The mall is upscale, the kind of place where a single shirt costs more than I used to make in a week. Aleksandr guides me insidewith his hand on my back, and I'm hyperaware of the looks we're getting. Him in his expensive suit, me in my worn jeans, flanked by men who scream danger.
"Where to first?" he asks.
"Clothes. Obviously." I head toward a department store, and he follows like a very well-dressed shadow.
The women's section is overwhelming after three years of wearing the same rotation of flannel and thermals. I run my fingers over silk blouses and cashmere sweaters, the fabrics foreign and luxurious.
"Pick whatever you want." Aleksandr leans against a display, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "Money isn't an issue."
"Of course it isn't." I grab a few items at random, just to have something to do with my hands. "Must be nice, being a crime lord."
"Pakhan," he corrects. "And it has its perks."
A saleswoman appears, her smile professional and slightly nervous as she takes in Aleksandr's presence. "Can I help you find anything?"
"She needs a complete wardrobe." Aleksandr's voice carries that edge of command that makes people jump. "Casual, formal, everything in between."
"Of course." The woman's eyes light up with commission dollar signs. "Right this way."
What follows is two hours of being dressed like a doll. The saleswoman brings outfit after outfit, and I model them whileAleksandr sits in a chair like a king on his throne, offering opinions with single words. "No." "Better." "Yes."
I catch him staring when I emerge in a fitted dress that hugs every curve. His gold eyes darken, tracking down my body and back up with an intensity that makes my skin feel too tight.
"That one," he says, his voice rougher than before.
"It's too much." I turn to look in the mirror. The dress is gorgeous, a deep blue silk that makes my eyes look even darker. But it's also completely impractical. "Where would I even wear this?"
"Wherever I take you." He stands, moving behind me so we're both reflected in the mirror. His hands settle on my hips, and I watch his face as he looks at us together. "Get it."
"Aleksandr…"
"Buy it, Lena." His breath is warm against my ear. "Let me give you this."
I should refuse, should maintain some independence, some sense of self that isn't tied to him and his blood money. But the dress is beautiful, and the way he's looking at me makes me feel beautiful, and I'm so tired of being strong all the time.
"Fine." I step away before I do something stupid like lean back against his chest. "But I'm picking the rest."
His smile is small but genuine. "Deal."
We leave the store with more bags than I can carry, which the bodyguards handle without complaint. Next is lingerie, which Aleksandr insists on accompanying me into despite my protests.
"This is weird," I hiss as we enter the boutique. "You can't be in here."
"I've seen you naked, Lena. Multiple times." His voice is low enough that only I can hear. "I think I can handle seeing you shop for underwear."
My face burns, but I don't argue. Mostly because he's right, and also because the thought of him watching me pick out lingerie is doing things to my body that I absolutely should not be feeling in public.
I grab practical things. Cotton underwear, sports bras, nothing fancy. But Aleksandr keeps adding items to the pile. Lace. Silk. Things that are definitely not practical.
"I don't need these," I say, holding up a black lace set that's more suggestion than coverage.
"I disagree." His eyes are hot on mine. "Get them."
"Why? So you can imagine me wearing them?"
"So I can take them off you." The words are quiet, dangerous, full of promise.
My core clenches, and I have to look away before I do something insane like kiss drag him into the dressing room and have my way with him. "You're impossible."