34. SCARLET
The hours pass by incredibly slowly. I should ask Antonio if he could pick up some of my books.
This is driving me crazy. The laptop he brought me on my first day to go shopping is gone, and I'm not sure if I should go in search of it or not.
I decide I'll talk to him first, then I can decide if I want to go snooping around.
I was hoping Gigi would come by, but I haven't seen or heard from her.
I even went into the kitchen, but only a man—the cook, I assume—was there.
Again, the idea of snooping entered my mind, but there are so many rooms in this house that Gigi could be anywhere.
Neither was I in the mood to walk in on her and Vito if that's what she was up to.
Finally, the door to the bedroom opens. "Ready?" Antonio asks with a mischievous smirk that makes him look all the more attractive.
"Ready for…" I fish.
"Shopping. I promised I'd take you shopping." He reminds me. "Don't tell me you forgot? You'd be the first woman in history who would forget a promised shopping spree."
Actually, I did.
"But where? You said I can't?—"
He doesn't let me finish. "Let me worry about that. Come on."
He holds out his hand, and I rush forward, eagerly tilting up my head for a kiss. He doesn't disappoint.
With a groan, he pushes me from him. "Evil temptress, come on, before I change my mind."
I giggle, and we walk down the hall and the stairs. A trio of large black SUVs wait for us outside. Antonio leads me to the one in the middle. "What's with all these cars?"
"Protection," he says, waiting for me to get in.
Further down, I see Gigi's red Mercedes. So she is here. With a smirk, I wonder if she is just a really late sleeper or if she and Vito found a spot where they could do whatever it is they do.
I don't think too much about it, though, because I'm still confused as to where Antonio is taking me.
He's busy typing on his phone, and I don't want to disturb whatever mafia plans he's working on.
So I look out the window, trying to figure out where we actually are.
I could just ask him, but this is a lot more fun.
After a while, I narrow our location down to three places: Greenwood Lake or Lake George in New York, or Upper Greenwood Lake in New Jersey.
After about twenty minutes of driving, the forest retreats, making way for the first houses and a small city. Warwick, a sign announces. So we are still in New York, then.
When we turn into a more industrious-looking part, a nervous energy rises in me. With the warehouses coming in sight, this looks very much like the place where I had been taken, where Antonio rescued me.
Any worry, however, is dispelled the moment I look at him. He looks up from his phone, smiling at me. Wherever he's taking me, it's going to be safe—nothing like where Carlos's goons took me.
The driver parks the car in front of a building that looks just like all the others, while the other two SUVs pull in with us.
Like a gentleman, Antonio walks around the car and opens the door for me.
Taking my hand to help me out, he leads me to an already open door.
The warehouse is huge and mostly empty. However, one corner is filled with racks and industrial shelving, holding clothing, shoes, purses, and anything else a person without belongings might need.
He leads me to the racks.
"No price tags." He smirks, referring to my hang-up about buying clothes from the online sites he had suggested.
"What is this?" I ask, incredulous.
"I had some clothes and stuff brought in for you. You may pick whatever you like. I had them take off the price tags, so you won't get distracted," he adds with a lopsided grin.
My fingers brush over the soft material of a pair of pants, then a skirt. I look up at him, still somewhat in disbelief. "You had everything brought here?"
He nods. "It's not like we can go into a store right now, and you seemed reluctant to order online, so," he shrugs as if bringing in the inventory of an entire chain of high-end clothing lines is the most normal thing in the world.
I discover a table filled with bins of underwear, and a shelf full of the most beautiful purses I've ever seen. "I don't think I'll need a purse."
Antonio steps next to me, puts his hands on my hips, and pulls me against him. "Not right now, but once you're my wife, certain things will be expected of us."
"Wife." I stare at him, but he only smirks and pushes me toward the rows and rows of clothes. "Go shopping."
Slowly, I walk over to the first table while my mind is taking a seat on a rollercoaster. Wife ? I guess that was implied with all the you're in or you're out stuff. Still, the word is taking me for a spin—a happy spin.
"Don't overthink, just go with it," Antonio encourages.
I stare at the heaps of underwear placed in front of me. If memory serves, those panties are like five hundred bucks a piece. I swallow and pick seven. Surely a week's worth should be enough? And again, my mind echoes: Wife ?
"Seven?" Antonio stares at me in disbelief.
"They can be washed," I assure him, thinking that I kind of like the idea. It's crazy, irresponsible, and probably the dumbest idea ever. Still, I kind of like the thought of forever with Antonio.
"Not if I rip them," he responds, soaking me with the image.
Not losing eye contact with him, I pull out another pair. He raises an eyebrow, and with a sigh, I add another to my pile.
He shakes his head, "You are the most reluctant woman I've ever gone shopping with. I'll make this easy for you. Pick, or I'll have everything brought to the house."
"Everything?" My voice makes a weird, squeaky sound.
"Everything," he assures me with a firm nod.
And with that, I finally let go. Of everything.
I stop thinking about the word wife. Dollars.
Or anything out of the moment. I start picking outfits and trying them on behind a thoughtfully arranged curtain, while Antonio takes a seat in an overstuffed chair, sipping a glass of whiskey he poured from a small bar to the side.
"You look gorgeous," he says when I step out wearing a tight pencil skirt and flowy blouse.
" Bellissima ," he nods the next time I emerge wearing a summer dress.
With every outfit I try on, my confidence grows. Not just from his words but from the way he's looking at me. As if I were the most precious person in the world.
A naughty thought enters my mind when I try on a black dress and am rewarded by a deep, hmm , of masculine appreciation.
The naughty thought keeps growing when he closes his eyes for a second, then leans forward with his elbows on his thighs, regarding me like some kind of goddess when I emerge wearing a flowing skirt, another blouse, and a short jacket.
Before I can lose my nerve, I snatch a matching pair of naughty, naughty, black lace panties and a bra, and yes, a garter and nylons—I did notice that he seemed to have picked quite a few on the website.
I take the clothes off and slip into the lingerie that feels like a second skin. Soft without a trace of scratchiness.
"Uh oh," I mutter before I can change my mind.