Page 52 of Resisting Royal

CHAPTER 25

BIANCA

Royal had muttered something about a fight and left, leaving me to continue to stare up at the structure in awe. I had come home in a bitter mood, my mind sulking over what I would never have. After spending time with Natalie, her whole life consumed by wedding planning, I was caught up in my feelings of jealousy over getting the opportunity of a wedding, the dress, the flowers taken from me. It was something I never really knew I wanted until I realized I missed the chance.

His crude comment shouldn’t have made me so angry, but it did. It was another reminder that I was an object to him, not a person, not the wife he claimed me to be. But then, this. I looked up again as my rabbit hopped through the clear tube above my head. This whole gesture proved that maybe there was a piece of me who was wrong about Royal the entire time.

He never came home last night, and when I texted him this morning, his response was quick and short, followed by a reminder of the weekend business trip. I cringed while reading it, not prepared to spend a whole weekend side by side with my husband, the term used loosely.

What exactly did you wear on a weekend business trip? Casual? Business casual? Did I need to show extra cleavage to gain favors? God, I hoped not. The thought made me shiver. No way was I okay with showing extra skin just to benefit Royal’s business deal.

After work, I chose to go shopping for a few outfits, just in case. I was in the fitting room, trying clothes on, Royal’s babysitter standing outside a reasonable distance away as to not disturb me. My phone dinged, and I took it out of my bag, glancing at the screen.

Troy is meeting you in five with my card.

My brows scrunched up for a second, before remembering he knew where I was because of the babysitter. I quickly responded. Why?

There was a delayed response, which I used to try on a knee-length, dark green dress with adorable cap sleeves. My phone dinged. You’re shopping.

Why are you such a stalker?

I could almost hear his laugh as I smiled at the phone waiting. I call it looking out for what’s mine.

Am I yours?

There was a knock at the door, and I opened it, peeking out to see Troy standing there. I opened the door wider when I saw who it was, and he let out a loud, long whistle. He gazed at me one more time before handing me the credit card in his hand.

“I don’t need this,” I informed him as he still stood there.

“Take it, believe me. It’s easier to just go with it than push against him.” He tapped the frame of the dressing room and turned away.

“I don’t need his money,” I said again.

“But he wants you to have it,” he tossed over his shoulder.

I groaned. Why were they so stubborn? “I won’t use it.”

He mocked my groan. “Why? He doesn’t know how to do nice things, Bianca. He’s not used to wooing the girl and showering her with love. Just take his gesture and accept it. He may not show it, but he really wants your approval.”

He left, and I tossed the card in my purse. I had just unzipped the dress when my phone dinged. Troy said to get the dress.

Why would I listen to him? I countered as I stood in the dressing room in my underclothes, putting the dress back on the hanger.

Always a fight with you. He said it was killer and I would love it. Wear it on Saturday night?

Great, now even being near the dress was making me self-conscious. The fact that he was blindingly trusting Troy to make such a massive decision as if the decision was his to begin with showed just how much faith he had in the guy. The ding chimed again. The card has no limit, get whatever you want.

Ugh, why were they pushing this so much? It’s like men enjoyed taking simple, relaxing shopping trips and twisting them into a stressful experience. Was it legal to walk around the mall with an open bottle of wine? Security would surely understand, at least if they were females. If he wanted to pay for this dress that I would probably only wear once, fine. I’d buy the damn matching shoes too.

I left the mall weighted down by three dresses, two pairs of jeans, two pairs of heels, a new sweater, four blouses, and a slew of matching accessories and undergarments. Actually, I wasn’t weighed down by anything, Royal’s babysitter, Ernesto, was. The poor guy followed behind me, the weight of my bags slowing him down as he struggled.

The whole drive home, I felt satisfied, sure that after Royal saw the bags I was loaded with, he would change his mind about the “buy what you want” moto. Parking in my spot, Ernesto met me at my trunk, insisting I not lift a bag. Looking up, I saw Royal in the doorway, a drink in his hand, his lips turned up in what I was beginning to know as his signature amused look.

When we approached, his eyes followed us curiously. “That’s not nearly as bad of a damage as I thought it would be.”

Was he kidding me? “This, sir, is four hundred dollars from your bank account.”

He tilted his head curiously. “Is that all? I thought that was what one dress cost.”

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