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I hear Harvey clear his throat and step away. He looks out of place among the designer mothers running around with their whining children, wearing a black t-shirt again, the fabric stretches almost indecently over his tattooed biceps and heavy black boots under his dark blue jeans.
I snap my head back round to Leslie, who is also watching him. With Harvey not hovering over my shoulder to witness it, I give her a narrow-eyed glare and she swallows, shrinking down a couple of inches. “Knickers.”
“I’m sorry?” She blinks at me.
“She’ll need knickers. And bras but I don’t know what size.” There’s no way I’m asking Mabel to be measured. “I’ll take some non-wired, t-shirt bras and sports bras in a small size.”
She nods again. “Of course, Miss Wolfe.”
“The younger one will need the same sort of stuff, obviously not bras but everything else. I’m going to go and start looking at some of the pieces for her. I’ll trust you to get what I need.” I literally look down my nose at her and, although I feel like a bitch, I’m satisfied when she scurries away without a second glance at Harvey.
“This is mad,” he says as I approach.
I freeze. “You don’t think I should clothe them?”
“What?” He screws his face up. “No! That’s not what I mean. I mean look at this.” He lifts a label on a tiny t-shirt with a simple happy face design on it and shows me the price. When I just stare at him blankly, he clarifies. “No t-shirt should cost this much, let alone one the wearer is going to grow out of in a matter of months.”
I shrug, fingering the soft material and marvelling at how small the garment is. I don’t think I’ve ever seen children’s clothing — you know, since I was wearing them — and I realise that they are kind of cute. “That’s how much clothes cost.”
He stares at me dumbfounded. “You honestly think this reflects the average price of clothes?
I shrug again. “It’s what I’ve always paid for my clothes.”
He gives a derisive snort. “It must be nice having everything handed to you.”
Red hot anger rolls over me and I use all my strength not to rage at him. So instead, I turn to face him, standing only a couple of inches away when he turns into me too. “How dare you,” I speak low through my clenched teeth. “You presume to know me, presume to understand me.”
His eyes are dark as they bore into mine, his expression bordering on distain. “I know you can afford the luxury of being so far removed from reality that you think this,” he gestures around the extravagant store, “is the norm. And you can afford that from building a wealth on the back of the vulnerable and those in need. First Daddy filled his wallet by exploiting and profiting from people who had no other choice and you have taken over the mantle. Then you parade around in your designer suits playing girl boss with no understanding of the world you’re feeding from.”
My chest is heaving, and I’m practically vibrating with anger. “You thinkI’mignorant to the way the world is? You’re still looking at everything from your ivory tower, princess. Where good guys wear white and bad guys wear black, evil is evil and pure is pure. You’re wrong,detective. The men you blindly serve, who pretend to govern this city and head up the authorities,they’rethe ones profiting from the poor and deprived. They play heroes while relying on criminals to keep them on their pedestals. I have never forced, coerced, or blackmailed aninnocent person into working for me, I wonder how many of the ‘good’ guys can say that.”
His jaw ticks and his face softens ever so slightly, turning more contemplative than combative.
“And I was born in a two-bed apartment in the poorest area of Stokholm to a mother who loved me before the man you call my father ripped me away. I may have riches now, but I was born into humble beginnings.”
Harvey’s brows shoot up. “He wasn’t your father?”
“He may have given me half my DNA, but that man was never a father to me. Bring up Stanley Wolfe once more and I’ll ensure you’re never able to step foot in this city again.”
His mouth opens and closes again, his eyes darting to my lips. Before I know what is happening, he grabs my waist and pulls me flush to him just as an errant child runs behind me, right where I would have been stood a second ago.
“I’m sorry,rainha.” His words are spoken softly, so close to my cheek I can feel his breath on my skin. I don’t really know which part he’s apologising for, and I don’t have the capacity to ask because his hand is still holding me in place, his heat surrounding me, the smell of soap and lime filling my nostrils.
I should push away, step out of this prolonged embrace, fire him and be done with it. I shouldn’t care what Javier Campos thinks of me, shouldn’t want to know, but I can’t help asking. “If I am so abhorrent to you, why did you want to work for me?”
His hand flexes at my waist, not releasing me but squeezing and moving as though committing my feel to memory. We’re still in this awkward embrace, and his eyes keep tracing the shape of my mouth. “Desperation.”
“You could have taken a job in an office, fast food, or even refuse collection. Anything to keep your pristine morals intact.”
He leans forward an inch as if he’s about to kiss me but stops short of making contact. “Turns out my morals aren’t as pristineas one might have thought.” He advances the remaining inch, his lips brushing against mine and pulling a gasp from me, shivers running down my spine.
“Okay!” a bright voice cuts through the silence of our little bubble. We break apart and turn to see Leslie approaching with a new armful of clothes. “I have selected a basic wardrobe again in size six to seven years. I’ve also done full coverage bathing suits, socks, trainers, ballet flats, and slippers along with pyjamas.”
I clear my throat and stretch my neck out. “That’s great.”
“Did you see anything else you wanted to add?” she asks with an almost hopeful smile.
That niggling doubt tickles at my chest as I prepare to say no again, but something over her shoulder catches my eye. It must be some kind of costume section as there are rows and rows of brightly coloured garments designed to emulate superheroes and other characters I don’t recognise. At the end of one rack is a light green dress with a huge ballgown style skirt. I can see Keely in it instantly. Her comment last night about being a princess playing in my head. I step over to the item and rub the synthetic silky material between my thumb and forefinger. I’d never had anything like this as a child. I’d never had the frivolity to want something like this. But something tells me the little girl would think this dress the most wonderful thing she’s ever seen.
