Chapter 15 #2
This time, she returns in a denim jacket covered in patches of stars, hearts, and a tiny embroidered cat and a matching skirt.
She spins slowly, then strikes a pose. I laugh louder than intended when I notice her duck face.
My giggles bounce off the boutique’s polished floors and gains me the devotion of Dante’s eyes.
I smile at him, his daughter’s happiness too infectious to act cordial.
“If you don’t want her to be a model, you might want to put a stop to this. She’s going to put real models out of business.”
He chips at my armor with a perfect reply. “You can be anything you want, can’t you, sweetheart?”
Camille’s nod confirms this isn’t the first time her father has said that to her.
Grabbing my hand, Camille tugs me toward a rack of adult clothes. Before I can protest, she holds up a soft cream sweater to my torso and twists her lips like a fashion critic would.
A smile inclines my cheeks when she screws up her nose in disapproval before she moves on to another item.
This time, she nods after holding up her selection.
Then she forces me into the changing room.
I could never afford the steep price of the dress, but I take it off the hanger anyway and slip into the heavenly soft wrap dress.
When I spin to get Camille’s approval, she gasps and slaps her hands to her cheeks. She gestures for me to walk, and I do, feeling both ridiculous and fancy. I finish my catwalk sashay with a flashy spin, and Camille claps while bouncing on her toes.
Over the next thirty minutes, Camille chooses outfits for me, and I choose outfits for her. Our selections are wildly different. One time, it’s a floral skirt with a sparkly cardigan. Next, it’s a pair of boots and low-riding jeans.
We laugh without words, and more than once, I imagine what it’ll be like to experience this with Gabriele. I doubt he’d pick the floral patterns Camille seems to love. He’d go for the plane-printed clothes that match the model airplanes hanging above the register.
He loves planes. Always has. During our phone calls, he points them out in the sky while babbling facts he’s memorized. He loves anything that moves, but jumbo jets are his favorite.
By the time we’re done, Camille has a pile of her favorite pieces draped over a salesclerk’s arms—four dresses, two jackets, multiple skirts and shirts, and a pair of glittery sneakers she refuses to put down.
She directs her eyes upward at me, waiting for approval.
“I’m sure Daddy will love everything you’ve picked,” I say, raking my fingers through her frazzled hair, fixing it in place.
Her smile could power the city.
We walk toward the counter together, my heart overflowing with happiness. As the cashier wraps up the purchases I hope Dante approves of, I wander over to a display shelf beside the counter. A model plane, which would make Gabriele’s eyes light up with glee, sits on top of a gift box.
I pick up the plane and turn it over. The price tag is a fragile reminder that I’ll struggle to give Gabriele the lifestyle he’s used to when I’m awarded custody. The plane cost double what I pay in rent each month. It’s too much for me to consider buying. Way too much.
Even if I could afford it, Edoardo would never give me an address to forward it to anyway.
It would sit in the dust at the bottom of my closet, along with Gabriele’s birthday presents from the past four years.
I’m better off waiting until I’m close to the amount I agreed to pay before splurging on luxuries.
My throat constricts as I carefully place the plane back on the shelf, treating it as fragilely as I now feel.
Will I ever get to take Gabriele shopping? Will I ever see his face light up over something he loves? Or will I always be shunted to the sidelines, imagining moments I may never have?
I force an impassive expression when a shadow moves in my peripheral vision.
Dante steps out from the tailored section of the boutique.
He’s wearing a suit. A perfectly fitted charcoal-gray suit that makes his panty-wetting looks even more devastating.
It causes my heart to do something it shouldn’t be doing. It thumps loudly.
After adjusting the cuffs, he glances up. I freeze when his eyes lock on the receipt longer than the grocery bill of a mother of ten, before they shift to the half a dozen boutique bags Camille is wrangling into submission.
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.