Page 81 of Marry Me Not
“What the fuck is wrong with you? She’s wearing it on her body, Tony. Bodies have heat,” I growled. “Although yours won’t once I’m done with you.”
Tony moaned. “Shit.”
“I need to get her something new to wear. Bring me something. Quickly.”
“I’m not in New York,” he squeaked out. “I’m on my way to DC right now, I left right after I’d dressed Fabiana. I can turn back, but I’m an hour away already.”
Fuck. “You’re useless.” I hung up and exited the atrium into a gallery where only a few others milled about. I didn’t even know where I was going, I just had too much adrenaline coursing through me to stand still.
My phone pinged. It was a text from Rosa.
Rena hasn’t checked in yet.
Fuck. Right. The main reason I’d come here tonight. At least if Rena Santoro wasn’t here yet, I had a bit of time to sort this out before I needed to try to track her down.
What the fuck was I going to do? Nettle’s friend Mia might’ve been able to bring her something, but she was out of town with Rom for the weekend. Every other option I considered wouldtake too long. I racked my brain for any feasible ideas that didn’t involve me forcing another woman here to hand over her gown. Which I’d do, if it came to it.
And that’s when I saw it.
Halfway down the gallery, a dress stood inside a glass display case. It was made from an aquamarine fabric and had a plunging neckline and fluffy feathers at the hem. I knew nothing about women’s fashion, but it looked well-made and roughly Fabiana’s size, which were the only attributes that mattered as far as I was concerned.
I waved over a man in a tuxedo with a staff earpiece who stood nearby.
“Good evening, sir.” He gave me a pleasant smile. His name tag said his name was Alistair Crane, and he was the director of development. “Let me guess, you’re curious about the history of this stunning piece. It’s up for auction tonight. I must commend your excellent eye. This dress was once worn by the inimitable?—”
“How much?”
Crane blinked, taken aback. “The bidding starts at three hundred thousand, sir.”
To my own astonishment, the next words out of my mouth were, “I’ll pay you four hundred for it right now.”
What the fuck are you doing?
Four hundred thousand dollars for a dress.A dress.It was the kind of insane, indulgent, financially illiterate spending I despised.
And now here I was, offering more than the price of a small apartment for a piece of fucking fabric because my wife was upset.
Crane turned his nose up, as if I were some beggar. “It’s not for sale,” he said stiffly. “It’s for the auction.”
My gaze narrowed. I didn’t fucking like being told no. “Five hundred if you give it to me now.”
He scoffed. “That’s not how it works.”
“Six hundred thousand. I’ll pay for it right now and throw in a generous tip.”
Now he was listening. He leaned in. “How generous?”
“Ten thousand.”
The curiosity in his eyes was extinguished. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but my professional integrity is worth far more than that. We were projecting the bidding on this item to reach at least eight hundred thousand.”
“Then I’ll give you eight hundred,” I said through gritted teeth. “And twenty grand to you.”
He hesitated, clearly running some calculation in his head. “To remove it from the auction, I’d have to charge a convenience fee.”
If not for the security standing by the entrance of the gallery, I would’ve defaulted to other methods of persuasion. “What kind of convenience fee?”
“Another one hundred and eighty thousand.”
