An hour later, I was dressed comfortably in baggy jeans and a t-shirt, blocks away from Lorenzo’s penthouse and on the hunt for necessities.
I couldn’t bring myself to go into the boutiques I passed along the way. The ones with the hushed lighting and saleswomen who’d judge my shoes. It felt wrong, somehow,to walk into a place where a single dress cost too much and required me to pretend I belonged.
So I went to Target. The one on Clark Street, with fluorescent lights and vaguely sticky floors, and the simple comfort of $3.99 body wash.
I grabbed a cart and wandered the aisles, my brain on autopilot. Toothpaste. Deodorant. A new sleep bonnet because I’d left mine at my ex’s place. I threw in a pack of cheap socks and a journal because I needed to write down everything I was feeling before it drowned me.
I was in the middle of comparing two types of shampoo when I felt a shift in the air.
“Zara,” a sexy, deep voice called from behind me.
I looked up, and there was Lorenzo Falcone, in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, standing in the middle of the hair care aisle as if he had materialized out of a fever dream.
“What—how—” I stammered, my eyes wide. “How did you find me?”
He didn’t answer. He just walked closer, his shoes silent on the linoleum. “Why are you here?”
“Because I needed shampoo?” I held up the bottle like evidence.
“No,” his voice was low and controlled. “Why are you at Target when you could be at any other store in this city?”
I blinked. “Because I like Target?”
His eyes narrowed. “My wife doesn’t shop at Target.” I should have been more annoyed, but the way my wife rolled off his tongue stunned me for a moment before I remembered my own voice.
“Your wife apparently does.” I set the shampoo in my cart, suddenly defensive. “Look, I don’t know how to be a rich man’s wife. I don’t know how to spend money I didn’t earn. So yes, I came here. Because it’s familiar and I can afford it.”
He reached out and took the cart from me, his fingers brushing mine. “Then let me walk with you.”
I stared at him. “You’re not going to drag me to Nieman Marcus or something more acceptable to your taste?”
“No, I’m going to walk with you.” He paused. “And then I’m taking you to dinner.”
“I’m not dressed for?—”
“You look great.” He started pushing the cart forward, and I had no choice but to follow.
We finished shopping in silence. He walked beside me, tall and imposing, while I grabbed the rest of my essentials. A few people glanced at us—a man in a suit pushing a cart full of body wash and socks—but no one said anything.
At the checkout, he pulled out his wallet before I could reach for the card he’d given me.
“Let me,” he said.
I shrugged. “It’s your money, anyway.”
“Technically, it’sourmoney now.”
I snorted. “We’ve been married for three hours. Plus, I have no interest in taking advantage of your hard-earned money.”
“I told you, I take care of what is mine; that includes you now.” He paid, took the bags, and offered me his hand. “Come on. There’s a place nearby, let’s eat.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lorenzo
I watched her across the candlelit table, something raw twisting in my chest.
“You’re staring,” she said without looking up.
