Page 41 of Crazed

It's the cruelest torture.

His lips brush mine as he says, "Katiya."

I open my eyes. "You're too good to me."

He slowly shakes his head, repeating, "This is just a dress. Your real gift comes tonight."

"Real gift?" I ask, confused.

He chuckles, pecks my lips, then releases me. He puts his hands on the wheel and peels out into traffic. Horns blare all around us, but it doesn't faze him. He weaves in and out of the vehicles and states, "Get used to me spoiling you. I plan to give you everything in life you deserve."

Shame fills me. It mixes with the growing love I have for him. I don't deserve one ounce of his affection based on what I'm trying to trick him into giving me.

"How long will it take you to get ready?" he asks, pulling me out of my pity party.

Based on the gorgeous dress, I don't want to only freshen up my makeup and hair. I want to put in more effort and look as good as possible for him. I reply, "Is an hour too long?"

"Not at all. Our reservation is whenever we show up," he nonchalantly declares.

I stifle a smile. It's typical of Massimo. Everywhere he takes me, the staff rolls out the red carpet and treats him like a king. I lean my head against the headrest and roll my face toward him. I rest my hand on his thigh, asking, "Did you have a good day?"

Darkness passes over his expression. It flickers then fades. He smiles, but it almost looks forced. "Nothing exciting."

"No?" I question, wondering if it's the truth.

"Yep." He accelerates, zooming past other vehicles and cutting a semi off. More horns blare, but he once again seems unfazed. He turns on my street and pulls up to the brownstone, jumping out, then opening the back door to pick up the dress. He rushes around to my door and opens it, reaching for me.

I take his hand and let him help me out of the car. I ask, "What's the occasion?"

"Do I need one to take you out?" he questions, sweeping me across the sidewalk and up the steps.

"I'm sure that dress costs more than my weekly wage."

"Wait until you see the shoes." He wiggles his eyebrows, grinning, then motions for me to go through the door.

I step inside the corridor. "The shoes?"

"Yep. I got them earlier. They're in your bedroom." He freezes then tugs me into him. His eyes twinkle. "Sorry. I should sayourbedroom."

Zings ping-pong in my stomach. "So you're still serious about moving in?"

His face falls. "Of course I am. I already brought my stuff over."

Surprised, I blurt out, "You did?"

"Enough that I don't need to return to my father's for a while." He studies me, clenching his jaw.

"What?" I nervously ask.

"Did you change your mind?"

I shake my head. "No! Not at all. I guess I assumed it would take a while to move your stuff in."

"I'm a simple guy, dolce."

I laugh. "Sure, you are, Mr. Ferrari, with the Gucci dress."

"Wait until you see the shoes," he repeats, his face turning mischievous.

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