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“That’s not an option.”
Yeah, I kinda knew that already.Instead of fighting another battle I can’t win, I focus on the one I think I can get away with.
“There’s nothing in this store that I need.”
He sighs and relents. “Maybe not. But there must be something you want.”
My eyes skim over the sea of silk and velvet and crystal hanging around me, then back to him. I shake my head firmly. “No, I’m good.”
He rakes a hand through his hair. “Very well. Let’s go.”
I stand stupidly in place, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Just like that?”
“I’m not wasting my time if you’re not going to take this seriously.”
“It’s not like we’re going to war. It’s just shopping.”
“I think you’re the only woman who’s ever said that,” he mutters.
He turns and leaves, abandoning the personal shopper with arms full of sparkling dresses behind us. I follow him out of the store with a smile on my face. I notice he exchanges a few words with the manager before we leave, but I figure he’s just apologizing for my complete lack of interest in the whole experience.
“So,” I say once I’m buckled into the passenger seat, “back to the prison?
He shakes his head. “We’re having dinner first.”
“Dinner? Just the two of us? As in you and me?”
He smirks. “Don’t look so scared, Paige. I don’t plan on eating you.”
I blush scarlet at the images that statement conjures up. At the memory of him devouring me on the balcony railing like he wouldn’t live to see another day if he didn’t eat his fill of me. He made me move into his room, but since that little argument we had about love and sex, he hasn’t made any attempt to consummate our engagement.
“Not tonight, anyway,” he adds. “Unless you ask nicely.”
27
MISHA
“This place isvegan,” Paige points out as she gapes open-mouthed at the decor.
Pothos plants trail along the walls and from the ceilings. Leafy vines wind between the mahogany spokes of the bar and around the cords of the amber, spherical lights hanging over every table. On the back wall, a vertical garden spells out the word “VEGAN.” It’s not exactly subtle.
“It’s good to know my future wife can read,” I respond dryly.
Paige ignores my quip and sits down at our table. “Have you been here before?”
“Of course not. But I figured you’d complain if I took you to the type of restaurant I usually dine at.”
“And you’re usually so sensitive to my complaints,” she mutters sarcastically.
“You’re pregnant. Can’t have you refusing to eat, can we?”
Her smile falters at the mention of her pregnancy, like she’d fooled herself into forgetting for a blissful stretch of time. She takes a small sip of her sparkling water, fingers nervously drumming around the base of the glass. “I’m… still getting used to it.”
“Being pregnant?”
“All of it,” she admits. “I’m still not sure I believe your doctor. I was told for so long that I couldn’t have a baby.”
“Your doctor was a moron.”
