Chapter 8
Ella
I step hesitantly into the Khrisomo Boutique on Fifth Avenue.
The atmosphere is hushed and luxurious, but I’m confused because there are no clothes displayed.
Instead, the space looks like an art gallery, with paintings on the walls as well as various sculptures on pedestals scattered about a stark white cube.
“Are we in the right place?” I whisper to Nick.
My babydaddy is tall, dark and handsome in a navy suit.
His tanned skin appears even more bronzed than usual juxtaposed against the stark white collar of his shirt.
Of course, Nick insisted on accompanying me to the boutique at breakfast this morning, although I protested mightily.
“It’s not necessary,” I said in a quick voice while putting down my juice. “I can pick up a few items myself. You’re busy, and I don’t want to take you away from your work.”
Those dark brows went up.
“Yes, but will you know what to buy?” Nick drawled, sitting back in his chair.
He was already clad in his suit, and appeared devastatingly handsome.
Still, I had to get a hold of myself. This is your babydaddy, and not your lover, the voice in my head reminded tersely.
There’s a big difference, so don’t get carried away.
Of course, my conscience is right, so I put a bright smile on my face.
“Yes, of course I know what to buy,” I said in a chirpy tone. “I need everything, so I’ll get a little bit of everything. Again, it’s fine. There’s no need for you to come.”
Nick chuckled, amused.
“You’re a smart girl, Ella, but I’m going with,” he said in a firm tone. “I want to see what my girl looks like in different outfits.”
My heart fluttered because was he calling me “his girl”?
The term sounded familiar and even familial, but I made myself get real.
Nick was creating a cozy aura of domesticity because I’m pregnant with his child, and he wants me to be comfortable and at ease.
A happy mama makes for a happy baby, but there’s no way it’s going to last because once I’ve had his child, it’ll be like I’m the real Cinderella.
The fairy tale will go “poof” and I’ll be back in my pumpkin chariot with mice scurrying around my feet. So I stood firm.
“Oh, I’m fine to shop by myself. There are so many stores and boutiques that I’m sure it’ll take forever. Plus, you must be busy, Nick. I don’t want to take you away from your company.”
He merely shrugged those broad shoulders.
“The company’s not going to burn down because I’m not there for a few hours. Besides, I’ve got good managers who know what they’re doing, and they’ll be fine. I’m going with you, Ella, and that’s that.”
My protests fell on deaf ears, and now here we are at a fancy art gallery, although I have no idea what modern art has to do with clothes.
But within seconds, a middle-aged woman materializes, dressed in a red caftan with a matching red turban.
She’s heavily made up and sweeps over to greet Nick with a kiss on the cheek.
“Nicky,” she greets. “So wonderful to have you drop by. My associates told me you’d be coming today, and we have some of that sparkling water from France that you like so much. And this is?” she asks, smiling at me.
“This is Ella Moore,” Nick introduces. “Ella, meet Khrisomo herself, the genius behind this boutique. You’ve in business how long now, Khris?”
The older woman smiles.
“Thirty years,” she purrs. “I opened my first shop at seventeen down in the Lower East Side when the neighborhood was a slum. Of course, I wasn’t Khrisomo then.
I was plain old Christine Lighthouse, and my store was called the Lightning House.
But I learned a lot about myself, and the experience planted the seeds for what I have today.
Of course, I’m no longer Christine, and I don’t sell shit like Vintage Guess jeans nor mesh bralets anymore.
I sell Vintage Valentino, and our mesh bralets are now imported from a tribe in the which specializes in working with hemp.
So the DNA of the Lightning House lives on! ” she says with a wink at me.
“But Ms. Khrisomo—” I begin in a hesitant voice.
“Oh, just Khrisomo,” the older woman sings while leading us to the back of the shop.
We pass a small seating area, but instead of stopping there, we continue on further to a narrow hallway with closed doors along both sides.
Khrisomo opens one with a flourish, before ushering us into a comfortable seating space equipped with a three-way mirror, a pedestal, as well as a private dressing area in the corner. Our queenly proprietor smiles at me.
“Please, call me Khrisomo. Just one word without any titles. The word ‘Ms.’ has always made me sound so old, and it’s unnecessary because style has no age. I have no last name now,” she says with a wink at me. “I legally changed my name to a mononym.”
I blink while seating myself gratefully on a luxurious couch.
“Wow, I didn’t know that was possible,” I murmur. “I thought everyone had to have a last name.”
Nick lowers his massive form next to be before crossing his long legs. Meanwhile, an attendant comes forward with a silver tray, offering him a glass of sparkling water, which he takes in a bronzed hand.
“Mononyms can happen when your father is the Chief Judge of the State Supreme Court,” he says in a dry tone. “How is Randy anyways?”
“Ready to retire,” Khrisomo replies without missing a beat while gesturing to another attendant. “Laney, can you bring in the items we pulled together for this appointment? I think we’re ready now.”
A young woman with a smooth blonde bun nods before stepping away.
“Of course,” she murmurs. “I’ll be right back.”
Then, within moments, the assistant reappears pushing a rack of colorful clothes before her.
I start because is that all for me? The rack must have at least twenty garments on it, and they appear to be various items of evening attire.
Long, short, chiffon, silk, glittery, sequined, and embroidered. You name it, and it’s on the rack.
“I thought we’d start with the fun stuff,” Khrisomo purrs. “This one is in the style you were looking for,” she says with a nod at Nick before plucking a slinky pink dress from the silver bar. “You said glamorous, yet also sexy, right? Something to make the other ladies fall over.”
I gasp because the dress is beautiful, but it’s also way too revealing. The bodice has a deep vee which goes almost all the way to the navel, and there’s a slit up the leg that reaches up far too high.
“Oh no,” I say. “I’m pregnant right now, and I couldn’t possibly wear something like that. My belly won’t allow it.”
Khrisomo eyes my figure but then shoots me an unreadable smile.
“Yes, Nick told us you were expecting his child, and so we’ve planned ahead.
This material is stretchy, you see?” she asks, taking a piece of the fabric between her hands and gently tugging.
It does pull out an astonishing amount, and my eyes go round seeing it.
“All of the clothes we’ve selected will flatter a pregnant woman, and Mr. Bannister even okayed some of the items last night when we sent him our preliminary selection. ”
I gasp while staring at the CEO because did he really? Did Nick actually vet my wardrobe before we arrived today? Yet the billionaire doesn’t look perturbed at all.
“You’ll look beautiful in these clothes, Ella, and yes, I think dressing to enhance your pregnant figure is important. I want people to know that you’re expecting my child.”
A hot flame begins to burn in my belly because the look he’s casting me is positively possessive.
It seems that the billionaire can’t wait to take me out and show me off for the world to see.
He wants people to know that we conceived a baby together, and that he’s the one who put the child in my belly.
Another hot flush of awareness runs through me as I look at him from below my lashes.
Perhaps Khrisomo can sense the electricity arcing between us because she stands abruptly before gesturing to her shop assistants.
“I’ll leave you to try on whatever appeals,” she practically sings. “Just knock when you’ve made your selections.”
Then, the older woman sweeps out of the room in a cloud of perfume, her attendants trailing behind her.
Within seconds, it’s just me and Nick in the small sitting room, his magnetic presence making it almost impossible to breathe.
Oh my god, when did it get so hot? Beads of sweat break out on my brow, and I swear, my underarms feel damp.
“It’s humid today,” I gasp slightly, fanning myself with one hand. “Is there any way to turn up the A/C? I think the pregnancy is making me feel like a heat lamp.”
“Sure,” Nick drawls with a lazy smile while reaching for a remote on the table and clicking it. “But while we wait for the temp to go down, I think you should go ahead and try on the pink dress, sweetheart. Why waste time?” he drawls. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”
I stare at him again because why does it feel like Nick planned our shopping excursion down to the very last detail?
He seems to adore my curvy form and wants to see me decked out in gorgeous fashions.
But I put the thought aside because of course, it’s not about me, per se.
It’s about making me presentable so that I don’t embarrass the billionaire in front of his fancy friends.
“Of course,” I manage to choke out before standing and picking up the gown. “I’ll just be a sec.”
Then, I practically run to the little dressing area in the corner for privacy. It’s not much more than a nook with a black oriental screen for modesty, but the ability to be hidden from Nick’s knowing blue gaze is a relief. I pant a little bit, trying to get my bearings.
“Everything okay back there?” the billionaire calls. “You looked a little peaked, Els.”