Chapter 11 #2
He sighed, setting the popcorn aside, and pulled me into a hug.
“You’d better be,” he murmured against my hair. “Because if he hurts you, I don’t care how connected he is. I’ll find a way to make him pay.”
I hugged him back, blinking back tears.
“Thanks, Marcus.”
“Always, babe. Always.”
My phone buzzed again, and I glance at it.
Lorenzo
I know you will look stunning in whichever dress you choose. See you tomorrow - L.
I smiled, my cheeks flushing.
Into the lion’s den, I think. But maybe that’s exactly where I’m supposed to be.
The wine is halfway gone when the doorbell rings.
Marcus and I exchanged a look—it’s after nine, and he isn’t expecting anyone. He’s in his ratty pajama pants, I’m drowning in his oversized hoodie, and neither of us looks remotely presentable.
“Did you order food?” I ask.
“No. Did you?”
I shake my head.
The bell rings again, more insistent this time.
Marcus groaned, hauling himself off the couch. “If this is a murderer, I’m going to be so annoyed. I’m not dressed for being murdered.”
He shuffled to the door, peering through the peephole. His body goes still, his eyebrow shooting up.
“Uh, Zara?” He turned to look at me, his expression a mix of amusement and disbelief. “There’s a very fancy man in a very fancy suit at my door holding very fancy bags.”
My heart stuttered.
“I’ll, uh—” I’m already standing, pulling the hoodie tighter around myself as Marcus swings the door open. And sure enough, a man in a crisp black suit stands there, holding three garment bags, each a deep, rich burgundy.
“Miss Cruz?” The man’s voice was smooth and professional.
“That’s me.”
He offered a polite nod, stepping inside when Marcus gestured him in. “Mr. Falcone sends his regards. These are for you.” He lays the garment bags carefully across the back of Marcus’s dining chairs, then produces a small velvet box from his inner pocket. “And this.”
I stared at the box, my throat tight. “What is it?”
“I wouldn’t know, miss. I’m only the delivery man.” He gave a slight bow. “Is there anything else you need?”
“No, I—thank you.”
He’s gone before I can say more, the door clicking shut behind him. Marcus and I stand in stunned silence, staring at the three garment bags as if they might explode.
“Well,” Marcus said finally, breaking the quiet. “That was dramatic… I approve.”
I reached for the first bag, my fingers trembling as I unzip it.
It’s a white knee-length dress; when I pull it out fully, I see the delicate beading along the neckline.
“And this isn’t enough,” Marcus said, already reaching for the second bag. “Let’s see what else Daddy Crime Lord picked out.”
The second dress was more fitted, elegant, with a plunging back that would leave almost nothing to the imagination.
The third was a simple off-the-shoulder dress, with a flowing skirt that made me think of old Hollywood glamour. It’s softer than the others, more romantic.
And then there’s the velvet box.
Marcus snatched it before I could, flipping it open with a dramatic flourish. Inside, nestled on black satin, is a pair of diamond earrings. Not small, not subtle. The kind of earrings that cost more than my rent.
“Holy shit,” Marcus yells.
I can’t speak.
He pulls out the tag on the first dress, squinting at it. His eyes went wide, and he let out a low whistle. “Zara. This dress costs more than my car.”
“What?”
“I’m serious.” He held up the tag, and I leaned in, reading the numbers. My stomach dropped. “This is insane. This is—this is ‘I could pay off my student loans’ insane.”
“Marcus—”
“And the earrings?” He pulled one out and holds it up to the light. “These are Cartier. Cartier, Zara. I know because I spent an embarrassing amount of time looking at their website during my ‘I deserve nice things’ phase.”
I sank onto the edge of the couch, my head spinning. “I can’t accept this.”
“You absolutely can.” Marcus carefully placed the earring back into the box and planted his hands on his hips. “And you will. Because if this man is going to buy you ridiculous, obscenely expensive things, you are going to let him. That’s the deal. That’s the arrangement.”
“It feels wrong.”
“It feels uncomfortable,” he corrected, sitting down beside me. “Which is different? You’re not used to people doing nice things for you. You’re used to being the one who gives, who sacrifices, who makes do.” He nudged my shoulder. “But this? This is someone who wants to take care of you. Let him.”
I looked at the dresses, the earrings, the evidence of Lorenzo’s obsession laid out across Marcus’s cheap dining chairs.
“He barely knows me,” I whispered.
“He knows enough.” Marcus stands, grabbing the second dress and holding it up against me. “Okay. Try them on.”
“What?”
“Try them on. We’re having a fashion show. I’m going to judge each one, give my honest opinion, and then we’re going to drink more wine and pretend we’re not both terrified of how deep you’re getting into this.”
I laughed despite myself. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m supportive. Now strip.”
An hour later, I’ve paraded through Marcus’s living room in all three dresses, each one more stunning than the last. He’s given me a running commentary—the first one is powerful, the second one is a tease, the last one is not at all my style—and we’ve both lost count of how many times we’ve said “Holy shit” at the price tags.
I’m standing in front of his full-length mirror, wearing one of the gowns, when my phone buzzes on the coffee table.
Marcus grabbed it before I can, reading the screen with a wicked grin. “Ohhh, looks like someone is checking in.”
“Marcus, give me that—”
He held it just out of reach, reading aloud. “‘I hope the dresses arrived. I can’t wait to see you in them.’” He wiggles his eyebrows. “He wants to see you in it, Zara. In that dress.”
I snatched the phone from him, my cheeks burning. The message is simple, direct, exactly like Lorenzo.
But underneath it, there’s another one.
Lorenzo
If what I sent does not suffice, I am happy to send someone with alternatives.
I stared at the words, my heart hammering.
Marcus read over my shoulder, letting out a low whistle. “Well. He’s certainly not subtle.”
“No,” I muttered, a strange, warm feeling spreading through my chest. “He’s not.”
I typed back a quick reply—
Me
They’re beautiful. Thank you. But you didn’t have to do that.
Lorenzo
You deserve it.
Marcus was watching me as something in his eyes warmed. “You’re really doing this, aren’t you?”
“I think I am.”
He pulled me into another tight hug, the silk of the dress rustling between us.
“Then you’d better make sure he knows what he’s got,” he said quietly. “Because if anyone deserves to be treated like a queen, it’s you.”
I sat there, letting his arms envelope me, tears welling up in my eyes.
“Thanks, Marcus.”
“Always, babe. Always.” He pulled back, his grin returning. “Now let’s figure out how we’re going to explain to your future husband that I’m keeping that first dress for ‘emergencies.’”
“You are not keeping the dress.”
“I absolutely am. Consider it a best friend tax.”
We were still laughing when the wine finally rans out, and I fell asleep on his couch, dreaming of a man with dark eyes and dangerous hands and a future I never saw coming.
The next morning, I woke up to a text.
Lorenzo
The driver will be there at 9. I’ll be waiting. — L
I stared at the screen, my heart pounding.
I had an hour to pack my life into a single suitcase and prepare for my life to change forever.