Chapter 7 Chapter 7
Scarlett's POV
The marriage registration took fifteen minutes.
I signed my name three times. Damon signed his name three times. The clerk stamped the papers. Done.
I was officially Mrs. Wolfe.
We walked out of the city hall building into the afternoon sunlight. Damon stopped on the steps and turned to me.
"You want anything?" he asked. "We just got married. I should buy you something."
I shook my head. "I don't need anything."
He just stood there. Looking at me like I'd said something weird.
"Most women want wedding gifts," he said slowly. "Jewelry. Clothes. Handbags. Something."
"I'm not most women."
"Clearly." He rubbed his face with one hand. "Scarlett, you need to learn how to ask for things. You can't just say you don't need anything."
"But I don't need anything."
He looked like he was getting a headache.
His eyes dropped to my wrist. I saw his gaze lock onto my watch.
Shit.
"That watch," he said. "It looks like it's about to fall apart."
I pulled my sleeve down to cover it. "It works fine."
The watch was old. The crystal face had scratches all over it. The leather band was cracked and peeling. It looked like garbage.
It was also one of my most important tools.
"Scarlett." His voice was patient. Too patient. "Let me buy you a new watch."
"This one keeps good time."
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Nothing came out.
I almost laughed. The most feared man in New York, speechless because I wouldn't let him buy me a watch.
"Fine," he finally said. "What about clothes?"
I hesitated.
The truth was, I did need clothes. Everything in the Romano house had been Zelda's hand-me-downs. I'd left it all behind. The shirt and jeans I was wearing? I'd been in them for two days straight.
"Okay," I said. "I could use some clothes."
His face lit up. Like I'd just given him the best news of his life.
He pulled out his phone. "Clear the women's section at Wolfe Tower Mall. Now. And send two personal stylists."
"Wait, what?" I grabbed his arm. "I just want to buy some normal clothes. I don't need the mall cleared."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not the Queen of England! I just want to browse like a regular person!"
God, the last thing I needed was to end up on Page Six. "Crime Lord's Mysterious New Wife Shuts Down Entire Mall For Shopping Spree." Perfect. Just perfect.
He put his phone away. Looked at me with that expression again. The one that said he thought I was completely insane.
"Fine," he said. "We'll go shopping like normal people."
Twenty minutes later, we pulled up to Wolfe Tower Mall.
Of course it was his family's property. Of course.
We took the elevator to the top floor. The women's luxury section. Every window display showed brands I recognized from magazines. Chanel. Dior. Prada. Versace.
My heart sank.
I wanted normal clothes. The kind you could throw in a washing machine and not cry if they got ruined. The kind that didn't scream "I have money, please mug me."
Damon headed straight for the nearest store. I followed him inside.
He stopped in front of a rack. Pulled out a dress. Held it up.
It was beige. High neck. Long sleeves. The hem went past the knees. The fabric looked thick and stiff.
I stared at it.
"You're pregnant," he said. "You should dress modestly."
I kept staring.
This dress looked like something a sixty-year-old church lady would wear to Sunday service. Maybe to a funeral. Definitely not something a twenty-two-year-old woman would put on voluntarily.
"That's very... thoughtful," I said carefully.
He smiled. Actually smiled. Like he thought he'd nailed it.
Oh God.
He put the dress back. Moved to another rack. Pulled out something else.
This time it was bright red. Low cut. Skintight. Covered in gold sequins. The kind of dress you'd wear to a nightclub at 2 AM. Or maybe to the Met Gala if you wanted photographers to scream your name.
"This one has presence," he said. He held it up against me. "What do you think?"
I thought I was living in a nightmare.
"Damon," I said slowly. "Where exactly do you think I'd wear that?"
"Dinner? Events?" He looked confused. "It's designer."
"I'm going to the grocery store. Not walking a red carpet."
His forehead wrinkled. He looked at the dress again. Then at me. Then back at the dress.
"You don't like it?"
"It's... bold."
He put it back. Wandered over to another section. Came back with black workout clothes. Skintight leggings and a sports bra top. Both pieces had huge designer logos printed across them.
"This is practical," he said. "And it's name brand."
I wanted to cry.
"Damon." I kept my voice very gentle. "Do you really think I should wear Gucci workout clothes to my prenatal appointments?"
He frowned at the outfit in his hands.
I could see him trying to figure out what was wrong with his choices. Poor guy had absolutely no clue.
"Buying clothes is really a small thing. I can handle it myself. You probably have important work to do," I said quietly.
His face went blank. Then his jaw tightened.
Oh no. He was offended.
I could practically read his mind. Other women beg their husbands to go shopping with them. I take time out of my schedule to help her, and she's trying to get rid of me.
His phone rang.
Thank God.
He looked at the screen. His expression changed. This was important.
"I should take this," he said.
I put on my best supportive wife smile. "Of course! Go ahead. Work is important."
He hesitated. "You'll be okay alone?"
"The doctor said I need to stay relaxed and happy," I reminded him. "And nobody knows I'm your wife yet. Nobody's going to bother a random pregnant girl shopping for clothes."
He glanced across the store. Two men were browsing the handbag section. They looked like regular customers. They weren't. I'd clocked them as bodyguards the second we walked in.
Damon saw them too.
"One hour," he said. "Then the driver will pick you up."
"Okay."
"Don't carry anything heavy. Have the store deliver everything to the house."
"Okay."
"If anything feels wrong, call me immediately."
"Okay."
"And eat something. You skipped breakfast."
"Okay."
He finally left. Still talking into his phone.
I stood there in the middle of the luxury boutique. I used to be an assassin. I went where I wanted. Did what I wanted. Answered to no one.
Now I was married to a mob boss and I had more restrictions than when I was working for Iron Circle.
I sighed.
Time to find some actual normal clothes. If such things even existed on this floor.
Third Person POV
The elevator doors opened on the luxury floor. Zelda stepped out first. Madison was right behind her, followed by two other girls from their private school circle.
"Oh my God, Zelda, I'm so jealous," Madison said. She was looking around at all the designer stores. Her eyes were wide. "Your mom just lets you shop here with no limit? That's insane."
"It's really not that big of a deal," Zelda said. She touched her blonde hair and smiled. The smile looked humble but her eyes said something else. "Mom just wants me to look presentable before I start at Columbia this fall. She says I need a whole new wardrobe for university life in New York City."
"Still," one of the other girls said. Her name was Ashley. "Not everyone gets unlimited shopping trips to the luxury floor. My dad would kill me if I even asked."
"Well, not everyone in the family gets the same treatment," Zelda said softly. She walked toward the Chanel store. "But Mom says I've earned it. I've been working so hard on my applications and my piano performances. She thinks I deserve to be rewarded."
Madison caught up to her. "Speaking of family, what's going on with your sister? The one who came back? Is she still living with you guys?"
The other two girls leaned in closer. They wanted to hear this.
Zelda stopped walking. She bit her lip. Looked uncomfortable. "I really shouldn't talk about family business."
"Come on," Ashley said. "We're your friends. You can tell us."
"Yeah," the third girl said. Her name was Sophie. "We've all heard the stories. About how she was kidnapped when she was little and grew up in some trailer park or something. Is she, like, really weird?"