Page 108 of Rome: The Ballerina

“Not exactly. I just have an ongoing list of things I’d gift the woman I found worthy if I ever got the chance. Shit I see while shopping. On my homies wives. On the big screen. Online. Just things, most of which will hold their value over the years.”

“Interesting,” she responded, leaning over to grab the Chanel bag.

I stood, knowing the boxes inside were too heavy for her to pick up with one hand while seated. She accepted the help without saying a word. It was becoming clearer that she’d been taught to let a man be a man when a man was around.

She hastily allowed me to take on any task that didn’t quite suit her, no matter how big or small, without a peep, protest, nervousness, declaration that she could do it herself, or excuse for why she couldn’t.

I observed as she removed the bow and then the top of the first box. Slowly, her face lit up with glee. The classic, lambskin Chanel flap was pink, the staple color for ballerinas across the world. She removed it from its casing and slid it on her shoulder. It was as perfect as I’d imagined it would be against her glowing skin.

“You’re–”I paused, getting comfortable in my seat. Rome was stunning. She had me at a loss of words. Seeing her in something I’d purchased enhanced her beauty even more. I was ready to call the Chanel boutique myself to order a hundred more of them motherfuckers. Louis Vuitton as well and she hadn’t even opened that damn gift yet.

“I don’t know if I have the words for exactly what you are– how you look tonight–for you at all, honestly.”

“I have one for you,” she confessed.

“Yeah?”

“You’regenerous.”

Chuckling, I shook my head. “How so?”

“This size of the Chanel shopping bag, I know it’s at least twenty thousand inside. This purse alone is over eleven thousand dollars and I still have a box to go. Two, if you include the large LV shopping bag which I’m assuming only has one box inside. You’ve cleared Georgio’s–of all places. I’m partly impressed, Saint.”

“Partly?” I chuckled with a nod, only truly emphasizing the next to last word.

She shifted those pretty eyes around the restaurant as if she was looking for something and then back to me after only a second or two.

“Yes, Saint. I am impressed. Partly.”

I nodded, appreciating her honesty. She was making it clear that I had to bring out all the stops to earn a spot on her team. Not because she was more interested in what I could do for her than how I made her feel, but because part of the way I made her feel would have everything to do with the experiences I created.

I couldn’t take a girl who was used to having Georgio’s weekly to Applebees and expect her to be comfortable. I wouldn’t even expect her to sit through an appetizer. Shit didn’t work like that. The food, atmosphere, people she encountered, and drinks she consumed simply weren’t part of the carefully paved path that had been set for her.

“It’s the standard.”

My head was still lifting and falling. I understood everything coming from her mouth.

“The standard,” I repeated slowly. “I like that.”

“Do you?”

She was magnetic. Her need for clarity reeled me right in. My eyes were still locked on her. The hidden chambers of my heart were unlocking for her.

“Yes. It lets me know that not many men around these parts can have what I’ve gotten ahold of because they simply aren’t the standard. Can’t manage the standard. Can’t maintain the standard. Can’t even make the fucking standard.”

“I’m not interested in men, Sac.”

She informed me. Though it was music to my ears, I couldn’t help but want to know why. Slowly, she placed her new purse back into the box and put it away.

“I’ll save the others for later.”

I agreed with her decision. The gifts could wait until she got home. I’d seen enough to know I needed to open my wallet wider and give her whatever her heart desired.

“Mellow.”

“Yes?” She asked, focusing on me, again.

“Have you sworn them off because one has broken your heart?”

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