Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Instead of being angry, his eyes soften with pleasure and, if I’m not mistaken, a hint of amusement.
As he walks toward us, his steps slow and stalking, for a beat, I don’t want the moment to end. It’s been ages since I’ve felt this content. It could possibly even be the first time I’ve ever felt like this.
Dante peruses the receipt, then cranks his neck to me. “Where are your clothes?”
I open my mouth to respond, but Camille cuts me off. With a determined grunt, she throws her armful of clothes onto the counter. The pile lands with a soft thump, and it nearly knocks over a display of scarves.
My jaw drops. “Camille… sweetheart… no.” I turn to face Dante, flustered. “I said I wasn’t buying anything.”
The cashier scans the first dress, forcing my attention to her.
“Wait. Please. I can’t pay for any of this.” I wave my hand over the garments that prove Camille’s fashion sense is on par with her father’s. They’re the outfits I would pick for myself if I had endless funds.
Dante hands over his card before I can intercept it. “Add my card to the file so if Lu—Cici requires any additional purchases, they can be charged to my account.”
“That’s not necessary,” I hiss, heat rising in my cheeks. “I don’t need any of—”
He cuts me off with a maddeningly confident smile. “If you won’t take them willingly, consider it a uniform allowance.”
I blink, taken aback. “A what?”
“A uniform allowance,” he repeats, smirking. “All staff get one.”
“Staff?” I would inform him that most workplaces have a non-fraternization policy if there weren’t little ears listening in. Camille is so wrapped up in the tension zapping between her father and me that her head bounces like she’s at the Australian Open. “I don’t recall signing an employment contract.”
He accepts his card back from the cashier and stores it in his wallet before twisting to face me. “Our agreement was verbal, not written.” I stare at him, lost. My daftness only doubles the size of his smirk. He leans in so close that I smell the Dijonaise sauce from his breakfast. “Camille and I come as a package deal, angelo. You can’t have me without her.”
“Who said I wanted you?”
Goose bumps break across my skin when he brushes his lips against the shell of my ear and growls, “You. Multiple times last night.”
The battle is lost. My lust-crazed head will never formulate a comeback for this, but I’ve been a fighter as long as I’ve been alive, so if this wreck is crushing, I’ll take down the entire plane.
With my nose screwed up and my eyes narrowed, I snatch the bag the cashier offers, exit the boutique at the speed of a bullet leaving a gun, then hand over the garments Dante paid high four figures for to the first homeless woman I see.
Chapter 16
Dante
Lucia’s defiance as she walks off rushes blood to my cock. The swelling worsens when she kneels in front of a homeless woman to hand over the clothes I bought her. She doesn’t care who sees her or what anyone thinks about her giving away clothing worth almost five figures. She gives them away without hesitation or guilt. Just the stubborn determination I’ve seen in her since day one.
A tight sensation spreads across my chest. It isn’t in anger. It’s in awe.
Lucia isn’t doing this to hurt me. She’s standing by a truth she refuses to compromise on. You can’t buy her loyalty, and kindness shouldn’t come with conditions. If she accepts something, it’s by choice, not expectation.
And Christ, I like that about her as much as I love her spitfire stubbornness.
I stand at the side of the boutique, uselessly still. I only move when Camille’s tiny fingers curl around my thumb. I sense her gaze before I look down. She’s peering up at me with dark lashes over twinkling eyes, her stare a mix of admiration and uncertainty.
She’s worried that Lucia is in trouble, but also wowed by her strength.
When I crouch so we’re eye level, the city noise in the background fades to static.
“I bought those clothes for Lucia.” I choose each word carefully, forever hopeful of teaching my daughter lessons on equality she’s never had before. “But once you give someone a gift, it no longer belongs to you. You don’t get to decide what happens to it after you hand it over.”
Camille’s mouth thins into a thoughtful line. She still worries there are hidden catches to my generosity. Not long ago, even offering her extra syrup led to a heap of silent questions about how much it would cost her.
“Lucia didn’t do anything wrong,” I clarify again. “They were her clothes, and she did what she wanted with them.” I shift my focus to the boutique bags resting at her feet, too heavy for her to carry on her own. “Just like if you want to give them away, I won’t be mad at you either. They’re yours, and what happens to them is your choice to make.”