Chapter 8
Francesca
The rest of the drive was—painfully awkward. If I could have willed him to turn around and go back to the castle, I would have. Or even just back to the chicken coop.
Anywhere but here, in an enclosed space with him. What was the deal with insisting on giving me money? He'd already bought me clothes and underthings. And hair stuff.
What more would I possibly need?
It felt like hours before we ended up at the market.
I knew it hadn’t been—but it still absolutely felt like it.
I was not in the mood for this. Not anymore.
Which was kind of crappy, especially since this was supposed to be our big day out away from the hustle and bustle and noise back at the castle.
Stefan pulled into a small parking lot. He unbuckled and jumped out of the car.
I wasn't sure why I waited for him to come to my door, but something told me I should.
I figured I had made him angry enough as it was.
Stefan opened my door and stuck out his hand.
“Give me the eggs.” I did what he asked.
Then he offered me his other hand. I took it and he helped me out.
I pulled on the front of my skirt, just to make sure it was covering everything it was supposed to cover. Thank goodness it was.
“All right, wife. Let's go spend all your money on things you don't need,” Stefan said sarcastically.
“That's not funny. I don't need anything. Why are you insisting?” Did I know I was poking the bear?
Yes.
Of course, I did.
But could I help myself from doing it?
Absolutely not.
I wasn't sure what it was inside of me that insisted on talking back to him. A normal person would probably just ignore Stefan's attitude and have fun walking through the market with him.
Stefan looked at me, flabbergasted. “Are you really fighting about me with money you haven't even spent yet? So, imaginary money, Francesca. You're arguing with me about imaginary money.” He handed the eggs back to me and shut the door.
“Imaginary money? Really?” My voice rose on the last word. “Did you put Monopoly money in my purse? I doubt it. In fact,” I said as stubbornly as I possibly could, “I'm not going to even look at how much you put in my purse. Because as soon as we get home, I'm giving it all right back.”
Stefan let out a small laugh. “As I said earlier,” he glanced down at me, “wife. Keep it up. I'm going to enjoy taking all of this out on your gorgeous ass later.”
My lower belly clenched.
Hard.
And my nipples got painfully hard.
But I wasn't going to let Stefan know that. “Big deal. I told you that your spankings don't bother me. They don't even hurt.”
He sighed and shook his head. “Oh, Francesca. Keep talking. But you should know,” he looked at me, “you're not helping your situation. At all.”
We walked through large gates. There were booths and booths and booths everywhere my eyes could see. People walked around, carrying various bags and goods in their hands.
Some of them even had ice cream.
It seemed a bit early for that, but should there really be a time limit on ice cream?
Stefan guided me through the crowd. We looked at a few of the tables.
One had some really nice women's jewelry on it.
The next one had homemade canned goods that looked yummy.
But this current table had my interest. The artist drew you—and whoever you were with.
He had a bunch of caricatures hanging all around his booth.
“Tell him I want to do this,” I said to Stefan. I needed his help.
Stefan's eyebrows raised. “This? You want some guy to draw you?”
I bit my lip and then said, “You said I could spend your money however I want to, right?”
His head dropped, and he glared at me. “It's your money. And yes.”
I smiled and handed Stefan the basket of eggs. Then I started rummaging through my purse for the wallet Stefan secretly hid in here. I found it and pulled the gorgeous pink wallet out. It had a fancy, recognizable brand name on it.
“Do you like it?” Stefan asked in a low voice.
I touched the wallet with my fingers. “It's beautiful,” I told him the truth.
He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “I bought it because it's the same color as your lips.”
I thought about that for a second. “I have red lipstick on.”
He chuckled. “Not those lips.”
My eyes went wide, and I shoved his arm. “You have issues.”
He nodded at me with a smirk. “We've established that.”
I let out a long sigh and opened the wallet. “Good grief. How much money did you put in here?”
Stefan set his hand over my wallet and looked around. “Don't advertise the fact that you have a wallet full of money.”
I wasn't familiar with this currency. At all. I had no idea how much of what color to give the guy. “It does kind of look like Monopoly money. It's very pretty.” Then I quietly asked Stefan for help because I had no idea what to give the vendor.
Stefan explained a few things to me. It was easier than I'd thought. I handed over the money for two pictures.
“Two?” Stefan questioned me.
“Mm hmm,” I said and handed him the basket of eggs. “Go over there on the chair.” I instructed him.
His face went blank. “That's not funny, Francesca.”
I put a hand on my hip and said, “Are you scared of a little picture, Stefan?”
Yup.
I was definitely poking the bear.
His eyes roamed over my face. “Are you sure you want me to add this to the list for later?”
I huffed out a laugh. “Whatever. You said I could get anything I want, right? Or were you lying?”
I had to try really, really, really hard not to laugh at his slightly open mouth and unblinking gaze.
Thank goodness I somehow managed it, though.
“Your choice, Francesca. It's always your choice.”
And then—he walked over to the chair and sat down.
The artist didn't speak English, but I got my point across. He smiled widely and stepped aside, giving me free rein of his easel and supplies.
And then—I got to work.
The hardest part was keeping a straight face. The rest of it was easy. It felt wonderful to have a stick of charcoal in my hand again. It had been way too long.
Stefan sat like a good little model. I would give anything to get inside his brain right now and hear what he was thinking.
But I could guess that most of it would be how he was going to spank me tonight.
It would be worth it.
Yup.
Definitely worth it.
I worked quickly and efficiently. I knew my subject wouldn't tolerate sitting here for long. It didn’t take me too long to draw. But then again—I was having fun, so it might have been longer than I thought.
Finally—I was done.
“Eccellente!” the artist said and bowed to me in an exaggerated flourish.
“Thank you,” I said with a knowing grin.
Then I turned to Stefan. “Okay, your turn,” I said, rolling up my artwork. I didn't want Stefan to see it until he was done.
“My turn for what?” Stefan stood and walked up to me.
“It's your turn now. You draw me.” I gave him a sassy smile and wandered to the chair. I didn't sit, though. My skirt was too short, and I was a little worried about what kind of view the bystanders might have.
It surprised me a little that Stefan cooperated. Part of me figured he'd refuse to do what I asked. But—he played along. And a few minutes later, he announced he was finished.
So, I strolled back to Stefan and the easel. I stood beside it and posed. “How do I look?” There were onlookers standing around.
Laughing.
I peered over at Stefan. “Are they laughing at me? Or at your work?”
Stefan's eyes landed on me. “I don't know. I think I did a good job.” He stepped away and ushered me around to look at—
Oh.
My.
Gosh.
I doubled over.
Laughing.
The lewdly drawn stick figure on Stefan's paper was—so freaking funny. The crowd behind us laughed even harder.
“Oh, my gosh, I can't breathe,” I sputtered out as I stood and took another look. “It's a miracle she doesn't just topple right over.” He knew what I meant. Everyone—here—knew what I meant because of how “top-heavy” Stefan had made his stick figure.
“I wonder the same thing about you,” he said, his eyes narrowing in on my breasts.
I playfully slapped his chest and shook my head.
“Let's see yours.” He nodded at the rolled-up paper in my hand.
My eyes went wide.
Mostly because I knew what Stefan's reaction to this picture would be.
Yeah.
I totally knew.
And at the time, when I decided to draw it—my sassiness had driven me to it. But now—I began having some hesitation.
“I'll show you when we get back home,” I suggested, hoping he'd go for that. Then, maybe on the way, my picture would somehow fly out the window and be lost forever.
Short of a miraculously timed, precise lightning strike—I was going to be in trouble.
A lot of it.
“Francesca.” He held out his hand like he expected me to give my picture to him.
Crap.
I was going to have to do this.
“Fine,” I said with an annoyed shake of my head. And then I unrolled my picture and set it on top of Stefan's.
And.
The.
Crowd.
Howled.
And I mean, they laughed.
Loudly.
And for a long time.
Stefan just stood there—his eyes taking in the picture.
Yeah.
I knew I was in trouble.
And so was my behind.
But somehow—for some reason—I didn't really mind. Not too much, anyway.
“I think it's a decent likeness. Don't you?” I asked him, further poking the bear. I mean, I might as well, right? I was in it this deep. Might as well go the whole way down.
“Well, it's good to know how you really see me, Francesca. I'm not allergic to feathers, or this might be a problem.” He pointed to the many, many, many feathers I'd drawn on his chicken body. “I'll have to add in more leg days, too. I didn't realize how thin they were.”
I bit my bottom lip when he touched the thin chicken legs and feet I'd drawn.
“But I have to say,” he tapped a finger on the basket of eggs hanging from his wing, “you did a wonderful job on the basket. Very realistic.”
I nodded and thanked him. “Not my best work. I could have done better with more time.” I blinked my eyes innocently.