Page 304 of Don’t Say Mafia

And I knew, knew, that if I said yes to Leigh, he would cut in and make sure that I never left.

The thing was . . . I didn’t want to leave him. It was absolutely insane, not to mention wildly inappropriate, but⁠—

I wanted this.

I wanted him.

Leigh was still watching me expectantly, and I swallowed and finally answered her. “I already found a place,” I said carefully. “But thank you. That’s really sweet.”

Her eyes flicked to Jagger, then back to me, and understanding dawned across her face. “Oh,” she said softly. “Okay.” She gave me a small, knowing smile. “If you change your mind⁠—”

“She won’t,” Jagger finally cut in.

“Thank you,” I told her, shooting him a look.

Leigh squeezed my arm once, then glanced at Jagger hesitantly before walking away and disappearing into the crowd. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Jagger turned to me, his thumb brushing slow circles over my wrist as he leaned forward so his breath ghosted across my cheek.

“Good girl,” he murmured . . . and I shivered.

My lips parted, but no sound came out.

His mouth brushed my temple, then drifted lower, grazing the sensitive spot just below my ear. “And I’m going to make sure you never regret it,” he said, so quietly it was almost lost in the casino din.

Jagger’s fingers tightened around mine just slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me I’d made a choice. And then he guided me forward again, like there had never been another option.

We stepped out the side exit into the bright morning light, and he steered me toward the row of high-end boutiques that lined the casino’s luxury wing. I’d always walked past them before, their glass fronts filled with mannequins draped in outfits that probably cost more than my rent.

When he’d said shopping, I’d imagined going to a Target or Walmart . . . somewhere practical. But I’d obviously been a fool and should have known better.

He stopped in front of L’Étoile, a store I’d never dared step inside. It had sleek black doors and a single black dress in the window that was draped on a faceless mannequin.

“Jagger,” I said, tugging on his hand. “This isn’t⁠—”

As usual, he didn’t let me finish. He just opened the door and pulled me inside.

The air was cool and scented with something that smelled expensive. Soft music was playing, and a woman in a tailored black suit smiled at us like we were royalty.

“Mr. Thatcher,” she said smoothly. “I have everything ready. Right this way.”

I dug my heels in as she disappeared behind a curtain. “Jagger,” I hissed. “I thought we were going to . . . I don’t know, a regular store. I need jeans. Underwear. A toothbrush. Not”—I gestured wildly at the racks of silk and satin and things that looked like they belonged on red carpets—“this.”

He turned to face me fully, still holding my hand. “You need clothes,” he murmured so only I could hear. “Real clothes. Not whatever you can grab off a rack. You’re not scraping by anymore, Eden. You’re mine.”

My throat closed. “I’m not . . . I don’t need you to⁠—”

“I know what you need.” He stepped closer, crowding me against the doorframe just enough that I felt the heat of him again. “You lost everything, and I’m giving it all back. But better.”

I stared up at him, heart hammering.

“You want to fight me on this?” he asked. “Fine. Fight. It will just make the sex better later. But you’re still walking out of here with bags. You’re still coming home with me. And you’re still wearing whatever the fuck they sell in this store.”

My breath hitched.

He leaned in. “Or I can carry you through this store over my shoulder. Pick everything myself. You want that instead?”

I shook my head quickly, and he pulled back, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “Let’s go.”

The saleswoman was waiting for us behind the curtain, and she smiled widely, leading us deeper into the store—past racks of dresses and lingerie and shoe displays that made my feet hurt just looking at them.