I take the shoes, go to the bed, and sit down. I slide into them.
Riggs walks out of the closet, wearing his tux pants and buttoning his shirt, with a jacket and bow tie slung over his arm. His ink quickly disappears.
My heart pounds harder. My husband is beyond gorgeous. I kind of like the fact most people don't get to see his tattoos.
He steps to the dresser, removes the lid off a box, and hands me a pair of oversized, black-and-white diamond chandelier drop earrings.
"Wow!" I exclaim, taking them from him.
"Glad you like them," he says.
I put them on and glance in the mirror, declaring, "They're perfect!"
He slides a matching choker around my neck. His fingers trace the spaces between the diamonds, and he claims, "The setting is strong enough for me to slip anything through here. I could keep you restrained for hours."
My pulse skyrockets. I squeeze my thighs, stating, "I've been a good girl."
He chuckles and kisses the back of my neck. Tingles erupt underneath his lips. He murmurs, "I'll be the judge of that."
I spin into him and slide my arms over his shoulders. I ask, "What do you think people will think? When they find out we're married?"
He grunts. "I could give a shit what they think, but the men will all be jealous."
I bite on my smile.
He pecks me on the lips, and his phone vibrates. He pulls it out of his pocket, glances at the screen, and then announces, "Driver's here."
I step back, and he slides the bow tie through his collar. I reach forward and tie it.
His lips twitch. "When did you learn to do this?"
I shrug. "Every girl in Beverly Hills gets taught to tie a man's bow tie."
"Is that so?"
"Yep." I finish securing it and rise on my toes, but I'm only a few inches shorter than Riggs in the heels.
He puts on his jacket and leads me to an elevator. We get in and when it stops, it opens into a lobby. He nods to the security guards as we pass, then steers me outside toward an SUV.
The driver opens the back door, and I slide into the vehicle. Riggs follows and shuts the divider window. He tugs me closer to him and says, "I forgot to tell you. I scheduled a meeting with the designer on Tuesday."
"For?" I question.
"Your wing."
I arch my eyebrows, surprised. "You want me to meet the designer?"
"Yeah. Your name's on it. The final design should be something you approve," he asserts.
"Really?"
"Of course."
I kiss him. "Thank you. For all of this. It..." I swallow the emotions climbing up my throat. I manage to admit, "It means a lot to me."
Sadness flares in his blues. He says, "Hopefully, it'll help a lot of people."
If only it would save my mother.