31. Audra
The next day…
… seems entirely planned by Gabe to pull me deeper into him.
First, there is a knock on the door, followed by a string of giggling women, pulling and pushing carts into the room.
My curiosity feels like slowly bursting bubbles under my skin.
Whatever is in the carts, it's hidden underneath silky black blankets.
One woman pulls me to the side. "Mrs. Hale?" She doesn't wait for my nod. "I'm Jacky. Mr. D'Amato hired me."
Before I realize what's happening, she has gently maneuvered me into the kitchen part and stationed herself so I can't really see into the living room area, from where the subdued sounds of hangers clinking on aluminum rods and more giggling emerge.
"Hired you?" I ask, trying to peek around her.
"He has plans to take you out tonight and instructed me to provide you with suitable clothes," she fills me in.
Has he now?
Before anger can win over curiosity, I hear my mom's voice. "What is—Oh my!"
"I think they're ready." Jacky guides me back into the room as unobtrusively as she guided me out.
And then the sheer sight of the living room area transformation makes me forget about any anger that might have simmered in me over Gabe's presumptuousness that I would go on a date with him.
He brought an entire boutique here.
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 a square 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 screams mine!
Two hours later, Mom and I slouch, exhausted, on the couch. The living room is filled with half of the store's goodies, 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 a but attached. 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."
Heat creeps into my cheeks. Pete was always good about telling me how beautiful he thought I was, but the words coming from Gabe turn my insides liquidy.
"You clean up well," I manage, because saying anything more feels dangerous.
His mouth twitches, but his eyes don't lose that edge of something sharper. "So do you."
"You sent… an entire store," I find my voice. "That seems a little excessive."
"Did it work?" he asks.
I hesitate because the answer is standing right here between us, six-foot-four of lethal elegance wrapped in a black Tom Ford suit, looking at me like he already owns every secret I haven't admitted yet.
"Yes," I admit quietly.
His gaze drops again, slower this time, dragging down the black silk that clings to my body like it was poured over me. The dress is sinful—tight through the waist, plunging just enough in the front to make breathing feel dangerous. When his eyes climb back up, they're darker.
"Yeah," he murmurs, almost to himself. "It did."
The air between us feels too thick, too hot.
I can still taste the guilt on the back of my tongue, but it doesn't stop the low pulse that starts between my thighs every time he looks at me like that.
I loved Pete, really loved him, once upon a time, but it had taken me months to realize it.
And yet Gabe walked into my life and the attraction hit me like a freight train—immediate, violent, undeniable. He holds out his hand. "You ready?"
It's such a simple question and yet, not simple at all.
I have no idea what I'm ready for when it comes to him.
I don't ask. Instead, I slide my fingers into his.
His grip is warm, firm, possessive. The kind of hold that says mine without a single word.
I throw one last hesitant glance toward Mom's door.
"Relax," Gabe's voice is that deep baritone that makes my stomach do all kinds of funny things. "Mario and Jack are here to babysit."