Page 50 of Bought

“Beautiful.” He slowly circles me in the mirror, his fingers grazing the hem before settling at the small of my back. “This one reminds me of the dress you wore on our first date.”

I admire the way the light top pairs with the dark jeans in my reflection in the dressing room mirror wall. “You like it?”

“I love it,” he says, low with certainty, “it makes your eyes impossible to ignore.”

I almost melt into the floor right there.

He gestures toward the men’s section. “Your turn.”

“My turn?”

“You’re going to pick something for me.”

I laugh nervously. “Me? I don’t know anything about fashion.”

He tilts his head. “Then you’ll learn. Show me what you want me to wear.”

I step into the men’s section, feeling like a trespasser. My hand brushes against silk shirts and tailored suit jackets, fabrics so smooth that they slide like water through my fingers. I stop at a navy shirt and pants that seem perfect for him.

Holding them out, I glance back at him, my face warming. “These.”

He eyes me rather than the clothes, as if my choice matters more than the fabric itself. Then he nods once. “Done.”

I breathe out in relief until he says, “But since you’ve chosen blue and black for me, we’ll match.”

“What?” I blink.

He’s already smirking. “Silver moon for you, midnight sky for me. We’ll walk in sync. Let them wonder if we planned it.”

The idea is so unexpected that I start laughing. “Planning our outfits together?” The tension eases from my chest. “That’s silly.”

“Silly is good. Matching is good. Anything to relax you.”

He doesn’t stop there, though. He insists on jewelry. He chooses a necklace so delicate I’m afraid to breathe near it, diamond studs that sparkle like captured starlight. New shoes, another coat—this one softer than clouds—and a slouchy, buttery leather purse.

"Lucian..." I protest faintly.

He hands over his black card as if it doesn't matter.

“This is crazy. You can’t?—”

“I want to. And I will.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

As we leave the store, his hand slips into mine, steady and possessive, while the bags hang from his other hand. I should feel spoiled rotten. I should feel ashamed.

Instead, I feel something completely different. And new.

Wanted.

I want the white picket fence. A man who looks at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. And a vow that binds us for life.

I want my happily ever after. And I think I’ve found the man I want to share it with.

Every laugh, every tear, every kiss.

However, his world is fraught with danger and violence.

Everything we’ve been running from.