“What are you? A six? Six and a half?”
What the fuck kind of voodoo skill was that?!
“Why does it matter?” I panted, breathless from the chase. “I already picked out the purse. It’s price equivalent. Let’s go.”
He completely ignored me, focused on my feet. For a second, it looked like he was about to tear them off and just check for himself, then his face illuminated with a sudden realization.
“Those are Gemma’s shoes. She was a size six.”
All at once, the hunt was on. His eyes swept up and down the rows as he marched between them, dismissing each one of them at a glance. I rushed after him, confused as hell and starting to feel a little dizzy from the champagne.
“Seriously Nick, what are you—”
“Aha!”
With a look of great triumph, he reached down and extracted a shimmering pair.
I had truly never seen anything like them. You hear about gladiator sandals, but never gladiator stilettos. At least...not like this.
The sides of them were inlaid with the same miniature crystals that had been sewn into my gown. But instead of glistening innocently in a pattern, they swooped up with a sudden streak of jagged light that I was sure would stretch all the way up my calf. They were kept in place by a series of silken straps, so thin, that all you could see were the gemstones. The heel itself was a weapon. A knife-like point so high, it might have brought Nick and me up to the same height.
“What do you think?”
he asked eagerly.
There was that doting look again. I’d seen it so many times. But why the fuck was he using it on me? Had it really been so long since Gemma? Or Anya? Or whoever came next?
“I think...” I stepped forward, laying a hand on the display case to steady myself. Two glasses of champagne? Hadn’t I said the limit was one? My eyes widened as I saw the price. “I think they’re two thousand dollars!”
Nick blinked. Not at all following. When I stayed incredulously quiet, he asked again.
“Yeah—but about the shoes? What do you think about the shoes? Do you like them?”
“Have you completely lost your mind?”
He paused. Then smiled.
“That’s a yes.”
And just like that—he was off. Both the shoes and the purse draped over his arm.
Come out with me, he said. I just want to apologize, he said.
THE MAN HAD GONE ROGUE!
“Nicholas!” I hissed, as he circled back to the lingerie.
There were quiet snickers coming from the saleswomen gathered behind the desk. No doubt they thought we were having some sort of lover’s quarrel. The only thing that confused them was why I would be here in person. Nick usually shopped for his women alone. And his women certainly wouldn’t have put up a fuss about the things he was choosing.
“How about this?”
I stopped dead in my tracks, as he held up an ensemble so sparse and sexually inviting, that I literally glanced around for the hidden cameras. Surely this was a joke, right?
“I’m sure Anya, or Claudia, or Sophia, or Olivia would all love it.” My cheeks flushed as the saleswomen giggled even louder. “Put it the fuck down, Nick.”
But Nick was his father’s son, whether he liked it or not. He was born to take the things he wanted. He was born to do this at all costs.
Rule number one: never admit guilt.