still too formal. We keep the allegiances here, but the real trust happens behind closed doors. What’s brought to my table, my club.
