Page 87 of Savage Union
I nearly choke on my coffee. "Shopping?"
"Yes. I believe you enjoy racking up a bill." There's a glint of amusement in his eyes, referencing my previous shopping spree.
I roll my eyes, glad for the shift to safer territory. "Shopping is boring."
"Is it?" He raises an eyebrow. "That's not the impression I got from your last excursion."
"That was different. That was..." Rebellion. Defiance. A childish attempt to disrupt his ordered world.
"In any case," he continues smoothly, "you need a wedding dress."
A wedding dress...oh, right. Despite everything that's happened between us, the wedding is still happening. Two weeks from now, I will legally become his wife.
"You can't go wedding dress shopping with me," I protest. "That would be bad luck."
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. "I don't believe in luck,bambola." He steps closer, his hand coming to rest on the countertop near mine. "I believe in taking what I want and keeping what belongs to me."
A shiver runs through me at the possessiveness in his tone. After last night's tenderness, the return of this domineering side should repel me. Instead, I find it sending an unwelcome heat through my veins.
"I don't belong to you," I say, the words automatic though lacking their usual conviction.
"The bracelet on your wrist suggests otherwise." His gaze drops to the silver links encircling my arm. "As does the fact that you're still wearing it."
I resist the urge to hide my wrist under the table. "It's just jewelry."
"Is it?" He reaches out, fingers brushing lightly over the bracelet, the brief contact sending a jolt of awareness through me. "Be ready in thirty minutes. We have appointments to keep."
"And if I refuse?" The challenge is halfhearted at best.
He studies me for a moment, something shifting in his expression. "Then I'll be disappointed, but I won't force you." He steps back, giving me space. "Consider it an invitation rather than an order."
The unexpected concession catches me off guard. "An invitation?"
"Yes." He tilts his head slightly. "After last night, I thought perhaps we could attempt a more... collaborative approach."
I blink, trying to process this shift. "You mean you're actually giving me a choice?"
"In this particular matter, yes." His expression remains neutral, but there's something in his eyes I can't quite decipher. "Though I would prefer if you accompanied me."
"Why?" The question escapes before I can think better of it.
"Because a wedding requires preparation, regardless of the circumstances that led to it." He takes another sip of his coffee. "And because I think it might benefit us both to be seen in public together."
The statement carries layers of meaning I can't fully unpack. Is this about appearances? Strategy? Or is there something more personal in his request?
"Fine," I find myself saying. "I'll go. But I'm not trying on wedding dresses with you watching."
A hint of a smile touches his lips. "We'll see."
I roll my eyes as he turns to leave, then pauses. "Caterina?"
"Yes?"
"Wear something nice. We'll be dining out afterward."
With that, he's gone, leaving me staring after him in confusion. What game is he playing now? Last night felt like a genuine connection, something real amidst all the lies and manipulation. But this morning he's back to making plans, issuing directives—gentler than before, perhaps, but still very much in control.
And yet, he gave me a choice. A small one, but a choice nonetheless. Is this a genuine shift in our dynamic, or just another strategy to secure my compliance?
