Page 82 of Marry Me Not
“A million for a dress? Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Highway robbery. That’s what this was. Eight hundred for the dress and nearly two hundred into his own pocket. He’d probably quit his job tomorrow and spend the next year drinking rum on a beach.
The man had the audacity to look offended. “As I was saying, this is a vintage piece once worn by Marilyn Monroe. It has cultural significance, not to mention the kind of craftsmanship that simply doesn’t exist anymore. I’m already breaking a number of rules by even considering the sale. I couldn’t possibly violate my fiduciary duty by selling it for less than it’s worth.”
I ground my teeth.
I didn’t have to buy it. That would be the disciplined thing to do. I could just tell Fabiana to go home. Get her out through a back entrance. There’d be plenty of other events where we could be photographed together. I could handle the rest of the night alone.
But the thought of telling her to leave—when she was so obviously upset, so embarrassed…
She’d spend the rest of the evening crying in her room. I fucking knew it. And tomorrow morning, she’d pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but the evening would stay with her. She was already nervous about getting her photos taken before this fucking shit show.
My fist clenched. I couldn’t do that to her. I couldn’t make my wife sneak out through some back door like she didn’t belong here.
With me.
“Fine. One million.”
“Wonderful,” Crane said, looking far too pleased with himself. “Right this way, sir. I can take your payment here.”
I followed him down a staff hallway into a room where several workers were organizing the auction lots.
“It has to be by card,” he said as he pulled out a payment terminal. “A wire would take several days to settle.”
“Fine.” I pulled out my wallet and handed him my black Amex.
He swiped it.
“Sir…” He looked up. “It says it’s been declined.”
I groaned internally. Probably because I’d never tried to pay a million dollars with a fucking credit card before.
“Put two hundred and fifty thousand on that one,” I said, pulling out three more cards from my wallet. “The rest on these. Two fifty each.”
Crane gave me a tight, unimpressed smile. “Of course.”
I stood there while he ran the cards one by one, every passing minute scraping against my nerves. I had to get back to Fabiana. Who knows what state she was in by now?
After what felt like forever, he was done.
“I’ll go get you that dress,” he said. “If you don’t mind waiting here.”
“Hurry,” I barked, just as my phone started vibrating in my pocket.
The caller ID said it was Jerry, my accountant.
“Hello?”
“Cosimo, did someone steal your wallet? I’m getting alerts for massive transactions across four of your cards. I don’t know how the bank even let them through. I’m already dialing the fraud department.”
“It wasn’t fraud, and maybe you can tell me why my limits are so goddamn low,” I snapped.
There was a pause.
“You’re telling me that was you?” A beat. “Are you under the influence?”
“I’m not under the fucking influence, Jerry.”
