Page 7 of Burn
Not a question.A statement.
“I’m f—”
He snaps his finger at his driver.“Take us to Pierre’s.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver responds.
“What’s Pierre’s?”I ask, confused.
“A restaurant,” Vincenzo replies.“One that serves the best dishes this city has to offer.”
Pierre as in … Pierre Faveurre?!The most expensive restaurant in this city?
I swallow.Now I’m sure he’s loaded.
“No, no, wait,” I mutter.“I can’t go there.”
“Why not?”He sounds so calm even though the place he just suggested is so out of reach to people like me, but like it’s the most normal thing in the world to him.
“I-I’m not dress—”
“I’ll get you a dress,” he says, and he grabs my hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the top.“Everything’s on me today.”
I’m too flabbergasted to know how to respond.
He snaps his fingers again.“Quick stop at Nalaga first.”
Nalaga?Outfits there cost at least a thousand a piece, if not more.
“Yes, sir,” the driver responds, and he makes a quick turn to the left.
I don’t know what to say, it’s all a bit too much.And within seconds, we’ve already arrived.
The car stops, and Vincenzo steps out, only to open my door for me like a real gentleman.And I don’t know what I did to deserve all this … or if it’s all a trap.
Vincenzo holds out his hand.“C’mon.”
I reluctantly take it and let him guide me into the big, intricately designed building.There’s a red carpet welcoming the customers, along with rows and rows of closets filled with lavish dresses, all carrying cards with dizzying numbers on them.
“Pick any you like,” he says, releasing my hand.
“There are so many …” I mutter.
“Do you want them all?”
My eyes widen.He sounds like he means it.Literally.
“This one looks nice,” I say, and I grab a long purple dress that’s one of the cheaper ones.
He scratches his chin and raises a brow.“You sure, or are you just picking that one because it costs the least?”
I grin and push the blush away.“I like it.”
“Can I help you?”a lady at the front desk asks as she approaches us.She lowers her nose at me in that same way rich people usually do when they spot me.My drenched clothes definitely give away that I don’t belong in a place like this.
Vincenzo steps forward, blocking her from coming to me.“Dressing room.”
The woman swallows and stares him up and down.“And who will be paying for that outfit?”
