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“Good. We’ll buy them all. And the shoes. Find two more pairs that she can mix and match as well.” I hand Amelia my credit card as her lips part slightly in surprise. “Oh, and several sets of your sexiest lingerie.”
“R-Right away,” she stammers and jumps into action.
I turn to Anya, ready to remove the tag from her dress and find her face has gone slightly pale as the color drains from her lips. She presses them into a thin line and swallows hard as her eyes drop to the floor. Rather than the gratitude I expected, Anya actually looks uncomfortable.
She flinches when I pull out my pocket knife and flip it open. Stepping behind her, I grasp the tag and cut it off before she has time to step away. Her shoulders tense momentarily until her eyes land on the tag that I discard in a tiny wastebasket.
I call down to the car to have one of my bodyguards collect the heavy bags of purchased items, then we head out of North Shore Exchange. I guide her up to the next floor and the luxury jewelry store Sabbia. If I thought Anya might be intimidated when we first entered 900 Stores, seeing the way she peers into the jewelry display says she’s completely overwhelmed but the decadence inside.
Her eyes travel over the cases of diamond rings and sapphire necklaces, each intricately designed and showcasing the jewels’ natural beauty. Anya’s face blanches as her gaze lands on the price tag behind a large single-pendant ruby necklace.
“See anything you like?” I ask.
If she picks something, I intend to buy it. I’ve only ever seen her wear a plain gold chain necklace with a tiny ballerina figurine. No earrings besides the simplest of studs on occasion.
“They’re all breathtaking,” she murmurs, her voice confirming her statement.
“You need jewelry to go with your nice dress. Pick whichever you like.”
Anya’s eyes snap up from the display case to meet mine, her expression panicked. “I couldn’t possibly,” she objects. “It’s too much.”
I give her a smug smile. “I promise I can afford it.”
Anya bites her lip as she looks back down at the display case. We wander through the store as she takes in all the fine pieces of jewelry. Finally, she lands on a pair of simple yet elegant diamond studs.
“That’s it?” I ask, baffled by her complete lack of interest in the more expensive pieces when I’ve given her free rein to pick whichever jewelry she wants.
She nods, and her chin actually trembles, further confusing me. This girl is incomprehensible sometimes, but if that’s what she wants, I suppose I won’t complain. I wave over a sales associate and have them take out the selected pair of earrings.
“And that bracelet next to them,” I state, pointing to a diamond-studded gold bracelet that will match.
We head out from the store a few minutes later, Anya clad in her new wardrobe and jewelry that twinkles in the mall’s overhead lights. With our shopping mission completed, I guide her back down the escalators to the front door and hold the inner door open for her as Seb steps forward to open the outside door.
In the car a moment later, we take a short ride down the Magnificent Mile to one of my favorite fine-dining spots on the strip, Cité. Taking the Lake Pointe Tower elevator up to the seventieth floor, I stand next to Anya, catching glimpses of her out of the corner of my eye. I don’t know that she’s said more than ten words to me today, and tonight, I’m determined to dig further.She’s clearly a dancer, but what else makes her tick?She has to have more to her life than ballet. And for the first time, I’m curious to find out what that might be. She’s different from the bland supermodels who like to strut their bodies and roll in the money thrown their way. Anya doesn’t even seem interested in luxury.So, what is it she wants from life?
The elevator dings and we make our way to the host stand, where they recognize me as I walk in.
“Mr. Marchetti, your usual table is ready for you,” the host says formally. “Right this way.”
Taking us to the far corner of the restaurant, further from the other patrons but right near the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the Chicago cityscape. With the sun setting, the skyscrapers are cast in a bluish-purple glow, setting a beautiful contrast against the golden lights illuminating the tall buildings.
The host pulls out Anya’s seat, and she thanks him as she slips gracefully into it. I order their finest Sangiovese and study Anya across the table as the host departs.
“How long have you been a ballet dancer?” I ask casually, starting off with something I’m sure she would want to talk about.
“All my life,” Anya replies, her eyes turned toward the city skyline.
While I can’t necessarily blame her, I get the sense that she’s doing it as much to avoid my eyes as she is to take in the view.
“What got you into it?” I try again, taking a sip of my water.
“My parents.” Anya turns to face me for a moment, her expression guarded.
After all I’ve given her today, I would think conversation would be the least she could offer in return. But she’s not biting. The irritation makes my fist clench.
“And what do you do besides dance?” I offer, changing direction.
“Schoolwork mostly, or sleep. I teach a children’s ballet class during the summer,” she says as she circles the rim of her water glass with the tip of her middle finger.
