Chapter 32
32
Aviva
J ack was gone when I woke up. We’d fallen asleep with his arms wrapped tight around me, one locked around my stomach, the other splayed across my pussy. I should’ve felt trapped, not safe. This morning, his absence should’ve made me feel relieved, not disappointed.
After using his toothbrush and trying to turn my sex-and-sleep mussed hair into some semblance of a topknot, I threw on one of his hoodies and headed downstairs to the kitchen. I was beyond thirsty, desperately needed coffee, and after…
…I didn’t know. My brain wasn’t functioning yet.
I skirted past the dining room, avoiding the embarassing but hot memories it brought up, and entered the kitchen.
Isaac sat at the island, scrolling through his phone. He glanced up when he saw me.
“Morning. Coffee?”
I’d expected awkwardness, but instead he seemed normal, like he’d expected me here. Or maybe Jack always had girls wandering into the kitchen in need of caffeine. My stomach dropped like a stone at that thought.
As if Isaac read my mind, he said, “You’re not the first girl I’ve seen in that hoodie?—”
Oh, god.
“—but you’re the first who he’d let keep it.”
Oh.
Relief swamped me, so intense, I almost stumbled. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did.
“Coffee, yes, thank you,” I told him.
Nodding, he got up, pouring a cup for me from the pot.
“What do you take?”
“Oat milk, but I can drink it black if you don’t have?—”
He walked over to the fridge and pulled it open. “Jack bought some the other day. He’s never drank it before, so it must be for you.”
Relief turned to warmth, and confusion. Jack and I had turned a corner in our relationship, but how did he know I was lactose intolerant, and why would he have made sure I could have coffee at his home? Was he that serious about me?
Adding oat milk to my coffee, Isaac passed it to me, before leaning back against the now closed fridge and crossing his arms.
“So. Aviva Gold .”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Any relation to the New York Gold family?”
Ugh.
The Gold family never came through for me and Asher when our parents died. Wealthy, elusive, exclusive, and possibly criminal, the Manhattan-based dynasty wanted nothing to do with us, and we wanted nothing to do with them.
“Distant cousin,” I told him. “How do you know about the Golds?”
He smirked. “Let’s just say we go…way back.”
Hmm.
“What kind of way back?” I asked.
He shook his head, avoiding the question. “What’s the deal with your friend?”
“Tovah?”
“Yeah.”
I straightened, eyes narrowing. I didn’t know Isaac well, but if he was friends with Jack, it possibly meant his ethics around consent were as skewed as my…whatever Jack was to me now.
“Off limits, to you,” I told him.
He threw back his head and laughed. “You’re cute. I get what Jack sees in you.”
A throat cleared from the doorway. We both looked over.
Jack was glaring. “None of that,” he warned.
Isaac shrugged, still chuckling. “Don’t worry, I know it’s a look but don’t touch thing.”
“No more looking. Ever ,” Jack said. To me he said, “C’mon, little fury, we have a dress to buy.”
“I have dresses,” I protested.
“Aviva, you’d be beautiful in a garbage bag. But I want to buy you something as beautiful as you, something new,” he cajoled. “Don’t I owe you at least that?”
He was trying to buy my forgiveness. Bribe me into softening toward him.
It worked.
“Fine,” I said .
“Fine,” he mimicked, holding out his hand for me to take. “C’mon, I scheduled you time at Pixie.”
“Pixie?” The boutique was invite only. Dresses there sold for thousands of dollars. “That’s unnecessary.”
Impatient, Jack grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the kitchen. “I disagree. As much as I love you in my hoodie, wearing something I bought for you? Knowing when I take it off that I took care of what’s mine by clothing you? It’s very, very necessary.”
Pixie was a misnomer for the exclusive boutique. I’d never been—not only because it was so far out of my price range it was ridiculous, but because I assumed, like the name, they’d only serve smaller sizes: not a 16-18 dress size like me.
I was wrong. Pixie was size inclusive, if not price inclusive. I gazed around the store, painted a pale gray with exposed beams and old, faded brick walls, with dresses of every color, style, and size hanging off racks made of old metal pipes. The store was funky and cool, but still very, very expensive feeling.
“Thank you,” I said quietly to Jack as he guided me around the store with a hand on my lower back.
I didn’t mean because of the prices; there was no way I was accepting this. But to keep my size in mind without making a big deal out of it? It made me feel seen and accepted in ways I never had before.
He smiled, like he knew what I meant. “I love your body, Aviva. I wanted to take you somewhere where I knew they’d do it justice. ”
I turned to kiss him, just a peck, but he took advantage, urging my mouth open and deepening the kiss. It was sweet, affectionate, tender—so many things he’d only recently become toward me. So I kissed him back in the same way; it felt like a promise.
“Let me help you!” I pulled back from Jack to see the sales woman make her way toward us.
“Aren’t you pretty?” The sales woman fawned over me, although from the way she fluttered her lashes at Jack made it clear she was full of shit.
Jack completely ignored her, eyes burning into me as he issued orders to her. “She’ll only want dresses with higher necks,” he told her. He glanced back at me. “Right, Aviva?”
I nodded, once again touched that he’d know.
As he took a seat in a leather armchair, he murmured, “Unless you’re ready to show people your scar. I wasn’t lying when I said it’s the most beautiful part of you—but if it’s too soon, I get it. If it’ll always be too soon, I get that, too.”
It was too soon. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be ready for people to see it. Jack had sworn he’d pay for plastic surgery, and the care and consideration in that fierce promise had done something to me.
“Thank you,” I said again.
His eyes were practically silver. “You never have to thank me for anything.” He nodded to the changing room. “Now go. Try on dresses for me.”
Once inside, the sales woman passed me the first dress—a black, tight, velvet number with a ruched waist and a high neck. I looked at the tag, preparing myself for an astronomical number, but there was no price on it.
“I doubt this means it’s free,” I muttered.
How wealthy did you have to be to not even care about prices? The thought made me nauseous. The second thought, that Jack had the kind of money to shop at a store like this—and wanted to spend it on me—made me dizzy.
I pulled the dress over my head, adjusting it before I went outside the changing room to show Jack.
He immediately shook his head. “Hot, but no.”
The sales woman sighed, passing me another dress—this one royal blue with a huge, knee-length tulle skirt attached to a silk bodice. The neckline was sweetheart shaped, and probably would’ve been pretty, but I shivered as she handed it to me. Why wasn’t she listening to Jack’s specifications about the neckline?
“No,” Jack barked, before I even tried it on.
I pushed open the door to the changing room to peek out.
“What did I tell you about the neckline?” he asked the sales woman.
She played with her hair, simpering at him. “This cut will look great on her. Don’t you want your friend to look nice?”
“Girlfriend , ” he corrected, making my heart race. “And she wants a dress with a high neckline, so you’ll bring her high necklines. Got me?”
Girlfriend. Is that what I was now? He’d blackmailed, fucked me less than consensually, treated me before like I didn’t matter. Things had changed between us, but I hadn’t known they’d shifted that much in Jack’s brain. Did I want to be his girlfriend? More importantly, did I have a choice?
“Girlfriend?” I raised a brow.
“Yup.” He popped the p. “Have a problem with that?”
Before I could respond, the sales woman caught me peeking and glared at me before flouncing off to find more dresses. She brought me a bunch on pretty beaded hangers before flouncing off again.
I tried on dress after dress, Jack shaking his head at each and every one. Insecurity began to creep in—did I look so horrible in dresses that nothing would work? I’d worked hard over the years to not let my size get to me. I had enough to deal with the scar, I didn’t need to hate my body, too. But moments like this could and would hurt, and I couldn’t deny it.
I spotted the last dress—a knee length burgundy dress with a slit up the side, covered in delicate lace. I dropped it over my head and zipped it up, before admiring myself in the mirror. I loved this dress, but wasn’t sure he would. And although it shouldn’t have mattered, he was paying.
And I wanted him to love it. I wanted him to?—
Nope. Not going there , I admonished my brain.
Pushing the door to the changing room open, I slowly walked out, standing in front of Jack, and preparing himself to hate this one, too.
Jack didn’t speak. Just stared at me, throat working, gray eyes burning silver now.
“You hate it,” I said, disappointed. I thought the burgundy lace was beautiful on me, but?—
“I don’t hate it,” he said, voice husky. “No one’s ever made me speechless before.”
And then he was out of the chair and across the room, one arm wrapped around me, one in my hair, and kissing me like he’d never kissed me before. He didn’t need to speak, his lips and tongue spoke for him. He wanted me, more than he wanted to breathe. Needed me more than he needed oxygen.
And I felt the same way.
“We’ll take it,” he called, pushing me into the locker room.
“Jack, it must be like a million dollars.”
“Little fury, it could be a billion dollars, and I wouldn’t care. This dress was made for you, and I was made to take it off of you,” he said, closing the door behind him and dropping to his knees.
“Jack—”
“Do you get to say no?” he taunted.
“Jack!” I protested, angry now.
“Shhh, we don’t want her to hear us,” he said, and then he was pushing the dress up over my hips and his mouth was on me and I lost the will to argue with him. In fact, this time I was the one who forgot how to breathe.
But who needed to breathe, anyway?