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Fierce.
Primal.
Unwavering.
"Colt, Brock, and I are taking you shopping on Fifth Avenue this weekend. That’ll have to be enough."
I rip myself out of Olivia’s grip and march to the man cave we set up in her penthouse. I lock myself in, grab my video game controller, and stomp on the ground, roaring at the top of my lungs as I murder as many motherfuckers as I can onscreen.
Too. Painful.
Thinking. About. The. Past.
Olivia makes me want to be vulnerable. After everyone else in my life fucking let me down, I don’t know if I can.
FIFTEEN
OLIVIA
Shopping.
On Fifth Avenue.
Luxury everywhere.
With my Kings.
I can’t believe this is happening.
A chandelier casts a luxurious light over rows of chic Hermès boots and Birkins. Well-selected and stylish, each one screams sophisticated elegance. The blouses, skirts, leggings, and uncountable shoes have been imported from the workshops of the top luxury brands in Rome or Paris.
Gold bracelets shimmer in the special lighting, the diamonds radiating class and sophistication. Rings specked with diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds that are greener than Brock’s eyes speak to my inner Queen. This is only one of the Fifth Avenue boutiques Colt, Brock, and Rook took me to, and there are so many more we’ve yet to explore.
They don't let everyone in because most people only can afford to window shop. This is where all the Manhattan socialites come to get dressed before attending fancy parties and galas.
Pictures of A-List celebrities in couture line the walls. I recognize quite a few of them, and can’t believe they were gracious enough to autograph their photos. My jaw drops when I spot an ultra-famous hedge fund’s daughter who made her Oscar-winning film debut in a Hollywood blockbuster last year. It was supposed to be a small-time Manhattan art flick, but it turned into a surprise hit that grossed over one billion dollars. I’m shopping in the exact same place where she shops.
The sales associate looks me over, then sticks her nose in the air. "I don't see a single Hermès piece on you. You don't belong here."
Colt marches toward her, snarling as he grabs her wrist. "Talk to our girl again like that and see what happens to you."
"This young woman would dazzle in a Yves Saint Laurent skirt with Hermès boots. You’re offending her beauty by dressing her in garments any banker’s girlfriend would wear."
"She’s our girl." Rook grips my left hand possessively, refusing to let me go. "If you know so fucking much, give her the best things."
"For God’s sake." I turn around to face my barbarians, then issue them a cutting look. "Be polite."
My Kings can get a little ghetto when it comes to protecting me. That’s what I like most about them, but it’s also embarrassing because others aren’t aware this is just the way they are.
"You deserve only the finest things, Olive." Brock’s fingers curl into fists. "That shit Trace said to you keeps me up at night. I’m humiliated that I let you out of your penthouse looking anything less than a superstar."
I run my fingers over a form-fitting silver dress bedazzled in sparkling gems, and for the hundredth time, can’t believe that I’m actually here. My eyes widen when I read the fifty-thousand-dollar price tag, disbelief welling up inside me that my men want to buy me this.
Growing up, the fanciest outfit I owned was my prom dress. It was the only clothing item my mother ever created herself, and she made it ages before I was old enough to attend prom. Every stitch and thread were done by her. I had to get it resized before the dance, but when I put it on, I felt like a princess. Nate said that it made his dick feel hard, but I tried my best to ignore him so I could enjoy my prom night. I went with a friend because no boys asked me, and we twirled under strobe lights, drank punch that someone spiked, and had a kickass time. My friend wound up wanting to eat my pussy, but I told her not to because I wasn’t sure if I wanted my first time doing anything sexual to be with a girl or not. I was still under the illusion that I’d find a guitar-playing boyfriend.
These Fifth Avenue shops put my mother’s handiwork to shame. Cartier, Tiffany, YSL, Louis Vuitton, Hermès. Each one boasts unparalleled luxury, displaying the most ornate goods that’d make any girl feel like a royalty. In each store that we go to, I see the most fabulous Asian ladies picking out multiple handbags at a time, and I get the feeling that only the wealthiest can afford these brands.
High-end luxury shops are a world of their own. Never in all my years on this planet did I think that people bought clothes this expensive.
