Chapter 11
Francesca
Ugh.
Why had I agreed to this?
Was there anything more soul-killing than endlessly trying on clothes?
I zipped up a pretty dress that I had absolutely no business being in. It was clearly a fancy event dress. And since I went to exactly zero events a year—I didn't need it.
I walked out and showed Stefan the billionth outfit he'd picked out for me.
“Do you like it?” he asked, his keen eyes assessing me.
“Do I like what?” I asked, hand on my hip. “Trying on outfit after outfit that I'll never wear? Not really,” I snarked back at him.
I was tired and hot. And even though every fabric I had on my skin was the best of the best—everything just felt scratchy and ill-fitting.
Not to mention the fact that ever since Stefan had mentioned spanking me—and then actually spanked me—I couldn't stop thinking about it.
I mean, yes, I'd read about such things in books. I knew people did things like that. I wasn't a complete idiot. But it was never anything that I had considered—doing.
Or having someone do that to me.
And the more I thought about it—the more I wondered how it would feel. How would he start? Would we be in the middle of sex? Or would he lay me over his knee and—
“Francesca?” Stefan's hands were on my shoulders, and I jumped. I hadn't even noticed him getting up and walking over to me.
Good grief.
This man had my brain completely muddled.
“What's wrong? You're staring off into space.” His face was full of concern.
So, I told him half of what was wrong. “Nothing fits. And everything feels,” I spread my arms out, “weird.”
He looked at me and then leaned forward. “Why didn't you say something?”
I sneered at him and whispered, “Because I don't want to complain and get a spanking.”
I was pretty sure I'd never seen anyone smile that wide before. Stefan's head fell back, and he laughed.
And laughed.
And laughed.
Then he stepped forward and took me in his arms. And kissed me. “Telling me that you don't like the clothes you're trying on will never earn you a spanking.” His lips moved to my ear, where he whispered, “But this attitude will.”
Something deep inside of me warmed as I drew my legs together. I wasn't sure why his warnings affected me this way—but they did.
“Why are you always talking about spanking me?” I said just loud enough for him to hear. The way he stood—the way he spoke—it was all so predatory.
And I loved it.
“Why are you always thinking about me spanking you?” he countered and ran the tip of his nose down my jaw and kissed my neck.
I shivered and gasped.
“Let's go, Signora Sovrano.”
Stefan grabbed my hand and led me out of the store. “Should we buy you some new panties?” Stefan put his sunglasses back on and looked at me. “To replace the wet ones you're currently wearing?”
I wanted to kick him. But there were too many witnesses out here. I shrugged. “Lucky guess,” I said nonchalantly. He laughed at that and nodded toward the other side of the road. “There's a good place over there. Quality stuff. Nothing itchy or scratchy. I promise.”
Now I really wanted to kick him.
Instead, I sent him a look that I hoped told him exactly what I wanted to do to him.
We waited for the light to change and then crossed with half a dozen people around us.
Stefan surprised me. I thought he'd be mad—or at least slightly ticked off that I didn't like any of the clothes in the last store. In fact—he seemed fine. More than fine.
Happy even.
And that confused the heck out of me.
“This one.” Stefan pointed to a small store. There were a few mannequins in the windows wearing various lingerie. One quick glance told me this place was classy. And expensive. Absolutely nothing I'd be able to pay for.
Stefan reached for the door, but I pulled him back. “I need to tell you something.” I bit my lip and backed up.
Stefan let go of the door. “What's wrong? Don't you like this store?”
I sighed and pointed at the window. “Look at their stuff.”
He peered at the mannequins and then back at me. “It looks fine to me. What am I missing?”
I rolled my eyes. “The price tag. There's no way I can afford anything in there.”
He frowned and tilted his head. “You can afford the entire store. No, you can afford fleets of these stores.”
I let out a sarcastic laugh. “With what, Stefan? With the zero jobs I have?”
He removed his sunglasses so quickly that I barely saw his hand move. “You don't need a job. You're my wife. And that means everything I have is yours. So, yes. You have enough fucking money to buy panties.”
Okay, now he was definitely getting angry.
And I knew that poking the bear wouldn't help matters any. So, I didn't remind him of the fact that we were fake-married.
“Isn't there somewhere cheaper we can go?”
He shoved his sunglasses back on his face. “Christ, Francesca. You're getting closer to that spanking by the minute.” Then he tugged on my hand and pulled me into the store. It smelled wonderful in here. Like roses. Everywhere I looked, I saw beautiful things hanging.
An older woman with frizzy, long gray hair walked up to us.
She spoke in Italian and Stefan answered her back.
Then she looked at me, grabbed my hands in hers, and spoke to me in English.
“Ah, I see. We have a lovely new bride in our midst, do we?” Her red-painted lips smiled widely.
“We're going to have so much fun. My name is Antonia. And you are?”
Her hands were warm and comforting, and her whole demeanor completely put me at ease. “I'm Francesca.”
She nodded and gave me another smile. “It's lovely to meet you, Francesca.” Then she did something—odd.
Instead of grabbing a bunch of things for me to try on, she took me through the small doorway into the back of the store.
“Tea? Coffee? Espresso?” She had a cute little setup in the corner—coffee machines and a tall, skinny see-through fridge.
“Or something cold?” There were also a few baskets of pastries on the counter. They all looked delicious.
“Um.” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder and turned my head. “My-um, husband is—”
She laughed and shook her head. “Your husband will wait where all the husbands wait when they come here. Because this is between you,” she looked at me right in the eye, “and me. He,” she jerked her head toward the doorway, “has no say in what you're comfortable in.”
I liked her already.
Half an hour later—after one coffee, two espressos, half a glass of lemonade, and two of the most delicious cream-filled pastries I'd ever tasted—Antonia began measuring me. She measured things I had no idea needed measuring. She wrote everything down on an index card.
After that, she showed me to the dressing room. It was bigger than my bedroom back home. Antonia brought me things one at a time. I'd tell her if I liked it or not. And then I'd try it on. Or not.
A few times, she coaxed me into trying something just for her. And most of the time—I ended up agreeing with her.
When we were finally done, I said, “I really only came in here for a few pairs of panties.” I gazed over at the ever-growing “yes” pile.
That sent Antonia into a fit of laughter. “That's not what your new husband said. Not at all.”
Needless to say, it took Antonia about a billion hours to pack up everything I apparently needed. When I quietly whispered to Stefan that it was too much—he gave me his “shut up” look.
Yikes.
Once she was finally done, Stefan handed her a card that must've had a whole lot of credit on it. I couldn't even imagine what the total was for all of this.
Stefan spoke to Antonia in Italian, and she answered him. They only spoke for a minute or so until she turned to me and said, “I had a lovely time, Francesca. Please do come again soon. Even if it's just to stop in for coffee.”
I was sure she'd probably offer me her firstborn if I came in with Stefan's wallet again.
But somehow—I believed that she'd like me to come in—just for coffee.
I'd had a good time with her. She'd asked me so many questions about my likes and dislikes.
And she really made sure that I was comfortable the entire time.
“Thank you, Antonia. I'll do that.”
Stefan picked up all five—yes, five—of the bags while Antonia said, “You know what?” Her eyes narrowed at me. “There's a new young designer next door. Her name's Giulia. I think you'll like her style. You should go check her out.”
I smiled and said, “I'll do that. Thank you.”
Stefan thanked Antonia, and then we left.
Stefan immediately headed for the store that Antonia recommended.
“We don't actually have to go in,” I said, trying to keep up with him.
Stefan stopped and turned around. “Did that woman not just spend the better part of two hours fitting you with things—” he held up all five bags, “that I presume you actually like? And that aren't scratchy and itchy and uncomfortable?”
I frowned at him and put my hands on my hips. “It was barely an hour and a half.”
Stefan shot back an exasperated look.
“Fine,” I huffed and walked in front of him as he opened the door for me.
“Ah, Francesca.” A beautiful woman, maybe five or ten years older than me came walking up. “Antonia just called. Come with me. I know exactly what you'll love.”