Chapter 17
"Money grows on trees, but your common sense doesn't."
The words from last night echoed as I stirred awake, a dull ache throbbing under my skin. My head was pounding. My feet were worse.
I sat up and blinked. The room was still dark. Curtains drawn.
Time forgotten.
Dragging myself to the edge of the bed, I hissed. "Ouch."
My feet were wrapped in plasters, neatly, like they'd been done by a professional.
Of course they were.
The room looked empty. Everything breakable had either been smashed or removed.
Even the mirror was gone.
So last night wasn't a dream.
Still lost in the thoughts of how I single-handedly destroyed my own bedroom, my phone buzzed violently against the floor.
Queen Mother.
"Wow," she said as I picked up, "you're finally answering on the first ring. Fixing your sleep schedule, or did insomnia get chic again?"
I didn't answer.
"You're not home," I muttered, rubbing my eyes.
"No. But you are meeting the daughters of some business partners at the mall today. In two hours."
"No."
"It wasn't a suggestion, Vee." Her voice was honey-laced steel. "You don't need them. But your reputation needs to sparkle."
I said nothing, putting on my slippers.
"Oh, I approve of Aurelio," she added, like she'd just remembered. "The man is sharp and rich. Knows what he wants. Had the decency to seek me out first. Funny kid."
Whatever.
"Don't mess it up," she warned. "Aurelio. Or the girls."
When have I ever?
I got ready. Pain stitched itself into every step, but I covered the bruises with skin-toned plasters and concealer.
No one could know about last night.
As I stepped downstairs, Zorian was already waiting, arms crossed, eyes on fire. Dressed in combat black like the shadow he was.
A fine shadow I must add.
"Absolutely not."
I take it back. A rude fine shadow.
I raised a brow. "Is it the outfit?"
"It's you. You should be in bed."
I limped forward in heels. "Well, I'm not. A glass of water and some painkillers, please. And don't shout, unless you want everyone to know I went a little unhinged last night."
"Are we seriously doing this?"
"I never asked for your opinion, Zorian." I said sweetly. "What happened to you being my shadow?"
He exhaled sharply and turned to get the car. I smiled to myself. Someone cared. That was enough.
The mall reeked of money and desperation.
The ladies were already waiting, all sparkly smiles and soft giggles, flaunting their designer bags like medals.
Not their fathers' money, of course. Their boyfriends'. Their lovers'. Their sugar daddies' or whatever they called them.
"Versace!" One of them squealed. "We were just saying you'd slay today. And here you are."
I offered a fake smile sharp enough to cut glass. "Of course I did."
We moved through boutiques like royalty on parade, staff practically kneeling at our feet.In one shop, a saleswoman stepped forward before I could say a word.
"Miss Versace?" she asked, eyes lighting up. "I was instructed that anything you want in the store has already been paid for."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
One of the ladies narrowed her eyes. "Wait, how do you even know she's the one he meant?"
The woman smiled. "He said Miss was the prettiest in the group. There was no confusion."
I felt heat flushing my cheeks, half embarrassment, half amusement.
Only one man would do something that bold.
"Aurelio," I muttered, laughing under my breath. Fine. He wanted to play games.
"Bring me your best," I said, flashing a grin. "And I mean the best."
"At your service ma'am."
Shopping bags in hand, I stepped outside into the blinding sun, and the sales assistant took the bags, saying they would be sent home.
Then, I paused.
A sleek black car was idling by the curb. And leaning against it, wearing a dark coat over a silver shirt and that too-expensive-watch he didn't know how to hide, was Aurelio.
He straightened the second he saw me. "Versace."
I raised a brow. "Stalking me now?"
"No," he said smoothly, "just good timing. Come. You're too pretty to be standing in the sun arguing with salesgirls. Let's ruin some overpriced coffee."
He held the door open like he'd done it a thousand times before.
And me?
I got in.
The café he took me to wasn't the loud, picture-perfect kind the other girls liked to flock to.It was quiet. Hidden. Expensive.
No logos. No pretence.
Just velvet seats, dim lighting, and jazz playing softly from some unseen corner.
The kind of place where deals were signed and secrets traded over liquor in porcelain cups.
He ordered for both of us without asking. Of course he did.
Cappuccino for me. Black espresso for him. With a plate of pastries that looked more like art than food.
He remembered. The cappuccino I ordered on the blind date where I mistook him.
That was so embarrassing. The worst part? I don't drink coffee.
"You're quiet," he said, watching me over the rim of his cup.
"You're nosy," I replied, slicing into a lemon tart like it owed me money.
He smiled, a little. "You're not easy to find, you know."
"Is that supposed to impress me or creep me out?"
He leaned back. "Depends. Are you impressed or creeped out?"
"I haven't decided yet."
I hated how smooth he was.
Not flirty, not pushy—just confident. A man who knew exactly how far he could go and keep you guessing.
"What do you want?" I asked finally. "Because I don't believe for one second that you happened to be outside that boutique."
He shrugged, tracing the edge of his cup. "You intrigue me."
"Why?"
"Because you wear your crown like a knife and still smile like a saint. That's rare."
I didn't know whether to slap him or blush. So I took a sip instead.
"I saw the bruises," he added.
My hand froze.
"I didn't ask," he continued quickly. "None of my business. But if you ever wanted it to be—"
"I don't."
He nodded. No offense taken. No pressure given.
But I could feel his eyes on me, like he was trying to solve a puzzle no one else could see.
We stepped out of the café into the gold-tinted dusk. The sky was honey and fire, and the breeze kissed the back of my neck like it knew secrets.
I turned to him; hands casually tucked into the pockets of my coat.
"Thank you," I said.
He tilted his head. "For what?"
"The boutique. The dresses. The little show you put on. And the cafe."
His smirk was unapologetic. "Figured you deserved to be spoiled. Besides…" he stepped closer, voice dropping. "I'm told I should start treating my future wife right."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Your mother. My mother. A few members of mine and your adoring family." He let the word drip with sarcasm. "They're planning an introduction party."
I laughed, sharp and incredulous. "And they didn't think to ask me?"
He shrugged, maddeningly calm. "Details."
"You really think I'd say yes?" I challenged him, chin tilted.
He didn't hesitate. "You followed me here. You shopped with my card. You're standing this close to me." His eyes lingered. "You're already mine, Versace."
Cocky bastard.
Still, I didn't step away.
Instead, I smiled, slow and dangerous. "Fine. I'll see you at the introduction party then."
"Looking forward to it," he said, taking out his phone.
I raised a brow. "We might be getting engaged, and you don't even have my number?"
"I didn't want my secretary to get it for me. I’d rather be a gentleman and let the lady give it to me."
We exchanged numbers like it was a deal signed in blood. Then I turned and walked toward Zorian's waiting car, not looking back, not needing to.
Because I could still feel him watching.
And for once, I didn't mind being seen.