Chapter Eleven #2
Her accented voice—French, I guessed—was one of genuine enthusiasm, as if she’d been waiting for this day her whole life.
It was obvious that whoever shopped here would be of similar status to Caine—disgustingly wealthy—but I wondered if his custom in particular was a dream for all the shops in the city. He was a pretty big deal.
And I hadn’t fully grasped the extent of that statement until right now.
“My omega is in dire need of a new wardrobe,” he responded with no airs or graces. “No expenses spared.”
The woman beamed.
“Of course!” She turned to me, her smile stretching impossibly wider.
“Pleased to meet you, omega Devereux. I’m Clarice, and this is my team—James, Olivia, and Zainab.
We’ll get you everything you need, and don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything specific you’re searching for but cannot find. Nothing is too much trouble.”
My answering smile was strained. “Um, thanks, but uh . . . call me Dylan.”
Her eyes flicked to Caine as if asking his permission, which annoyed me. He nodded. “Very well, Dylan.”
Caine’s watch pinged with an incoming message, stealing my attention. He withdrew his hand from his pocket to read it, and his jaw twitched. He tapped the device before sliding his hand back into his pocket and twisting to whisper into Raegan’s ear.
It was so quiet, I only made out the words, “Deal with it.”
She nodded, and left us.
My pulse skyrocketed, my palms starting to sweat as a wave of dread drained all colour from my face. Minnie. “What happened?” I asked, failing not to sound desperate. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing for you to worry about,” he said, and I hated that my anxiety would now be visible to him.
Again. I’d been trying my best to hide it, unwilling to let him see me vulnerable—more than he already had—but that split second had it all rushing to the surface quicker than I could quell it.
Caine studied my reaction, and without giving me a clue to his thoughts, he added, “Do you wish to see her?”
I flinched internally, having expected intolerance or judgement, but he showed none.
I nodded. Without another word, he pulled out his phone and unlocked the device, clicking a few buttons before handing it over to me.
Minnie was on the screen, sitting on her dinosaur mat in her playroom.
The dragonfly stuffie Caine had brought her yesterday was tucked under her arm as she pointed at the pictures in her favourite book.
Edith was beside her, clearly encouraging her to name the animals on the pages, mouthing them patiently and clapping when my baby must’ve gotten it right.
They both seemed to be having fun, and my heart clenched. That should be me. At least I had visual proof she wasn’t unsettled by our separation—unlike me. I would’ve had to get used to being apart from her eventually. I just hadn’t prepared for it to be today.
Or for fucking clothes shopping.
“Thank you,” I said, though it was reluctant, passing him back the device.
He didn’t react to my tone, just slipped his phone back into his pocket and walked further into the store. “Let me be clear,” he announced. “We’re not leaving this place until you have spent an obscene amount of money. I want to see a noticeable dent in my bank balance, do you understand?”
I gulped at the thought of exactly how much that would be.
Part of me—the spiteful part—wanted to get on board, if only to inconvenience Caine in some capacity.
But would it? From what I’d already witnessed, he was the richest man alive, so he could probably buy the contents of the entire department store and it would be like pocket change to him.
Still, it was the bratty thought that counted.
That said, my pride was the loudest. It felt wrong to spend someone else’s money—money I hadn’t earned—and it felt even more unnatural spending it on myself.
After a lifetime of making do because times were tough, and struggling to make ends meet when I had no choice but to become independent, it had never occurred to me I’d one day be in a position where an Alpha would offer me everything on a silver platter.
I didn’t think I’d ever get used to it either. I couldn’t be indebted to him.
No more than I already was.
I ventured down one of the aisles to avoid answering him, choosing instead to scope out my surroundings.
Everything had its own dedicated section, like islands floating in the sea, and no displays were overcrowded.
There was a stand I passed with two pairs of folded jeans laid out on it.
That was it. Each rack had a maximum of five pieces hanging off it with an even gap set between each garment.
I had the impulsive urge to move one of the hangers an inch to the left just to be a shit.
I ran tentative fingers over a few pieces, getting a feel for the fabrics but conscious of not creasing them.
They were soft, a luxurious quality, miles better than the red plaid shirt I had on that needed a long-sleeved tee underneath to prevent it from scratching my skin raw.
A pair of beige linen shorts on a mannequin caught my eye, so I drifted closer.
The last time I’d worn anything similar was when my grandma took me to the seaside as a kid.
These ones were slightly different, though, more formal than beachwear, and they didn’t have tractors on them—a shame, really.
On proper inspection, the whole outfit on display was pretty decent. A far cry from my usual grungy aesthetic, giving off a “heading out for golf and canapes with my rich pals” vibe. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It was smart, refined, yet not so exotic I’d feel uncomfortable.
And I wouldn’t look so out of place standing next to Caine in it.
“Do you like this?” Clarice’s voice came from behind me. She was standing a respectable five feet away, but her presence still made me startle and take a step back.
“Uh, not really,” I lied, suddenly overwhelmed. My staring at it for a hot minute probably contradicted my statement, but a stray consideration toward the price tag made me want to dry heave. “Beige isn’t really my colour, and the shorts are . . . uh, a little too long.”
“We can order them in any colour you wish,” she stated, because of course she did. “We also have a seamstress, who can tailor any piece to fit you perfectly.”
“It’s okay, I’ll just—” My slow retreat came to a halt as my body smacked against something solid.
I reared back, concerned I’d accidentally knocked into an expensive display, but fingers gripped my chin, dragging my gaze upward.
I clutched at Caine’s hand, nails biting his skin as my brow furrowed into a glare. “Get off—”
“I don’t care how long this takes, but you agreed to the terms.” His voice was a low rumble.
Not his Alpha command, though the undertone of danger was evident.
I loosened my grip, but didn’t school my pissed-off scowl.
“At my word, this place will stay open for days and nights to serve us. The staff will work themselves to the bone to please me, so keep being difficult if you wish, but you won’t win.
You can either swallow whatever hangup you have and comply, or stay here until everyone passes out from exhaustion.
It’s your choice.” He dipped forward slightly, until his breath was licking at my lips.
“Do you want to get back to our daughter or not?”
Manipulative bastard.
I bared my teeth, but it didn’t faze him.
There was no doubt in my mind he’d follow through with his threat, and my conscience couldn’t handle knowing it was partly my fault Clarice and her team were collateral in our dispute.
So, I’d do as he bid, if only to save them from our mutual pig-headedness.
And return to Minnie as soon as possible.
“Fine.”
“Good boy,” he purred, and I hated how my stomach tightened involuntarily. Releasing his hold on my chin, he straightened and headed toward the first row of racks, navigating the layout as if he’d done it a million times before.
I followed closely behind—Clarice and her swans were hot on my heels.
“I have your outfit for the mating, but you’ll need another for the reception, plus another for a dinner party, a gala, a pack conference—you won’t be participating, but it’s vital you attend—and hm .
. .” His gaze panned over the endless abundance of fabrics.
“Let’s say, twelve spares for any events that crop up. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”
With every occasion he listed, I felt myself paling further. “I . . . W-what are the dress codes?”
He faced me, assessing, as if I’d asked a question with an obvious answer. But he must’ve remembered none of this faff was second nature to me, and he hummed. “Would you like me to choose suitable outfits for each and you can agree or disagree?”
Despite my dedication to always being right, there were times when I had no option but to admit defeat.
This was one of those times. I was already out of my comfort zone just by being here, but it was only going to get worse, and though my dignity would take a beating, it was pointless even trying to pretend otherwise.
So, I nodded.
“Very well,” he said, jerking his chin toward the far side of the shop. “Have a look over there, and pick out what you’d like. I’ll deal with this.”