“It took me a while to find the right shop. But I’m good with finding pretty much anything he asks for.”
“He …?” I mutter. “Luca asked for this?”
She nods and walks out of the room, only to come back with a sewing machine. “I picked this up too from the market.”
“Wow.” I watch her put it on the table, and I can’t stop myself from touching that too. It’s vintage but workable. And it even came with all the supplies I’d need to …
“But why?” I ask, turning my head.
“He wants you to make your own dress.”
My own dress?
My face lights up at the thought.
I used to love making clothes. It’s all I ever did when I was young and even when I worked for Easton.
She places a hand on my shoulder. “He wants it ready by tomorrow.”
A-ha. So it’s a challenge.
“Are we going somewhere special?” I ask.
Lita shrugs. “I don’t know. Ask him. I’m just the girl who cleans and runs errands for him.” She laughs. “Anyway, if you need anything else, just tell him, and he’ll send me to get it.”
I sit down behind the sewing machine, feeling a little overwhelmed at all of this.
“Lita,” I say as she opens the door. “Thanks. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
She smiles. “I’m glad you like it, but … thank him. It was his idea.”
She exits the room, leaving me to do my thing.
But all I can do is stare at the beautiful fabrics in front of me and all the ways I can make the perfect dress. I don’t care that it’s probably because Luca wants to show me off. Because doing this beats watching television by a million miles.
My face turns red at the thought that he did this all for me. I’m glad no one is here to see it.
It feels like a challenge.
“Well, challenge fucking accepted, husband.”
Luca
* * *
Saturday
* * *
I take a sip of my drink, but as I swallow, the door handle to my bedroom clicks.
I unlocked her room with a purpose in mind.
For a moment, nothing happens as though Jill is waiting for me to get her. But I want her to make the decision herself. I want her to choose to come to me … to choose to bow down and obey in order to gain more freedom.
Because if I can’t get her heart, at least I’ll get her fucking submission.
The second she peers out, I forget all about our fight. I even forget we’re supposed to be enemies and that I’m supposed to destroy both her family and her resolve.
In fact, my jaw, along with the empty glass in my hand, drops at the sight of her stepping out of the room in a flowy, pink gown with silver embellishments going from her waist up to her shoulders, flaring out like a fire blazing out from her heart.
Exactly the kind of dress she’d create and wear to a simple dinner party with her own damn family.
But all I can say when she steps forward, twiddling with her fingers like she’s not sure she should’ve ever stepped out of that room, is, “Beautiful.”
She freezes, her cheeks slowly filling with a red glow. The arteries in her neck, above the collar, pulse as she looks out the window, trying to catch her bearings.
But I see her.
I see her like no one else ever saw her.
I see the pretty girl creating her own dresses and the gorgeous, confident woman she’s grown up to be.
I see it all, and she can’t ever hide it or the rush she feels when I look at her.
Because I see that too.
I pick up the glass and quickly put it back on the table. As she walks off to the window to stare at the people outside like she’s trying to hide from me, I follow her. She flinches as I plant a hand on her waist, her body tensing.
“I mean it,” I say, looking at her through the reflection of the glass.
“Are you only saying that to make me feel good?” she asks.
I shake my head. “You were always so creative with your outfits.”
“I thought you hated them,” she retorts.
I snort. “I hated how it made people look at you.”
She sighs as she looks at herself in the window.
“Why did you give those fabrics to me?”
My hand slides down her waist to her thighs, the feel of her body turning me on already. “Can’t I give my wife a gift?”
She sighs out loud.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I say, almost unable to keep my hands to myself.
“If I did that, you wouldn’t let me out of the house anymore,” she says through gritted teeth.
We stare at each other through the window, and a tear wells up in her eyes. I slide my hand across her cheek and brush it off.