Chapter 25

"You really shouldn't be spending this kind of money, Sergei." The numbers on the register continue to climb as he holds out the little black card for the cashier.

"We're not done yet." He exchanges his credit card with his business card and tells the cashier to have the packages delivered by this evening.

It's impossible, surely, to have everything delivered in the next two hours. But she only nods with a gracious smile and promises to have everything at our door before six.

This is the third store we've been in this afternoon. My feet ache and my head is still sore, but it's the amount that he's spent that makes my stomach roll.

Once outside in the crisp spring air, Sergei laces his fingers through mine and squeezes.

"One more store." He tugs me across the street to a small boutique.

Everywhere we've gone today there has been first class service. One store had champagne ready for us when we arrived.

"Sergei, I think I have enough." He's replaced my entire wardrobe. Pants, dresses, shorts, and loungewear, which is apparently different than pajamas. I blushed profusely when the saleslady explained it to me.

"You still need a dress for tomorrow night." He opens the door for me.

"I thought we bought that already?"

"Not yet. I have this one waiting for you." As soon as we're inside, an older woman breezes through the small open space with excitement written all over her face. Her gray hair is swept up into a perfect bun on top of her head. A cloud of perfume follows her as she moves.

"Sergei!" She glides to him and hugs him, kissing each of his cheeks. He steps back as soon as she lets him go and she spins to look at me. "Cora!" She opens her arms and greets me the same way.

"Cora, this is Genova Romanov. Our families have been friendly for a long time." Sergei introduces us, while pulling me to his side.

Genova taps her perfectly manicured finger to her chin. Her eyes roam over my body from my head to my toes and back again.

"You were right. She has the perfect curves for the dress you picked out." She turns on her heel and hurries from the room.

"Where are all the dresses?" I ask him. The room is completely empty other than a three-part dressing mirror with a pedestal in the center.

"This is just her fitting salon. What she does is custom."

"Custom?" I pull out of his hand. "How can she have a dress made for me by tomorrow?"

"I gave her your measurements last week. If anything needs to be altered it will be done before she sends it over." He looks at his phone and frowns.

"If you need to go, we can go. I'm sure I can find something in the enormous pile of clothes you've bought today," I offer.

He puts his phone away. "It can wait." He gestures to Genova who has returned with a gown unlike anything I've ever seen. She holds it up so I can see the full dress. It's a white dress with a delicate violet purple lace overlay on the bodice that gives way to an empire waist. The neckline plunges into a deep V and the sleeves are short, capped at the shoulder.

"It's gorgeous," I say, stepping up to it. The front hem is a great deal shorter than the back and the hemline is embellished with the same violet lace.

"Come try it on." Genova leads me to a small curtained-off area behind the mirror where she leaves me to put the dress on so she can zip the back.

The moment she has it clasped, she stands back to admire her work.

"It's perfect," she says. "He told me you were a size eighteen, but I made him measure your best-fitting pants to be sure I would get the accurate measurements."

I spin around to face her, my cheeks burning.

"He knows my size?" My mouth dries.

"Of course he does. Every good man knows what size his woman is so he can surprise her with pretty things. He measured well. I don't think I will have to make any alterations. Unless you'd like to have it shorter in the front." She picks up the hem of the dress. "Maybe show a little more of your pretty legs?"

I snort. "I don't have pretty legs."

"Of course you do." She frowns. "You'll be the talk of the party tonight."

I laugh. The dress is amazing, and I look good wearing it, but I'm pretty sure there's going to be plenty of women at the party that will actually turn heads.

"I really don't think so. But thank you." I run my hand over the sleek material of the skirt.

"Do you think Sergei would bring an ugly duckling to the party? No, he would not," she chastises me.

"No, he's brought the ugly duckling to you to make her into a swan," I joke, but her frown deepens. "I'm just kidding, Genova. The dress is beautiful. I love it. Really."

I take another look in the mirror. I'll need to pin my hair up, I think.

"Can I look in the big mirror up front?" Sometimes it's better not to know what my ass looks like in a dress, but I don't doubt Genova's skill. I've never had a dress fit so well before.

"Yes. Yes. Sergei will want to see the dress before I wrap it up and send it over." She walks with me around to the front where Sergei is standing with a scowl on his face.

My stomach drops. I know this look.

"Does the dress need alterations?" His dark eyes pin me to the floor while he asks Genova the question.

She hesitates only for a moment.

"No. I don't think so. She looks wonderful, yes?" She brushes my hip as though to get rid of a piece of lint. "He's unhappy, I think," she mutters to me.

"It's me. Not the dress," I say quietly back to her.

She nods.

"We need the salon, Genova." Sergei still keeps his gaze locked on me.

I swallow past the guilt. "I think we can go home now." My voice squeaks slightly.

"Cora. Take the dress off and give it to Genova." Has he even blinked?

"Sergei. We can talk at home, right?"

"I'll help you from the dress." Genova unzips me and helps slide the garment from me as I step out of it.

"I will lock up when I'm done," he tells her.

His shoes click against the marble flooring as he slowly makes his way to me. Each sound taps out a warning of what's to come. And it's a sinister soundtrack.

"Good luck," Genova whispers to me, then disappears as if by magic. The back door shuts and a bolt slides into place.

"Sergei, people outside can see." Trying to keep everyone from seeing my naked breasts, I wrap my arms around me. I had to take the bra I was wearing off to put the dress on.

"No, they can't." He picks up my hand. "Up on the platform, Cora."

"Why?"

"Because you have a lesson to learn, and you need to be on the platform for it."

Once on the platform, I try to tug my hand from his, but he doesn't relent. Instead, he tugs me downward.

"On your knees." He uses his gaze to point where he wants me kneeling.

It's humbling enough to get down onto my knees in front of him, but it's absolute torture to do it nude, with mirrors surrounding me. Graceful, I am not.

"Sergei, I'm sorry I said what I did. I wasn't being insulting to myself. I was just being honest." He's a logical man. He has to understand what I'm saying is true.

He steps behind me, leaving me to stare at myself in the mirror. My breasts are heavy, and my nipples are hard thanks to the air conditioning and his unwavering attention to my reflection.

"You're not sorry you said what you said, you're sorry I heard you." He unbuckles his belt, keeping his eyes locked on mine in the mirror while he tugs it free from the loops of his pants.

My insides clench at the sound of leather zipping free.

"Because if you were sorry you said it, you wouldn't be qualifying the remarks as you just being honest. Because saying you were being honest means you believe it." He folds the belt in half and lightly taps it against his leg.

His logic is sound.

"Eyes up!" he snaps when I lower my gaze away from him. "Do not look away from me," he orders once I raise my eyes to his again.

"Do you believe what that bastard said about you in the paper?" He questions me with a softer tone, like he's actually curious of the answer and not just trying to drive some point home.

I raise my chin and roll my shoulders back.

"No." I draw in a breath. "I'm comfortable with myself."

"Do you think I believe what he printed?" His eyes narrow slightly.

"I don't think so, no." There's less confidence in this statement than my last.

"Why do you think not?" He tilts his head to the side.

"Because if you did, you wouldn't have asked me to go along with this arrangement. But then again, if you believed no one else would want me, so I'd of course go along with it… because who would want me as a wife…"

"That's enough!" His voice booms in the room. "Do you really believe that?" This question comes softer.

I pause, letting him stew for a moment.

"No." I give a little shake. "But I don't think either of us can deny I'm not exactly what society thinks a millionaire mob moss should be married to."

"Billion," he corrects me. "With this new company, I'll have a net worth of almost two billion American dollars."

My jaw slacks. Two billion? I don't even have two hundred to my name.

He steps up on the platform with me, moving to stand to my right.

"Turn to face the other way, get down on your hands and knees, keep your ass up high." The buckle of the belt jangles as he maneuvers it, so the metal buckle is tucked into his palm.

He's made up his mind. The conversation is over.

"What are you going to do?" I ask as I get into position. It's a stupid question, but the silence of the room is setting my nerves on fire.

"I'm going to whip your ass," he says simply. "And then I'm going fuck you while you watch in the mirrors. I want you to see how fucking gorgeous you are, how beautiful every fucking curve is while I'm fucking you from behind. And if you're good," he trails the folded end of his belt along my spine, "I'll make you come so hard, the people walking by will hear you scream my name."

I glance at him through the mirror and his eyes meet mine.

A chill dances through me.

"Now, get your ass up high for me."