In store after store, the clerks—the associates—smiled politely and said oui, madame, certainement. They said it so easily that she should have known the answers had nothing to do with reality, and when they returned to their suite hours later, the second bedroom was almost hidden beneath stacks of gaily wrapped boxes and beribboned shopping bags.
Marco had bought everything, or close to everything and when she protested he gave her a look that was serious and businesslike and he reminded her, again, of the clothing allowance.
When she began to protest, he looked at his watch, said they were running behind and she’d better get moving or they’d be late for their appointment.
“I thought the French deal was all done,” she said.
He shrugged. “It is. All but this one last detail.” He looked at his watch again. “You have half an hour, cara.”
Half an hour?
Emily stared after him.
The man was impossible. He’d given her forty-five minutes last night. Thirty tonight. How could she get ready in such a rush? And if he really thought she’d keep all those boxes full of outrageously expensive clothing…
She knew buying her all those things had pleased him.
And yes, the job included a clothing allowance.
Did mistresses get clothing allowances? Was she, after less than a week, his mistress? Did he think she was? Because that was never going to happen. Bad enough she was already a woman he thought he knew but didn’t; she would certainly never be in a relationship based on sex and availability.
And lies.
Her own lies.
Emily took a long, shaky breath.
How could things have gotten so complicated so fast?
She kicked off her shoes. Went into the bathroom. Turned on the shower, peeled off her clothes, stepped into the shower stall…
The glass door swung open. She gasped, turned, and found Marco, arms folded, standing there.
His posture was serious. His expression was serious.
And he was seriously naked.
So what? She was annoyed at him. Did he think sex could solve every problem?
“Would you please close the shower door?” she said. “It’s cool in here.”
He stepped inside the stall and shut the door behind him.
“That’s not what I meant. I’m trying to take a shower.”
“So am I.”
“You gave me thirty minutes.”
“You’re down to twenty five.”
“There’s a shower in the other bathroom.”
“There is a shower there. I agree. But there is a problem with it.”
“What problem? It works just fi—”
“The problem,” he said softly, “is that I am not in it with you.”