Page 225 of Rosetti Family New York
She raises her eyebrows at me.
“So you admit it. You’re a rich asshole.”
I hand over the credit card again, watching as the bags stack up around us.
“Something like that.”
“This is insane,” she says. “I’m perfectly happy to shop at Target.”
I let her keep the illusion for now, because I know the second we get back to the mansion, she’ll see how serious I am. How willing I am to give her everything.
When we’ve bought out half of Fifth Avenue, I take her hand and lead her to a makeup boutique. It’s fancy as hell, and she looks like she might laugh out loud when we walk in.
“Rafe. Seriously.”
I’m already pointing out what I want her to have, like I have a clue. Perfume, shampoo, body wash, and lotions that cost more than some people make in a week. She just stands there, trying to decide if she should protest again or give up.
“Some of everything,” I say. “Wrap it up.”
She gives me a look, but it’s half playful now.
“And you call me a princess?”
We leave with more than either of us can carry, more than any sane person should buy, and I take her to a little bistro with the kind of menu that doesn’t list prices. She watches me as we sit, her eyes sharp and curious, like she’s still trying to figure me out.
“This is a little much,” she says, nodding at the mountain of bags.
“What can I say? I go big.”
“Pretty sure that’s an understatement.”
“I’ll keep it coming as long as you want.”
Her face gets serious, and she puts down her coffee cup, leans across the table.
“I don’t want your money, Rafe. You know that, right?”
“Don’t worry,” I smirk. “I have plenty.”
“I… I’ve never spent this much on clothes. Or on a car. Or anything. Think of what else this money could buy. Like I said, I can happily shop at Target and give all the money to, I don’t know, starving kids in Africa. I’d feel better doing that.”
She bites at her lip, looking like she’s not sure how to say what she wants to say.
“Spit it out, Carter. What’s on your mind?”
She takes a breath, puts her elbows on the table as she leans in. Concern is etched in the little crease between her brows, and I wonder if she’ll ever understand. How could someone like her ever know someone like me? I watch her sip her coffee and eye the bags of clothes beside the table. She’s got this worried look I’ve never seen before.
“I just… thank you so much for all this, really. It’s very generous. But would you mind too much if I sold some of this stuff so I can donate the money? Just so I don’t feel like a terrible person. I’ll keep a few outfits, of course… and maybe the red leather jacket.”
My heart twinges, and a hard tone enters my voice.
“You feel bad spending money on yourself?”
“Oh God, sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” she says quickly. “Don’t worry about it. Forget I said anything.”
I examine her. She is a fucking enigma. All sassy comebacks and reckless moves, then she goes all meek when I show her the slightest kindness. It’s like nobody’s ever bought her a present before.
“You’re keeping the clothes, Sloane.”
