“I can’t let you pay for a dress,” I whisper harshly when I think she’s out of earshot.
Wren’s deep laughter catches me off guard, and I look up to see his hypnotic blue eyes staring down at me with flakes of humor.
“You really don’t have a choice, Allie. Consider this a groveling gift. I owe you at least a dress. And I won’t let you win this argument. Believe me when I say I can afford it, and trust me when I tell you that you’ll walk out of here with a dress.”
I don’t know whether to be pissed or turned on. I’m a little bit of both in this moment. I’ll add it to the list of confusing and conflicting emotions he always makes me feel.
There are several other people in here right now, and they’re all staring. Just staring at me—the girl wearing a baggy shirt, messed-up makeup, and destroyed hair.
“Stupid water balloon fight,” I mutter to myself.
“This way, Mr. Prize,” the fake-smiling girl with cold eyes says, completely ignoring me.
Wren moves his hand down to my hip, tugging my body flush against his as he guides me toward the back. This is a fitting room? It looks like a damn… There aren’t words.
Rows of luxurious rooms line each side of the walls, and there are sofas inside. Freaking sofas. Not cheap, tattered or even old sofas. White, beautiful, glamourous sofas rest in every room.
“She can take the first one,” the girl says, just as another girl practically runs in with four dresses on her arm, holding them like they’re priceless works of art.
I never even told them my size.
“Are you going in with her?” the fake-smiler asks while the nervous girl hangs the dresses inside.
“No. I’ll wait to be astonished out here,” Wren says, a smile in his voice.
He leans down to my ear, and my breath catches in my throat when his warm breath fans my neck, eliciting chills that I can’t hide.
“Let them think you’re with me. I’ll kill myself if I have to put up with too much flirting.”
I smile to myself, and he wraps an arm around my shoulder as the nervous girl runs out of the room. “I’ll—I’ll bring… back more,” she stutters, her voice cracking.
“Are people always so nervous around you?” I ask him, looking up just as he looks down.
He winks as a cocky grin tugs at his lips. “I’m Wren Prize. It happens.”
Cocky is a good look on him. So is sweet. Hell, even angry is a good look on him.
Trying not to melt, I walk into the fitting room, shutting the door behind me as Wren props up on the wall.
My fingers run over the fabric of the bright red dress that is hanging up, and I almost moan. What the hell is that? I think they figured out a way to spin heaven into fabric because I’ve never felt anything so smooth and soft in all my life.
“Mr. Prize, are you and your friend going to be needing more than a dress?”
Apparently the fake-smiler is making her move.
“Babe, you need anything else?” Wren asks, and my heart kicks my chest. Shit. Why does the sound of him calling me babe do anything to me?
Swallowing hard, I shake my head no. Ah, hell. He can’t see me shaking my head.
“No,” I squeak, immediately clearing my throat. Great. I’m an idiot. He knows it now.
“Shoes,” he says randomly. “She’ll need shoes to match whatever dress she gets.”
Shoes? I have shoes.
I start to voice that, when the fake-smiler speaks first. “Also on your tab?” she asks, her voice husky and definitely flirty.
“Of course. Whatever Allie wants. My money is her money.”
Even though he’s just trying to make her leave him alone, I can’t help but smile. I also can’t help but wonder what an idiot his wife must have been.
While tugging my shirt over my head and tossing it aside, my mind starts wandering. My jeans drop to the floor, and I start thinking about what life would have been like if he hadn’t been a snake that night.
Wife… I’ve never asked him about her, and now the thought is nagging me. Did she get the princess treatment? Did he love her the way he seems like he would have? And why did he marry her after she cheated on him with his brother?
It’s not a commonly known fact. But while we were moving, several of the girls clued me in on his history with Erica. I can’t help but be curious. Yet no one knows Wren’s personal life fully outside of his friends, and it’s not like I can pry with them. Hell, I barely know them.
Staring in the mirror, I wince and do the one thing I always tell other women not to do—I compare myself to Erica Prize.