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“Because that’s what I am!”
“But there are so many spaces in the spectrum where you could experiment. You’re always so classically composed. Let’s dirty you up a bit. Do something a little more”—she moved her shoulders and hips—“swaggy.”
What did she bloody mean by that?Swaggy?Like a rapper?
He clenched his jaw. “I’m pretty certain swaggy isn’t my style.”
Dani sighed. “Jay, I’m not trying to change you. I know exactly who you are. I wanted to play a little dress-up; have some fun. You know how loving me is diversifying your life? I thought we could diversify your wardrobe. And you could experience a little bit of my culture and take that back home with you. But if you’re not into it...”
Her lashes fluttered and she shrugged her shoulders.
Fuck! When she put it that way...
He’d let his own insecurities surrounding who he was almost prevent him from enjoying an adventure she’d planned for them. One that would allow him to learn more about her and what she liked. And discerning her preferences had easily become one of his primary goals in life. So, if that meant getting swaggy, well... he’d do it with the best of them.
He cupped her cheek. “I’m yours to command.”
She pressed her hands to his chest and gazed up at him, her expression softening. “I’m going to remind you of that later.”
“I hope so.”
Smiling, Dani pushed a button next to a slatted steel door. “On the first floor is Backtrack, an iconic upcycled streetwear store here in L.A. The owner has his offices and personal design studio up here.”
There was a loudclickand the door rolled up bit by bit to unveil a well-lit, sleekly designed space. Black piping ran the length of all four walls showcasing clothes hung on thin black hangers and organized by color. Glass display cases featuring hats, trainers, and accessories dotted the open space.
“Yo, Duchess. My girl! What’s poppin’?”
A Black man of average height with light skin, a bald head, and a thick beard strode over to meet them.
“C-Swizzle! Long time no see!”
The two embraced and when they parted, he grabbed her hands and held her arms out. “Look at you! I recognize that cropped bomber jacket.”
Dani put a hand on her hip and struck a pose. “You know I had to represent! But seriously, thank you for taking time out of your schedule to accommodate us.”
“Anytime, Duchess. We Gucci, you know that.”
“I do.” Dani reached back and grabbed Jameson’s hand. “C, this is His Royal Highness, Prince Jameson Alastair Richard Lloyd, the Duke of Wessex. And my boo. Did I get it all?”
Jameson winked at her and nodded.
“Whew!” She laughed. “Jay, this is Corey Solomon.”
“Nice to meet you,” Corey said. “Uh, do I bow or—”
“No, please don’t.” Jameson held out his hand and they shook. “And it’s a pleasure meeting any friend of Duchess’s. She spoke highly of you and your work.”
“The respect is mutual. No doubt. She’s a beast. So, I pulled some pieces like you asked,” Corey told Dani, shoving his hands into the pockets of his extremely oversized khaki overalls. “Some from the floor of Backtrack and a few from my newest collection. My assistant has everything on racks in the first dressing suite. Imma head back to my office, but if you need anything, holler.”
“I appreciate you, Corey,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.
“No worries. Good meeting you, Prince Jameson.”
“It’s Jameson. And thank you.”
Corey nodded and disappeared through an arched doorway.
Jameson glanced around, struck by the strangeness of their situation. They’d barely ventured out in the three weeks that he’d lived here. Why was it suddenly safe to be in a building during the day in the middle of central Los Angeles without worrying about photographers or regular people with their phones out, cameras recording?
