Page 154 of Marrying the Savage

“I will behave.”

“That sounds unlikely.”

“It depends on them.”

“Damir.”

His mouth almost curves. “Get in the car, Sofia.”

He takes me up to the very top floor of the complex. It’s a private fashion gallery in a very expensive district, with a discreet entrance, polished floors, and staff who look terrified before we even step inside. There are no other customers. Damir has clearly had the place cleared.

I stop inside the door and look around.

“You wanted clothes.”

“I wanted a normal store.”

“No, you wanted your own clothes.”

I hate when he remembers my exact words.

A woman named Katya comes forward with a tablet and starts speaking to Damir.

Damir cuts her off at once. “My wife chooses. Speak to her.”

Katya turns to me so quickly she nearly drops the tablet.

I glance at him. He gives me nothing. No smile. No smug look. Just that calm face, as if telling people to treat me like a person is the obvious thing to do.

Fine. One point to him.

Not that I’m keeping score.

I start choosing things.

At first, I choose out of spite.

Damir sits on a low sofa while I try on clothes. He doesn’t interfere much. That surprises me. He watches. He says no to nothing. He only looks slightly annoyed when a dress has a high slit.

I step out in it and turn toward the mirror. “You hate this one,” I say.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. Your face said the slit insulted your ancestors.”

“It’s a high slit.”

“It’s fashion,” I counter.

He doesn’t say anything but I can imagine him rolling his eyes.

I try on a blue dress next. It fits well. Simple, dark, soft at the waist. When I step out, Damir looks at me for a long moment. “That one,” he says.

“What about it?”

“It suits you.”

I don’t know what to do with that.