Page 5 of Borrowed Bride

“Call and delay,” I order Frederick. “You, girl, what’s your name?”

“What, you don’t want to call me ‘rat’ anymore?”

“Rat it is,” I decide, having no patience to battle back and forth with her. “I will give you a chance to earn your life back.”

Her brow lifts and her eyes narrow while she massages her throat. “How?”

Inside my wallet, I remove my American Express Centurion Card and hold it out to her. “If you can find the limit on this card by the end of the day, you can go free. If you can’t, you have to face the consequences of stealing from me with no exceptions.”

She reaches for the card immediately but I curl it back toward myself, forcing her to hesitate.

“Do you understand? If you fail, then I get to dowhateverI want with you. I could kill you. Sell you.Fuckyou.”

Her lower lip curls into her mouth and her brows knit together, then she glances up and fixes me with a steady stare. “Do I get to keep what I buy?”

Not the response I was expecting. “Sure, why not.”

She takes the card and studies it, turning it over in her hands. “My name is Gianna.”

“Marco.”

The shopping spreestarts exactly as you would expect. Gianna picks the most expensive-looking storefront on the street andstrides inside, buying everything she can get her hands on. She snaps up whole floors of furniture, entire suites dedicated to decorating new rooms, and all sorts of decor—including wallpaper and flooring. Each time she selects something, the card clears the purchase, and she moves on.

For two hours, we move from store to store, and she buys everything—the local bookstore ends up with empty shelves and an empty storeroom, the furniture shop has to close because they have no stock left, and five jewelry stores try to give her discounts based on the amount she’s buying. She refuses, paying full price for everything.

She doesn’t reach the card limit.

Gianna changes tactics as the skies above finally crack and the downpour starts. She goes from hotel to hotel, not caring about the downpour even as my guards try to keep her dry under umbrellas. She buys out every single available room, complete with room service.

“What are you doing?” I ask as she pauses in the middle of the street and quickly texts someone.

The rain rattles hard against the umbrellas keeping us dry, and Gianna flashes her phone at me.

“I’m not calling for help if that’s what you’re asking. I’m posting on a few forums that can reach out to the homeless around here and let them know a room has been paid for. Those people can get shelter from the storm.”

She talks as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and then she strides forward and continues her trip. It’s an odd choice. With a challenge like this, I would expect Gianna to buy as many cars and boats as she can think of, but her mind seems to stall on the concept of luxury. Instead, she buys furniture and books to donate. She scoops up hotel rooms for the homeless.

And then we buy out an entire grocery store that she then instructs to be handed out to any of the homeless still onthe streets while keeping a bag for herself. The bag contains personal hygiene products, vitamins, and other necessities that really should be an afterthought, along with that kind of card in her hand.

Still the card swipes, and still each transaction ticks through.

By the time night falls, Gianna runs out of open shops to visit. Soaked to the bone from all her rushing around, my guards and I lightly guide her toward a private boutique that refuses to let her inside until they catch sight of me.

They fall over themselves apologizing but I ignore them. My focus is entirely on her.

For a thieving rat, she’s not what I expect. Most of her kind that I’ve come across are greedy and only care for themselves. I’ve killed any that I haven’t flipped to work for me. After all, a talented pickpocket can be invaluable at the right gatherings.

But Gianna is different. Her focus is on other people rather than her own well-being.

The clock strikes eight and Gianna stands on a small circular stage in the middle of the dressing room while an assistant helps her into a gorgeous deep blue silk gown. It flows over her curves like water, and the silver embroidery around her bust draws my eyes to the swell of her chest over and over.

I won’t deny her attractiveness. The way she carries herself is admirable and the small plan in my mind, the one that’s been growing since I met her, is almost complete.

“Are you going to kill me?” Gianna asks suddenly, causing the assistant to drop her box of pins in surprise.

“Why?” I ask from where I recline in one of the soft leather chairs, tilting a complimentary glass of scotch back and forth between my fingers. “Do you think I should?”

“The dress cleared on your card,” Gianna says. “Every single dress cleared. Every single thing I bought today has clearedwithout issue. I can’t even fathom the expense. That card has no limit.”

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