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I know for a fact there will be plenty to choose from.
* * *
If it wasn’t for the overbearing staff following me around the store and holding up options, I could forget this place sold clothes at all.
It’s more like a palazzo than a shop. There is a glass staircase leading up to a mezzanine glistening with jewels and perfume. A crystal chandelier hangs ominously over our heads on thin silver wires. One entire wall is an aquarium filled with tropical fish and colorful coral, and there’s an honest-to-goodness champagne fountain bubbling in the middle. It’s a little too close to the night at the Four Seasons for comfort.
“Try that dress,” Misha says, pointing to one of the anemic mannequins on an elevated platform in the center of the space.
Without even checking with me, our personal shopper strips the mannequin and folds the gown over her arm.
“Are those diamonds?” I croak.
“Swarovski,” confirms the attendant. “Four dozen in the bodice and another fifty or so in the hem.”
“Oh,” I drawl. “Right. I’ll match the chandelier. How lovely.”
The woman gives me a strange look, but one corner of Misha’s mouth turns up. I can tell he’s trying very hard not to encourage me by smiling. He turns towards another mannequin. “This one, too.”
The shopper heads for it, but I shift in front of her. “I wouldn’t call this a dress. More like a bandana. It doesn’t have a back or a neckline.”
“The green complements your skin tone. You’re trying it.” Misha waves the woman forward, and she shifts from side to side to try to get around me.
I intercept her again. “I’m not sure anyone would notice the color with my tits hanging out.”
The personal shopper’s eyes go wide and she stops trying to slip past me.
Misha is not amused. “Funny that your taste in clothes is so modest when your language is not. I’ve warned you about your mouth before,kiska.”
I grin at him. Finally, after days of poking, I’m getting a reaction. “Am I embarrassing you,honey?”
“No, you’re pissing me off.” He takes a threatening step towards me. “We’ve been in here for fifteen minutes and you haven’t picked a single thing yourself.”
I set my jaw and take a step right back towards him, until we’re almost chest to chest and I can smell all of him in both nostrils. “I don’t like anything here.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not me,” I say. “I actually give a flying fuck about something other than myself—like, oh, I dunno,the goddamn planet.So I wear things that are sustainable and recyclable. Why spend thousands of dollars on over-the-top, haute couture bullshit that I won’t ever be comfortable in, when I can go down to the local thrift store and buy an armload of pre-loved clothing?”
I lower my voice, if only so I don’t offend my personal shopper, who really does seem sweet and has been trying her hardest. “I mean, look at that dress,” I say, pointing to the gorgeous, strapless, champagne-colored evening gown hanging against a backlit wall. “It’s beautiful. But where would I wear something like that?”
“Cocktail parties, receptions, weddings, black-tie events, fundraisers, charity balls—”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I say, cutting him off. “But I’m never invited to any of those things.”
“But I am. Frequently. As my wife, you’ll accompany me.”
That shuts me up. For some reason, I haven’t really thought about how this little arrangement of ours will work in the outside world. Not just any outside world, though—Misha’soutside world.
As far as I’m concerned, it might as well be an alien planet.
Misha must see the panic on my face because he hedges closer, his voice low, backing me into a nearby alcove as his minty breath washes over me, warm and intoxicating. “You may think poorly of me, Paige, but I’m not going to throw you into my life with no guidance. I won’t let you embarrass me, either. The first step is dressing like someone who belongs.”
“If you’re so worried about me embarrassing you, why bring me at all?” I snap.
“There is no alternative.”
“I could just not go,” I suggest hopefully.
