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Then there was those mirrored sunglasses that were a permanent fixture of him. It bothered me that he wore them all the time like he was using them as a barrier so he didn’t have to let anyone see his eyes. It made me wonder what he was hiding.
Shame welled in my chest and I dropped my head, watching my brand new sandals slap against the pavement. Part of me, the rational part of my brain, knew that it wasn’t some kind of sadistic divine punishment to be kidnapped by him. But the other part of me, the child deep inside that still thought I would go to hell for the slightest misstep, was sure I deserved what he was doing.
“What is it?” he asked abruptly.
He hadn’t turned around. I stared at his back, wondering how he knew that I was close to tears.
“What?” I said, swiping the heel of my hand under my nose.
He paused, turning. “Why are you crying?”
No, I wasn’t going to let this arrogant man see me cry. I took a quick breath and shook my hair back, straightening my shoulders. Leveling my gaze to his impenetrable sunglasses, I sent him a hard stare.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Why on earth would I be crying? Getting kidnapped is my favorite thing. It’s been a blast.”
He shook his head, but I was sure I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. “That mouth is going to get you killed or kissed. Or spanked.”
I froze and my lips parted as my jaw dropped. It was one thing for him to want sex, but it was another thing to talk about kissing. And spanking. That was too intimate and it made me shift back and forth, looking over my shoulder for a way out of his conversation.
“Can…can I just go buy some clothes now?” I asked.
He jerked his head to his right. “In here.”
I glanced up, scanning the upscale boutique. We pushed through the front door and stepped into the cool front room, I half expected it to be full of work clothes like silk blouses and slacks, but I was pleasantly surprised that it all looked comfortable and relatively casual.
I stalled by the first booth, watching and feeling awkward as Duran crossed the room to speak with the saleswoman. He leaned on the counter and slipped off his glasses, flashing her a smile as he laid his card down. She looked at it and her eyes widened.
They began conversing in French, which bothered me a lot. He was more animated when he spoke it, adding a lazy flick of his wrist and a shake of his head for emphasis here and there. I stared, transfixed, wishing that I could understand them.
After a moment, he shook the woman’s hand and crossed back to me, knocking his glasses down. As he approached, a wave of that faint sandalwood scent filled my senses and a trickle of warmth moved to the bottom of my stomach.
“Just get your things and I’ll be right back,” he said. “Don’t leave the shop, I’ll have my guard on the door.”
Before I could reply, he turned on his heel and strode through the front door. Awkwardly, I turned back to find the saleswoman around my age watching me with an overly polite smile on her face.
“I’m just going to look around,” I said. “Am I okay to just go ahead and try things on?”
She nodded. “Whatever you like, miss. Let me know if you need help.”
I gave her a small smile and her shoulders eased. I felt bad for her, she looked nervous. Clearly she found Duran’s presence intimidating.
Nothing had a price tag on it. Confused, I brought a pair of shorts up to the counter, but the salesgirl just lifted the card Duran had left and assured me it would be paid for. I decided not to argue and gathered an armful of things and went to try them on.
My family wasn’t particularly important to the outfit, but my father was paid a decent salary. I’d always had good clothes that fit well, but they were never anything glamorous. I could feel the quality in each garment as I ran it through my fingers and settled it over my body. The fabrics were natural and well made and the fit was so much better than anything I was used to.
I bought a pile of things and laid them on the register, including a handful of nice dresses. As I was standing there, waiting to be rung up, I noticed a necklace in the glass case built into the front desk. I stared down at it and something in my chest shifted, moved by how pretty it was just laying there against the black satin.
“Do you like it?” the saleswoman asked.
I nodded. “It looks really expensive.”
She waved a hand. “Mr. Esposito said I should make sure you got what you wanted.”
Why was he being so insistent on buying me things? Was he feeling guilty for what he was doing to me? I stared down at the hammered gold and glittering moonstone, strung on a twisted chain, and decided that maybe he deserved to pay up.
“Okay, just add that in,” I said quickly.
How much could it be? Maybe two hundred dollars? The Espositos were disgustingly wealthy, both from their businesses and their mafia work. He probably wouldn’t notice if I used his credit card to buy a house.
