Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
“How are you so perfect?” I whisper, my thoughts coming out unbidden.
“Money and privilege,” he jokes, and I laugh at the expression on his face. I’m about to reply when my stomach growls, interrupting me. “Our meal’s on its way,” Damien assures me, placing a soft kiss on my lips before I pull away and settle next to him.
Minutes later, the flight attendant lays out a veritable feast in front of us. Pastries, sausage and bacon, pancakes, fresh fruit and champagne, and orange juice. I feel like I’m dining in one of those fancy brunch places I can never afford to go to rather than soaring through the sky.
“Oh my God,” I moan as I eat a bite of pancakes topped with blueberry jam. Damien’s eyes drop to my mouth, heat flashing in their blue depths.
I eat until I’m stuffed, drink champagne, and teach Damien the art of winning hangman by beating him in the game twenty times. I’m not entirely sure if he’s letting me win or not, but either way, I laugh so hard my cheeks hurt, so it doesn’t matter. The hours pass in a blur of happiness and good food and company, and by the time we’re descending into Paris, I can’t think of any other time in my life I’ve felt this happy.
Damien lets me squeeze his hand as we land, though the landing is as smooth as the entire flight has been. He keeps his fingers twined with mine as he leads me off the plane, through passport control, and straight to a sleek black car waiting for us at arrivals.
I expect to go straight to the hotel or wherever we’re staying, but instead, we’re driven to a beautiful boutique. There’s security on the door, who nods and shakes Damien’s hand, letting us in without a minute’s wait.
The boutique smells like expensive perfume, decorated with luxurious minimalism that highlights the racks of delicately, intricately designed dresses. It’s the kind of place I’ve looked through the windows of, admiring but never dreamed of stepping inside. I itch to run my hands over the gorgeous fabrics, but I’m too scared to touch them for fear I’ll damage anything.
“Ah, Monsieur Bright!” a light, welcoming voice greets, drawing my attention from the racks to the sales lady who approaches us.
Damien kisses her on both cheeks, his hand in mine as he introduces me as his girl.
“What is it you’re looking for today, Madame Bright?” she asks me, and butterflies explode in my stomach at hearing her address me with his name. I don’t correct her, and neither does Damien, sparks shooting across my skin when he squeezes my hand.
“Whatever she wants,” Damien instructs, and my mouth drops open.
“I can’t possibly … this stuff is so gorgeous, I can’t imagine how much it costs,” I blabber out.
Damien raises a brow. “Money’s no object, pretty girl. You deserve the best.”
I’m too speechless to say anything else, and when the lady whisks me away to take my measurements and ask my preferences of color and fabric, I find myself grinning from ear to ear.
She hands me a silk robe and brings me dresses to try on. One of them is a deep pink silk, playful and sophisticated at the same time. The skirt flares out a little at the waist, hitting my ankles, and the bodice is structured and tightened with a corset back that makes it fit perfectly to my waist and accentuates the hell out of my boobs. I turn in the mirror, awe-struck.
“This was Monsieur Bright’s choice,” the attendant tells me with a grin as she smooths out the fabric. “He has a good eye, no?”
I nod, emotion rising in me fast. The way he’s treating me, spoiling me … I’ve never felt anything like it. The connection between us is unlike anything I ever imagined, but I can’t deny the need I have for him. He promised to take care of me, and he’s proving he’s a man of his word.
The consultant pulls back the satin curtain of the dressing room so I can show Damien his dress choice. I turn, finding that I’m nervous for him to see me.
His eyes go dark, and he shifts in his seat. His gaze roams over me hungrily, stealing my breath.
“Fuck, Delaney,” he groans, biting his fist.
I shift, looking down at myself and then back up at him. “Do you like it?” I ask, biting my lip.
“Like is nowhere near a sufficient word for what I feel seeing you in that dress,” he tells me. His eyes don’t leave me as he adds to the attendant, “We’ll take it.”
I search for a price tag, sure that this dress must cost more than I make in a month, but the attendant shakes her head as she cups my elbow and says,
“You won’t find a price on the garment, Madame,” she whispers with a smile. “Monsieur Bright has taken care of it. It is yours. Now, we need accessories, yes?”