Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A fter breakfast, our first stop is the clothier to replace my ruined suit. He chastises me for getting blood on his clothes but gives me a replacement and tells Fox he’ll send a courier for the one I ruined. Apparently there’s enough magic around to get bloodstains out. Who knew?
I pay for both the new suit and the cleaning service to teach myself a lesson even though Fox offers to pay for both.
I wave him off and present my hand to the cashier, who scans my chip and deducts several thousand dollars from my account.
It hurts, but I doubt I will ever again rub up on Fox after a job.
Fox’s eyes dance with humor as he watches me grimace at the cost of my mistake, but he makes up for it outside when he kisses my lips and caresses my cheek with his thumb. “I want to buy you a gift,” he murmurs softly. “Second dates include a little shopping, and replacing your suit doesn’t count.”
I feel my face brighten as my smile grows brilliant.
I nod, excited about what kind of gift my man wants to buy me, but secretly I’m hoping he’s got good taste or the wherewithal to know he doesn’t and the wisdom to let me pick my own.
People say it’s the thought that counts, but if you don’t know what your person wants, you should think about letting them pick it themselves. That thought definitely counts.
Taking my expression as the consent it is, he walks me to the subway. The line takes us to a shopping district twenty minutes away, and when we get back to the surface, he takes me to a brightly lit jewelry boutique.
Soul. Mates.
Jewelry is the perfect gift for me.
Inside, the store manager greets us, coming around the counter to shake Fox’s hand. “Hello, Mr. Fox. Greetings, Harbinger. What can I do for you today?”
“Diamonds. Cufflinks, pocket watch, tie pin, collar chain, pocket brooch, and engagement ring.” Fox gives me a level look. “The ring is for later.”
Of course it is; that does not stop me from jumping into his arms and kissing the ever-loving shit out of him. I love it when the important people get on board with my plans.
The manager doesn’t even blink twice; he just starts leading us around the room, starting with the engagement rings, because he wants to make sure to match the rest of my diamonds with that one even though it’s the last gift I’ll get.
Proving that he knows me well enough to pick out my engagement ring, Fox points to the three biggest diamonds the manager brings out and then asks if he can get anything bigger. And he said humans didn’t have fated mates.
Without missing a beat, the manager says, “I can custom order anything, sir.”
Which is how we ended up custom ordering a huge-ass diamond engagement ring that will definitely dwarf my little finger when Fox asks me to marry him.
The rest of the jewelry the manager presents matches the cut of the diamond we ordered (don’t ask me, I know nothing about diamonds).
The cufflinks go straight on my cuffs, the diamond encrusted gold watch gets clipped into my vest pocket, the diamond wing brooch goes under my pocket square in my jacket, and the tie tack and collar chain are added last.
Honestly, if I didn’t know that no one could attack me and steal my shit, I would be nervous about walking out of the jewelers wearing this much money on my body and carrying a matching silver set in a pretty bag.
Fortunately, no one is getting my riches as long as I don’t attack them and negate my protection magic.
Sorry, Fox, you’re on your own if you get caught in another trap. I can’t help; I have too many diamonds to protect now.
Fox huffs a laugh after reading my message and wraps his arm around my shoulder. “Protect the jewels; they're almost as valuable as me.”
Pretty sure the receipt in the bag has the monetary value of my jewels printed on it and it doesn’t say “priceless.” And that is all the sap you are getting from me right now.
Fox hides his grin in my hair, kissing the side of my head, which makes me laugh. He likes to pretend he’s stoic, but I make him feel all the things. I think the only reason he hides it is for his reputation, and I’m just fine with that. His reputation precedes him, much like his Harbinger.
Speaking of, our phones chime at the same time, and when I check it, it’s not a message from the depot.
Daddy: I FOUND YOUR WEDDING PLANNER.
Me: Contact info?
Daddy: *contact card*
I open the contact to the name Furion Steelhorse, which tells me nothing about the species or gender of the person.
Me: Why are they my wedding planner?
Daddy: You’ll figure it out. Go to the address now. I know you just bought an engagement ring. It’s all over the gossip rags already.
Me: There are gossip rags for organized crime?
Daddy: And paparazzi.
Me: Can we kill the paparazzi?
Daddy: They take their lives in their own hands any time they try to photograph a Reaper.
Me: Is Reaper a title or a species?
Daddy: Both.
“I’m not a Reaper by species,” Fox murmurs in my ear as he steers me toward the subway again.
I snap my fingers in a display of “Darn it!” and pocket my phone to look at his.
Satan: Come to the house for dinner tonight. Bring your Harbinger.
Fox: No.
Satan: I didn’t call, but I will if you force me to.
Fox: Thank you for the warning.
Satan: I’ll send a car at seven.
Fox: We won’t be home.
Satan: That has never mattered, has it?
I take Fox’s phone.
Me via Fox: Why does Satan want to have dinner with us?
Me via Fox: This is Romily.
Satan: He put me under Satan in his contacts?
Me via Fox: What? No. Obviously not.
Satan: I’m sure my son would much prefer having dinner with Satan than his own parents, but the Duke of Hell has better things to do than entertain the fantasies of the young and brash. Tell Arlington to wear a suit.
Me via Fox: We’re busy tonight.
Satan: I’m aware. See you tonight, Romily.
I widen my eyes at Fox as I hand him back his phone and take mine out.
That person is terrifying.
“Try growing up with him.”
I think I prefer the cult that thought it was fine to cut my vocal cords out.
Fox stops in his tracks and narrows his eyes at me. “No, my parents are preferable to that.”
I give him a skeptical look, which makes him have to hide his laughter by kissing me. It’s a smiling kiss, and I love the way our grins fit together.
“I suspect you’re going to like them as much as you like Annette,” he assures me, and since we both know I would be marrying that woman if she’d found me first, that’s some high praise for his parents.
I guess I’ll meet the parents tonight.
Do you even have a suit?
He arches a brow at me and dramatically rolls his eyes.
Proud of his exaggerated expression, I take that to mean he does own at least one suit.