Page 45 of Burned

“You have a billionaire mafia king setting up a department store in the living room because you had to rewear leggings and a sweater, and you’re standing there looking like you’re going to run.” Cass holds up a jar to me. “Smell something, for goodness’ sake.”

She’s right.

I walk to a table and pick up a small jar of cream I’ve come to love, brushing my thumb over the label.

He’s right.

It’s made with lavender.

I set it down too carefully.

“This is too much,” I say.

Lucian looks at me. “No.”

The word is quiet.

Final.

He won’t argue.

The saleswoman is helping Cass slip into a pale orange cashmere zip-up hooded jacket.

“Lucian…” My gaze goes back to those slippers. “Are you sure?”

“Shut up, Erin,” Cass singsongs over her shoulder.

Ryan is too busy with Legos to correct her.

“The man is sure.”

“These are clothes,” Lucian says with a shrug. “Books. Soap. Toys. Sheets.

Things.”

His voice drops.

“You are allowed to have things, Erin.”

That is when my eyes burn.

Not when I see the cashmere. Not the shoes. Not the handbags, or the glass bottles, or the jewelry cases glinting under soft lamplight.

Then.

You are allowed to have things.

I have had survival.

I have had to provide for my family.

I had to do things I didn’t want to do and would never have done otherwise.

I even had to make a deal to betray the man in front of me.

Things were for other women.

Cared-for women.