Chapter 21 #3
Changing into my clothes, I try to calm myself. I know I’m being a coward, and I don’t want to be. I want to be as sweet to him as he is to me, but I can’t bring myself to do it, can’t bring myself to show him something I consider a weakness.
“You’re an idiot,” I whisper mournfully to myself in the mirror. “You’re a fool, Miranda.”
I look away from my own reflection, unable to say anything in response.
Grayson drives us into town in his black SUV with the tinted windows, his hand on my thigh the whole way.
I watch the city slide by. The first boutique sits on a street I would never have walked down on my own.
The window has three dresses on pale wooden mannequins, the door has a brass handle, and a woman in pearls opens it for us.
I model the first dress because Grayson asks me to and because the woman in pearls is watching with the attention of someone who’s been told the credit card limit is irrelevant.
The dress is dove gray, knee-length, with a neckline that does something flattering to my collarbones I didn’t know was possible.
I look at the price tag and make a small, involuntary sound.
Grayson, beside me in front of the mirror, looks too, and frowns. “You’re right, this is too cheap.”
“What did you just say?”
“We’re going somewhere else.”
The woman in pearls actually flinches.
I’m dragged into a second boutique three blocks over, on a street with a doorman, where the dresses don’t have visible price tags and a woman in a black turtleneck offers us a glass of champagne at ten in the morning.
“This is too expensive,” I hiss when the woman tells me the price range.
“Is it?” Grayson asks idly, sprawled on the curved couch. “Try the green one next.”
I sigh. He’s been stubborn since we started. I’ve modeled so many dresses that I’m getting tired now.
As I pull on the dress in the dressing room, I call out, “I don’t need so many clothes. We can have one or two for public appearances, but this is a lot. Where would I even wear such a dress?”
“At home,” he says lazily. “Wear it for me so I can take it off you.”
The woman outside is too dignified to make a sound, but when I storm out, her face is flushed.
“Excuse me?” I glare at Grayson, who just studies me.
“This is a sexy dress. Do you have lingerie?” He tilts his head at the woman.
“I don’t need lingerie!” I snap, trying not to blush.
He blinks at me. “Well, sure you don’t. I’m just going to tear it off, but that’s part of the thrill, isn’t it—”
I approach him, my voice low. “I swear, Grayson. If you don’t stop—”
He gives me an unrepentant grin. “Okay, fine. I’ll behave. We’ll take everything she tried.”
My eyes widen as I look at the heap of twenty dresses and blouses.
“Wait,” I begin weakly. “Grayson, that’s too much. That’s a lot of money—”
“I have money, Miranda. If I can’t spend it on my fiancée, who am I supposed to spend it on?”
I open my mouth, then close it.
Three hours later, the SUV’s entire trunk is full of garment bags and shoeboxes. The deep burgundy purse in my hand that he insisted on walking out with costs more than my last paycheck. By now I’ve stopped looking at price tags entirely because it’s the only way to survive the day.
We’re walking toward the restaurant for lunch when he stops me. The car is down the street. “Wait here for me. I’m going to put this jewelry in the back.”
I try not to stare at the seven bags of earrings and necklaces I couldn’t afford in seven lifetimes.
I watch him leave and try to calm myself down. I have to admit that a part of me is enjoying being spoiled like this, and the other part of me is bewildered.
“Well, well, look who it is.”
I look up. Three women have stopped on the sidewalk in front of me.
The one in the center is Vivian Banks, an attending in cardiology at Silverpeak General and one of Axel’s friends, part of the small social cluster that I was never a part of in my whole eight years of working there.
Her smile is wide and unkind. “Aren’t you a little out of your element in this shopping district, Carver? ”
“Vivian.”
The blonde on her left leans toward her like they’re sharing a joke. “Don’t you know? She’s climbing the social ladder by sleeping with hockey players.”
Vivian laughs.
My grip on my bag tightens. I keep my voice level. “You should walk away.”
Vivian leans forward, dropping her voice to a confidential pitch. “What is it, Carver? Does Grayson Wolfe pass you around to the whole team? Axel told us all about how desperate you were to climb into his bed.”
“Excuse me?” It takes everything not to smack her in the face with my bag. “I never wanted to sleep with Axel.”
The blonde snickers. “Sure. That’s why you were all over him on your date. I never took you to be so pathetic, Miranda.”
My eyes narrow. “If Axel is spreading these lies—”
“Everyone at the hospital has heard about your reputation, sweetie.” Vivian tilts her head. “Does Mr. Wolfe know how easily you spread your legs? Or is that what he likes about you?”
Heat rises up my throat. I push off the planter I was leaning against, my left hand curling into a fist that has every intention of meeting Vivian’s nose at speed. “You’d better watch your fucking mouth.”
“Am I wrong?” Her smile widens. “You expect us to believe that out of every woman in the world Grayson Wolfe could have, he settled on something as ordinary as you?”
A warm weight settles across my shoulders. Grayson’s arm slides around me from behind, drawing me against his side. I reach up without thinking, my fingers wrapping around his forearm, and the ring catches the light against his sleeve where everyone can see.
“Ordinary?” His voice is conversational. “I don’t think there’s anything ordinary about my fiancée.”