Page 107

Mom is already rifling through a rack of dresses. She hasn't shown any interest in shopping in years. But now it seems she can't keep her hands from touching anything and everything laid out.

"Your dress choices for tonight," Jacky points at a rack of black cocktail dresses, some skimpier than others, but in a tasteful way.

Seems like he wants me to dress in black?

"And those," she points at where Mom is holding up a yellow sundress to herself, "are for you to choose from if you like any."

I'm so overwhelmed, I don't even have time to consider the slow-burning churn in my stomach, and it simmers out before it can ever reach real anger level, because… There are not just dresses. There is also a table filled with purses, reminding me of the damn purse party, only these, I'm willing to bet my life on, are real.

Nothing has a price tag, but I've seen enough items online to know that the black Prada purse runs a whopping eight grand. It would go perfectly with the dress I just pulled out without thinking about. It's tight and low-cut, but classy, because it's asquare low-cut. Golden buttons run down the back, matching the purse.

"Oh, good eyes, and good look." Jacky pulls out a pair of black shoes with golden soles and heels.

"Actually, this," another lady, whose name tag proclaims her Emily, holds up a golden necklace that would look overdone, maybe even gaudy, if it weren't so beautiful. It has an Egyptian style to it that makes my fingers twitch, while every cell in me screamsmine!

Two hours later, Mom and I slouch, exhausted, on the couch. The living room is filled with half of thestore'sgoodies, while Jacky left with the other half, beaming. She must have made a fortune on Mom and me today.

Do I feel bad? No. I know Gabe can afford to be generous. And I'm not too proud to accept it, because I know he meant it to cheer me up. It worked too. Although I'm still somewhat caught in a moral dilemma, it was nice to forget about all my worries for a few hours, and Mom seems content, too.

"This necklace is so gorgeous," she points at the golden one I'm still holding, the one I'm maybe never letting go. It's heavy too; it'll feel like an anchor around my throat, but it'll be so worth it. It's wider than anything I'd ever choose for myself. Gold fans out in delicate, intricate squares, catching the light with every moment. In the center row, black pearls gleam—dark, almost liquid—each one surrounded by a halo of tiny diamonds that flicker like they're alive. My fingers brush over one of the pearls, cool and smooth beneath my touch, and I swear it feels like it's watching me back.

"It would be prettier if the pearls were a little smaller," Mom adds. She can never say anything nice without abutattached. Right now, I'm too happy to care.

Besides the clothes, shoes, and purses, there was also a wide assortment of facial treatments, bath products, and perfumes.

"I'm sure it'll make my skin break out, but the cream feels so good." Mom opened every single jar Jacky brought with her before deciding on a Dior routine.

"We should probably get this cleaned up," I muse. I don't think Gabe will appreciate coming home to the mess we've made.

"Will you bring my things into my room? I'm too tired, and they're too heavy," Mom is already halfway down the hallway, leaving me to stare at the facial cream that's too heavy for her to carry.

With a sigh, I grab her things and bring them to her room, hissing back at Mittens as I enter. We're in a bared teeth standoff, when Mom slaps me on the arm with surprising strength. "Oh, grow up, Audra, and be nice. He's just a cat."

Just a cat, my ass. That thing is the most vicious feline I've ever met, and I've worked in a vet's office for years.

Jacky mentioned that Gabe would pick me up at seven. Am I a little peeved that one, he never asked me, and two, he just assumed I'd be okay with all this? You bet, but my curiosity has won out by a mile. That and the side of me that can't wait to put on all my new goodies.

I'm also hyped to leave the penthouse. Whatever Gabe has planned, I'm looking forward to it. I do feel bad about leaving Mom, but I'm pretty sure the plan is to have Jack and Mario here, who are among Mom's favorite people.

Although it's only three, I decide to take a long bath, using my new soaps and shampoo from brands I had only dreamed of before. They're all on my Pinterest boards and… I sit up with a start. Of course, Gabe would know. He must have gotten into my account. For the… I don't even know anymore how many times today I've been torn between laughing and being mad at him, but this makes one more.

At six, I'm all done, wearing the black cocktail dress with the gold buttons and the shoes that feel like heaven. I was right about the necklace; it lies heavily on my collarbone, but it's so worth it. I've styled my hair in a loose updo, which makes it look like small ringlets escaped.Thank you, Maggie, for teaching me.

A knock on the door is followed by several servers pushing in carts with dinner. I'm used to them by now and call for Mom. Looks like whatever Gabe has planned doesn't include dinner, because the dishes are for two.

Three minutes before seven, Gabe enters, leaving me speechless. The tux fits him like it was made for him. Black on black, clean lines, crisp white shirt beneath, the bow tie somehow making him look even more lethal instead of less. His hair is pushed back just enough to look intentional, not stiff, and there's something about the way he carries himself tonight, like he owns every inch of the room the second he steps into it.

Like he always does. Only tonight… it hits harder.

My breath catches somewhere between my chest and my throat and refuses to move. God. This is what people mean when they say someone takes your breath away.

The only consolation is that his gaze drags over me slowly, starting at my heels, up the line of my legs, lingering—just for a fraction too long—at my waist, then my chest, before finally reaching my face. And staying there. His expression shifts, he looks almost stunned, and I'm not sure if I should be insulted or flattered.

"You—" he starts, then stops. Which is… new. Gabe doesn't stop.

I swallow, suddenly hyper-aware of everything: my heartbeat, the way the fabric brushes my skin, the weight of the necklace at my throat.

"You looked stunning in that ball gown, but this," his eyes roam me up and down one more time, "is bringing beauty to a whole new level."