AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Oh—" I swallow my surprise as the doors close. In the silence that follows, my heartbeat is so loud, it drowns out all other thoughts.
He must notice the confusion on my face, for he links his fingers with mine. "You okay?"
"Yes… No…" I shake my head. "I don’t know. It’s just… I feel a little befuddled."
"Why is that?"
The doors slide open, and he guides me down the carpeted hallway to where a woman in a pencil skirt and jacket is waiting for us. "Mr. and Mrs. Davenport? This way please." She shows us to a circular dressing room which might have been transported straight out of the set of Pretty Woman. There are mirrors taking up one corner of the room, and next to them a platform, meant for whoever's getting dressed. Next to it, is a rack of dresses. There’s a couch near us, which Quentin drops into. He pulls me down next to him, and I go without resistance.
"Please give us a few minutes." He gestures to the hostess, who fades away.
This world is one I'm not used to. I may have the money, but not the sophistication or the confidence to use it for myself. It’s never mattered to me before, but sitting next to him in this gorgeous room, I’ve never been more aware of the differences between us.
"What’s on your mind?" He takes both of my hands in his. "Tell me."
"It’s just"—I wave my hand in the air—"I’m not used to having an entire department store shut down for me so I can shop.”
The gesture is typical Q. Since he promised he’d show me through his actions how much he loves me, he’s been so attentive. I’m relishing every minute of it. But this? Holy hell, this is huge.
It’s not something I ever imagined anyone would do for me. Does he know I’m self-conscious about trying on clothes? I have to try on a few sizes before I find the one that fits my curvy figure. And it’s not something I relish doing in a crowded row of changing rooms. To be able to do so without feeling self-conscious is incredible.
It reinforces what I sensed earlier: my husband anticipates my every need and wish with unerring accuracy. It shows how tuned into me he is. To be at the receiving end of all that attention is hugely satisfying, and I admit, arousing...but also, unnerving.
His gaze flits across my features, then he sighs. "You’re not used to me doing normal things with you."
"This"—I look around the space again—"is not normal."
He half smiles. "I mean, I never took the time to know you better, to take you on dates, or to take you shopping."
"Is that what you’re doing now, getting to know me better?"
"I’m trying to give you everything you might have missed out on when you were taking care of your family."
My pulse rate spikes further. A thousand hummingbirds seem to be flapping their wings in my belly. "No one has ever—" I choke up, unable to finish my sentence.
"That’s because none of them were me." He brings my fingers to his lips and kisses the tips. "Let me do this for you. Let me spoil you. Let me give you permission to spend your own money."
I frown. "You mean?—"
He nods. "You’re a millionaire. You can buy your own dress for your showing. All I’m doing is opening the doors for you to fulfill your potential."
I stare at him, unable to comprehend, at first, what he’s saying. Then it sinks in. He’s helping me help myself. He’s showing me it's okay to take care of my needs. For so long, I’ve put everyone else before me. I’ve forgotten that, sometimes, I need to turn that attention on myself. He could buy me the dress. Hell, he could buy out the department store, if he wanted.
Instead, he’s making it clear I have the power to make myself happy.
He’s showing me I’m not dependent on him anymore; at least, not materially. This is akin to opening the door of a cage and giving the bird a chance to fly away, but the bird doesn't know how and has to be coaxed out. I try to comprehend all of this as I gaze into his eyes.
His smile disappears and he releases my hands, only to curl his fingers around the nape of my neck. He brings me close and presses his forehead to mine. "I want you to be happy. I want you to have everything you desire. The success you so deserve for your talents. I want you… To fulfill your potential.”
My heart swells in my chest until it feels too big for my body. A jolt of what I can only describe as happiness thrums through my veins. This man... He’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a soulmate. Everything I hoped to find in a partner I'd want to spend my life with. That he’s so supportive of my art is so special and so affirming. He looks into my eyes, and I know this is one of those pivotal moments when our relationship levels up further. “I appreciate you telling me this… So much,” I whisper.
That’s when the hostess returns. "Are we ready?"
52
Quentin
I watch from a distance as all eyes are riveted on my wife. She bought herself, not a typical short black dress or a long gown with a slit up the side, but what I can only describe as an eccentric, yet very sexy three-piece shorts-suit, which shows off her curves, yet lends an air of edginess to her figure. Combined with the artistically, holes-ridden stockings and platform boots that come to over her knees, and a hat with a veil which falls over her eyes, she looks like a rock queen, wet dream.
