Page 31 of Made for Sinners

Me:Goodnight.

I hit send before I could second-guess myself, tossing the phone onto the bed and flopping down beside it. The reply came almost instantly, but I didn’t bother reading it. Let him stew for once. Let him wonder.

As I lay there, staring at the ceiling, the memory of the first time we’d spent an afternoon together crept into my mind. It had been nothing like this—no games, no tension, just two people caught in a moment that felt strangely… easy. Natural.

I hated that I missed it. Hated that, despite everything, a part of me still wanted to believe that version of him was real.

I’d decided if he wanted to keep tabs on my spending, I was going to make it worth his while.

It started with a simple Google search:high-end lingerie brands.Not just the usual suspects, either. I went deep, hunting down exclusivity, luxury, and anything that might make Dante’s credit card company raise an eyebrow. Russian brands? Absolutely. I made a point to find at least three, ordering anobnoxiouslyexpensive house coat from one and a silk slip from another that I already planned to return. But the pièce de résistance? A robe so sheer it was practically invisible, custom-made from a boutique in Moscow thatonlycatered to the elite.

I wasn’t done. French, Italian, Japanese, even an obscure brand from Switzerland—all of them found their way into my cart. It didn’t matter if it was a pair of stockings, a lace bralette, or a satin chemise I’d never wear. I was thorough. By the time I was done, I’d placed orders at so many boutiques I’d lost count.

Let him stew on that.

The next morning, I woke to find another text waiting for me.

Dante:The albums aren’t going to look through themselves, princess. Get to work.

I groaned, burying my face in the pillow. So much for ignoring him.

With a resigned sigh, I grabbed the phone and typed out a reply.

Me:You’re lucky I like a challenge.

His response was instant, as always.

Dante:And you’re lucky I like bad girls.

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at my lips. He was infuriatingly quick, infuriatingly arrogant, and—worst of all—infuriatingly charming.

Still, I wasn’t about to let him win. I fired back.

Me:I hope you like your notifications and inbox clogged, because I’ve been a very bad girl.

The little typing bubble popped up almost immediately, and I could picture him sitting somewhere, smirking as he responded.

Dante:Define “bad.”

I smirked, tossing the phone onto the bed as I stretched, the sunlight filtering through the curtains. Let him figure it out. In the meantime, I had coffee to drink, mugs to admire, and a pile of lingerie receipts to revel in.

The day was off to a great start.

My next act of rebellion was far less subtle: Starbucks. Lots and lots of Starbucks. If I was going to be treated like a princess trapped in a castle, I decided I might as well lean into it and order myself coffee. A venti caramel macchiato with extra caramel drizzle, a ham and Swiss croissant, and a slice of lemon loaf.

While I was at it, I decided to start looking for that StarbucksYou Are Heremug collection. I’d always wanted one, but it seemed like the perfect time to indulge. Instead of heading to a nearby store, though, I did what any rational woman withunlimited funds would do: I hunted down the priciest resellers I could find. A mug of Tokyo? Sure, $200 seemed reasonable. Paris? Another $150. Dubai? Hand it over. I bought five on the spot, just to see how long it would take Dante to notice the absurdity. But as I stared at the total, a thought crossed my mind: This was too easy. What was a few hundred dollars to a man like Dante? Pennies. If I really wanted to make him sweat, I needed to think bigger.

I pulled out my laptop, my fingers flying across the keyboard.Custom luxury mugs.The search results were underwhelming—gold-plated, hand-painted, artisan-crafted—but still too cheap to make a man like Dante flinch. I needed something absurd. Something obscene. Something that would make even his credit card company raise an eyebrow.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard before I typed:diamond-encrusted mugs.

The first few links were promising: Swarovski crystals, platinum finishes, even one that claimed to be "fit for royalty." But they still weren’t enough. None of them screamedexcessthe way I wanted them to. I clicked through page after page, scrolling past jeweled handles and gemstone embellishments that felt almost pedestrian. Finally, I found it: a boutique in Geneva that specialized in custom creations for “discerning clientele.”

I clicked the link, my curiosity piqued. The homepage was sparse, minimalist, the kind of website that didn’t flaunt its prices because its clients didn’t need to ask. A single headline caught my eye:“Your vision, realized in precious stones and metals.”

Now we wre talking.

The inquiry form was simple enough: Name, contact information, and a short description of what I wanted. I hesitated for only a second before typing:Bespokemug, platinum base, encrusted with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. Handle to be solid gold. Lid optional, but if included, must feature a large solitaire diamond as a centerpiece.I paused, rereading the description, then added:Price is not a concern. Please contact me with design options.

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