Nick hit a button, lowering her window. “It’s not flying, but...”
The cool air whipped back her silver hair. Raluca smiled. “Close enough.”
He brought the Viper to a fast but smooth stop in front of Girasol, the nearest place on the list Destiny had given him. He’d never heard of it before, but that didn’t surprise him; it was the one labeled ‘haute couture.’ It was in one of the ritziest neighborhoods of Santa Martina. Nick hadn’t been there in years.
He handed his keys over to the valet and fell into step protectively beside Raluca as they approached Girasol, holding up a cautious hand to scan the interior before he let her inside. It held few hiding places beyond the doors; a small number of jaw-droppingly fancy dresses were scattered on mannequins, but most of the place was empty space and white marble.
Every single person, from other customers to the sales clerks to the fucking valet, was better-dressed than Nick was. His shoes clomped on the floor, which was polished to such a brilliant sheen that he actually left scuffs on it. Nick wasn’t a huge guy like Hal, but he felt like a bull in a china shop. Or like a wolf in a designer clothing store.
While Raluca too was underdressed, the salespeople universally looked from her posture to her jewelry and approached her with deep and sincere respect. Nick could see that they weren’t worried that she couldn’t afford their undoubtedly terrifying prices, or that she’d come to browse rather than buy. He’d learned a thing or two in his years as a bodyguard, and one was how to read faces. They’d taken one look at her, and correctly identified her as their customer of the year.
He could also tell that they’d taken one look at him, seen that he didn’t belong, and were trying to figure out his exact relationship to Raluca. Inappropriately dressed bodyguard? Vaguely thuggish distant relative acting as a chaperone? Bad news boyfriend?
Raluca had been right. Nick did look out of place, and he did feel uncomfortable. Not only that, but he was making the salespeople uncomfortable too. They didn’t know how they were supposed to treat him or how much power he had or how much of an asshole he might be, and that probably had them worried that he might complain about them. They were employed at a shop for snobs but they were still working people, like him, and he was making their jobs harder. It was clearly his day to accidentally be a dick.
As opposed to being one on purpose every day, his wolf said helpfully.
Shut the fuck up, Nick snarled back. If I’m a dick, it’s because someone was asking for it.
“Please, have a seat,” said a saleswoman, indicating a set of plush chairs. She addressed Raluca, but gave Nick an uncertain glance, obviously unsure of whether he should be included. “Would you like a latte while we review your needs? Or a cocktail, perhaps?”
So that was how the other half lived. Go clothes shopping, get a free cocktail. No wonder rich people looked so goddamn smug all the time.
“A cocktail, please,” said Raluca. “Refreshing. Cool. Not too sweet.”
Raluca was clearly enjoying herself, in her element for the first time since they’d met. She gracefully settled into the offered chair, then glanced quizzically up at Nick.
“Ignore me,” Nick said to the room at large, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “I’m her bodyguard. I can’t drink or sit on the job.”
Everyone, including Raluca, looked relieved to have that made clear. The salespeople promptly ignored him and focused their laser-like attention on Raluca.
&
nbsp; “I found myself in Santa Martina unexpectedly,” Raluca said. Nick couldn’t help admiring the smoothness with which she both explained her lack of clothing and preemptively squelched any awkward questions about it. “I am in need of at least one outfit for every occasion. Including one couture ball gown.”
“Ah!” The salespeople’s eyes widened with delight. Nick figured they had to be working on commission. Raluca had probably made sure everyone’s rent was getting paid for the next few months, not to mention a couple trips to Disneyland.
He kept a lookout for assassins, of course, but his finely tuned werewolf senses would tip him off long before Raluca would be in any actual danger. So he was free to breathe in the scent of her iced cocktail— vodka, cucumber, mint, and something floral— and watch as she extended a graceful foot to have a selection of shoes placed on it.
Nick had never had any particular thing about feet, but watching the saleswomen put shoes on Raluca was making him reconsider. Her ankles were slim and flexible. The high arch of her foot curved like the doorway to some ancient palace. Her skin was perfect, her soles unmarred by calluses.
Everything about her was perfect — her grace as she stood to walk around in a pair of black stiletto heels, the turn of her head as she inspected a slithery silk dress, even the bob of her throat as she sipped her drink.
Raluca set the glass down on a tray. “I would like to try on some clothes.”
“I have to check the dressing room,” Nick said immediately.
The salespeople looked slightly offended, but Raluca said, “Of course.” To them, she added, “I cannot give details, but you will see why I need him when you help me change.”
She meant the bulletproof vest. But something tugged at Nick’s chest when he heard “I need him” come from her lips, in her chiming tones. It made him wish she meant more than that he was just a human bulletproof vest, an annoying but necessary protection. He wished she meant she’d needed him, Nick, as a person.
As a mate, his wolf growled.
Shut up, Nick snarled.
He checked the dressing room for traps or bugs, gave the saleswoman a quick once-over to make sure she wasn’t carrying anything lethal, and then reluctantly stepped out. The saleswoman pushed in a rack full of dresses and shoes, jackets and skirts, blouses and bras. And then she and Raluca shut the door in his face.
Nick stood outside for a very long time, trying not to think of Raluca naked in there, with nothing separating them but a door.