Page 45 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
"This would make a beautiful evening gown," I murmur, more to myself than to him.
"Get it if you want it," Roman says, his voice closer than I expected.
I pull the bolt from the shelf, adding it to the small collection in my arms.
Despite everything, I can't deny the thrill of being surrounded by possibilities again, textures, colors, patterns that could become something beautiful under my hands.
Roman's phone buzzes. He checks it, frowning. "I need to take this. Stay where I can see you."
He steps away, moving farther than I would expect him to considering I’m not just his wife but also his prisoner.
I move toward the lace section, comparing patterns.
I wonder if Angelica wears lace?
Maybe I could make something for her. Maybe I could teach her to sew. It could be a way to connect with her.
I pause as I realize the meaning of my thoughts. I’m thinking in terms of bonding with her, of being a family.
Am I falling into Stockholm Syndrome so quickly?
"The ivory would complement your coloring better than the cream."
I turn to find a woman beside me, early forties, stylish but unremarkable in a way that seems deliberate. She doesn't look at me directly, instead fingering a bolt of lace.
"I'm sorry?" I say, unsure whether she's just making conversation.
She slides a small package beneath a stack of lace samples. "Call Blackwood when it’s safe. Keep this hidden."
My heart pounds as I realize what's happening. I glance toward Roman, who's still on his call but watching me. I shift my body to block the woman from his view.
"When can I get out?" I whisper, fingers trembling as I discreetly take what I now realize is a phone. "I need witness protection."
The woman laughs lightly, as if we're discussing fabric choices. "That's not how this works. Blackwood needs you right where you are."
"But—"
"He'll explain when you call." She selects a bolt of lace. "This one would make lovely trim for that silk you're holding."
Before I can respond, she walks away, disappearing between the aisles as casually as she appeared. I slip the phone into my purse with shaking hands, feeling sick.
Not how this works? What does that mean?
Roman ends his call and returns to my side, his expression unreadable. "Find everything you need?"
I force a smile, painfully aware of the contraband in my purse. Oddly, I’m feeling guilty more than afraid. Like I’m betraying Roman.
"Almost."
I choose a few notions and then we pay. I clutch my new purchases against my chest as Roman guides me from the fabric store with a firm hand at the small of my back.
Every step is a struggle to appear normal while my mind races with questions about Blackwood's plans.
When we reach his car, he puts my purchases in the trunk.
"I need to stop by the office before we head home," Roman says, opening the car door for me.
I slide into the passenger seat, clutching my purse on my lap. "What office?"
