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“While you were enjoying lunch at the top of the Eiffel Tower. When you announced you were spending the day with Mariella, I took advantage of it.”
“Someone is sneaky.”
“Someone is crafty.”
He gestures with his chin. “You haven’t found the gift yet. Keep looking.”
Several boxes later, I get to a black one that reads in gold lettering, Bvlgari. Since 1884. Made in Italy. I bring my hands to my mouth and gasp.
Bvlgari?
Freaking Bvlgari jewelry?
“Mariella tells me it’s the must-have collection for any beautiful, smart, and sophisticated woman,” he says. “Don’t you want to see what’s in it?”
I do, but I’m afraid I’ll pass out from the shock.
I muster the courage to open the box.
Oh.
My.
God.
The most gorgeous and expensive piece of jewelry I’ve ever seen in my life is winking at me.
My eyes fly up to meet his. “Bryce, it’s exquisite. It’s… It’s—”
“Please don’t say it’s too much. You deserve it, Sofia. You’ve made me a lot of money this week. I have to confess, I love seeing you in the pieces I select. You diligently wore the lingerie, suits, and shoes while we were in Paris. You fulfill every one of my fantasies. This is just a little token.”
Bryce has an interesting definition of little token. This necklace is an opulent piece created with rubies, citrines, peridots, and diamonds. I’m sure it costs as much as the Bronx brownstone I live in. I’m so in awe of such beauty, I remain silent as I admire his over-the-top gift.
“I hope you like it and you’ll want to wear it. There are many more events to come when we get back to New York and I want you to look like the princess you are.”
“Thank you so much, Bryce. This stunning piece will make me feel regal.”
“I hope you’re not just saying thank you to be polite. If you don’t like it, I’ll get you another one when we get to New York.”
“No, not at all. It’s incredibly beautiful and I’ll wear it with pride.”
He nods. “I’m glad to hear it. I have a question for you.”
I’m afraid of what Bryce is going to ask next since this gift caught me by surprise. “What’s on your mind?”
“When we get back to New York, I can get my driver to drop you home, or you can come with me to the hotel and spend the night. After spending nine days sleeping next to your warm body, I don’t think I can have a good night’s sleep anymore without you by my side.”
He catches me off guard.
When I don’t respond, he says, “I’m sure after a week away from home, you’ll want to sleep in your own bed, but I’d love to feel the warmth of your sexy, curvy body against mine tonight.”
His deep blue eyes search mine for an answer.
I’m torn by my conflicting feelings.
How is this going to work?
When we spend the night together like he’s suggesting, is he sleeping with Sofia Herrera, the washed-up real-estate boss lady, or Amanda Hardy, the escort who satisfies his every desire?
