Page 11 of Christmas Mafia Prince
We send the bags of cosmetics to the visitor center for later pickup, and head to get clothes next. I can be a little indulgent with my shopping, as I favor good quality, cashmere, and Belgian chocolate, but today, I’m more excited to swipe my card for my husband than to treat myself. Maybe it’s the thrill of the fuck-you to my family I’m about to enjoy, or being here with a man on my arm in public, but I’m giddy like the first time Ikissed a man. It was on a vacation in Italy, and I tell Killian about that summer over lunch.
After some initial coaxing, he goes all-in at some of the brands that sport alternative clothing styles. He doesn’t need to rip his own jeans anymore when I can drop five grand on a pair that looks like they came straight out of the trash. One of the rips goes right across his thigh, and I’m excited to see that bit of flesh. He insists on keeping his jacket, but hardly minds getting two others.
I also get him a pair of boots. They look as if the cobbler made them out of creatures from theAlienfranchise, and while I suspect they won’t be very practical for everyday wear, I can’t say no to Kill’s pleading eyes. We then take a break at the beauty parlor, where Kill gets his hair styled. He doesn’t change it much, but his undercut gets a trim, and he gets every hair nourishing treatment on offer. While one person works on his green mane, another tends to his nails. By the time we leave, his fingers look as if he’s dipped them into the heart of a vampire, and one of the women working there even offers him a complimentary eyeliner application.
My husband looked good from the moment I met him, but he’s now a more refined version of himself. I love it. He’s the engraved switchblade to my antique silver pistol.
I’m also surprised how well we get along when it’s not just about the lustful spark of attraction we share. I can be open with him in ways I couldn’t with past boyfriends, and he’s chatty, sparkling with crude humor I enjoy more than my degree in Art History would suggest.
My favorite boutique selling one-of-a-kind pieces made by various brands and independent designers is the last stop on our tour, and I’m particularly excited about having it to ourselves. I booked a personal shopping experience months in advance, butnow I’ll be sharing it with my Killian. Maybe he can even help me pick something for tonight?
“Mr. Van der Horn! I am so excited to show you some of our new pieces.” The shop manager, Adriano, beams at me, pushing back his well-styled hair. He’s buff, hot, and knows it, but he’s never been my type because I like guys smaller, tattooed, and a little messy. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re exactly what my parents warned me about. The kind of people not to befriend, so the forbidden flavor is now forever etched in my brain.
“It’s been way too long, but I really had no time to visit,” I tell him, following Kill inside. My feet take me straight for the area where my favored knitwear brands are being presented, but when the lock clicks, I feel at home. Adriano has been working here for the past five years, and while I don’t see him often, at this point he is a trusted advisor.
He stares at Kill’s boots and gasps. “I’ve been lusting after those for weeks, love them with your whole look.”
Now, this is the kind of treatment I want my man to get. I know my way around the store, so it’s only natural he would focus on a newcomer.
“Killian, this is Adriano. Adriano, this is my husband, Killian. Please show him any alternative pieces you have,” I say, rubbing my man’s back in a circular motion. He’s so warm under his clothes. I can’t wait to get them off him, and as the two men exchange words, my gaze drifts off to the corner where, behind a red screen, thrives a different blend of designer shopping.
Right now, I want to buy everything on offer and test it all on Kill.
As Adriano introduces Killian to the store, I take a look behind the screen. The selection of sex toys isn’t big, but like the clothes, the dildos, vibrators and leather cuffs are of the highest quality. I imagine Killian’s legs trembling from arousal. I could use onewith a remote on him while he sucks me. Just the idea of bringing a sex toy to my family home—
My phone buzzes, and of course it’s my mother, because I cannot be trusted with a simple shopping list. She might be right this time, but it’s not my fault from now onJardin de Oudis my enemy.
I pick up one of the dildos, a beautiful sculpture of dark glass made of beads and shallow dips between them. I eye the description at the back of the package as I make my way to the fitting rooms in the back.
Tucked away in the privacy of booths cushioned with red velvet, I sit down on a comfortable sofa and pick up the call.
“Finally,” Mother says, as if she’s been calling me for hours. “When will you arrive? You’re late.”
I frown. “What do you mean? I told you I will be there in the evening.”
“I don’t remember having that conversation.”
Of course. When does she bother to listen?
“Well, we had it, and I will only be there in an hour or two.”
She clicks her tongue. “Darling, your father invited that Dubois girl. Without you here, I’m the one who has to entertain her.”
Oh no. Poor her.
As if I asked anyone to bring me a prospective bride.
They will all die of embarrassment when I arrive with Killian.
“I’m sure you two will find something in common,” I say, and when my mother inhales to cut in, I continue. “Look, the faster we finish, the earlier I’ll be home.”
“You don’t understand, Damen. Your father says you won’t like her, but she’s the stuff of dreams. Any man would be lucky to have such a prize, I told your father this, and he just won’t listen. I think it’s because Uncle Roger brought her, not Dad.”
I don’t know why them squabbling over this woman is my problem.
“Anyway, I’ve got to go, Mom. See you soon!” With that, I end the conversation, and then switch off the sound, in case she tries to call me again. I rise and pad out of the changing area to a scene my mind doesn’t want to accept even as my eyes take it in.
Killian is standing far too close to Adriano for my liking, his hand is on the man’s forearm, and he’s passing him a piece of paper while whispering.
