Page 99 of Wounded King

"He'll jump on the railing and fall," Violet points at the glass enclosure that is about chest high for her.

And good riddance, I think, but out loud I hiss, "Sssshh."

Startled, Felix runs back into the penthouse. Violet sends a glare at me that's somewhere between wanting to strangle me and gratitude. I follow them inside and close the door.

"I'll have the railing raised, so he can't jump up," I promise.

"You'd do that for him?" She sounds breathless.

"Foryou," I clarify, "I'd do anything."

We return to the bedroom, where Marcello produces several bags bearing the logos of expensive designers. "I took the liberty of ordering you some clothes to wear until you can go shopping."

Curious, I step closer. Felix is already rubbing against the bags, ready to investigate. I take the first and remove the pretty frilly paper stuffed on top, discarding it to the floor, where Felix pounces on it. Inside is a periwinkle-colored dress—not a color I would have ever picked for myself.

"Put it on," Marcello demands.

All I have on is his t-shirt. I quickly pull it over my head, pretending not to see how Marcello's pupils dilate or to hear the small hiss of appreciation that escapes him. I keep my head down, so he won't see the smile curving my lips before I pull the dress over my head. There is a mirror by the dresser, but the way he tilts his head in appreciation and purses his lips already tells me that this dress looks beautiful on me. And… this dress… God, where do I even start? It's nothing like the oversized sweaters and scrubs I'm used to. It hugs my body like it was made for me—form-fitting in the kind of way that should feel like too much, but somehow doesn't. It's soft, smooth, almost airy, and the color—this dreamy shade of periwinkle—makes my skin glow.

The belt cinches just right, highlighting my waist. The neckline dips low, not scandalously, but enough to make me glance twice in the mirror like—wait, is that really me? I've never felt this… elegant. Or sexy. Or seen.

It's not the kind of dress I would've ever picked for myself. But now? I never want to take it off.

"You look stunning, tesoro." Marcello rasps.

"It's beautiful," I say, turning in the mirror.Is that really me?

"You're beautiful," he contradicts, pulling me into his arms.

"This is too much." I can't even imagine what this kind of dress might cost.

"You better get used to it. Nothing is too much for you, Violet. You will be my wife, you deserve this."

A small snort escapes me, "I don't know about deserve…"

He places the knuckle of his thumb underneath my chin and pushes my head up so our eyes meet. "You do. You deserve everything, do you hear me?"

He's being serious.

Did you really think you could walk next to him on the street in your black leggings and an oversized sweater?Bitchy me asks.Have you seen him? Really seen him? His suits?

"Do you like it?" He wants to know.

"I love it."

"Good. It suits you."

My eyes return to my reflection. The periwinkle brings out the blonde in my hair, and I look like a movie star. I smile.

"Thank you."

"There will be a lot more," he promises.

"I only need you." I grab his hard biceps to make my point.

"I know," his smile is slow and weakens my knees, before his kiss nearly knocks me off my feet, and I have to cling to his arms in earnest.

He roughly pulls back. He closes his eyes, trying hard to regain his composure. "The things you do to me…" he presses out.