Chapter 6 IT'S TOO DAMN SHORT.

SLOANE'S POINT OF VIEW.

I quickly slapped on a sweater and pants before I rushed out of the house. I realized something after that text: Lucien could never drive to this part of the neighbourhood. Someone would notice his expensive car, which had no business in this part of town, and it would be a matter of time before my dad would hear of it.

I quickly shot him a text as to where I would be.

"Meet me at the same spot you picked me up from last time."

A few minutes later, Lucien’s black Aston Martin idled at the curb like it had no business being in my part of town, as he pulled in beside me like a king on a throne. The expensive engine of the car purred from where it was parked, and I quickly got in to avoid more of the heads that turned this way at the sight of an expensive car in the middle-class neighborhood.

Every head on the street turned to look, but he didn’t appear fazed. He sat behind the wheel like the world was his waiting room, as he tapped his fingers against the leather steering wheel with lazy impatience.

“You’re late,” he said when I shut the door, as he glanced at me with a lazy expression.

“You said ten minutes ago, literally ten minutes ago,” I shot back, leaning back against the seat as I fastened my seat belt around me. I had learnt my lesson from last time; Lucien drives like a bat straight out of hell.

He smirked as I’d just proven his point. “Good. You’re learning not to keep me waiting.”

We drove in silence for a while, the low purr of the car making my stomach flutter. His presence was a gravity field; even when I stared out the window, I could feel his eyes looking me over.

I noticed that about him ever since we started this. He stared a lot, especially at me.

“Why the sudden shopping trip?” I asked finally, looking back at him with a questioning expression.

He glanced at me for a moment, taking his eyes off the road, before he said,  “Because if you show up at Harrow Estate looking like you raided a thrift store, it’ll reflect badly on me.”

I scowled. “Sorry for not owning a closet full of couture.”

He side-eyed me. “You will after tonight.”

What the fuck does that even mean? My mind screamed at me, but I  bit my tongue and looked out the window instead.

A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of the biggest mall in all of Westridge. I looked back at him like he was crazy.

He probably was crazy rich.

"You want me to get something from here?" I asked, and he simply smiled and got out of the car.

I looked at him as he went round the car, opened my door, and commanded;

"Get out. We need to pick something that would leave Roxanne eating cement for the rest of the night, and Matt looking like an alligator lizard." He said, and the image of Roxanne and Matt getting godsmacked pushed me out of the car seat, as I got out and headed into the boutique with him beside me.

The boutique was the kind of place that didn’t bother with price tags; if you had to ask, you simply couldn’t afford it. The malls were lined with clothes that had no price tag; it all felt like a financial rap to me.

I was sure most of the clothes in there would buy out the mortgage for my house ten times over. Restraining the urge to look around with an open mouth, I looked ahead and walked with Lucien beside me.

He looked comfortable. With his hands in his pockets as he belonged here, he walked ahead of me into a part of the boutique labelled;

RESERVED FOR R.

Inside, the air smelled like champagne and money. In less than no time, a sales associate in red heels that cost more than my rent glided over, came in, all fake smiles as she glanced at me, she looked straight to Lucien with a wider smile, and a flash of her boobs.

“Mr. Ravenscroft,” she breathed as she looked at him as though he had the secret to success in his words, as he’d just walked out of a magazine spread. With a wonderful expression on her face, she bowed low like she would kiss the floor; "How may we be of help to you today?"

He tilted his head toward me. “She’s the one you’re dressing. Make her look… unforgettable.”

I bristled, staring at him. “I can pick my own—”

“Try these,” he interrupted, tossing a dark red slip dress at me. “And the heels.”

I wanted to argue, but the way he said it left no room for argument.

And maybe, just maybe, for some crazy reason, perhaps a slight hope to see if he would look at me the same way he did yesterday at school, I wanted to see the look on his face when I walked out.

I slipped on the skin-tight, short dress he gave me, struggling for a few minutes before I got it up all the way. It was backless and very beautiful as it fit my body like a glove.

But for some reason, I didn't feel comfortable in it. It was probably because for the first time in my life, my curves would be on display in front of people, and I would have nowhere to hide, and none of my sweats to help me hide myself.

When I stepped from the fitting room, his eyes did exactly what I hoped they would do: they darkened, sharpened, and looked me over slowly. For some reason, it made me feel hot as his blue eyes drilled in on my exposed legs, thighs, arms, and curves, before he finally stopped at my face.

Suddenly, the room felt too small as I stood in front of him, awaiting his thoughts on the dress.

He didn’t speak for some time, and the silence between us thrummed like a live wire in my ears as I waited for him to say something.

Then, he said softly: “It's perfect.”

"I think it's too short. I don't want this one." I said, as I tugged slightly at the dress in hopes that it would suddenly transform itself into my soft pajamas.

Lucien walked closer to me and lifted his right hand. He messed with the thin strap of the dress, lighting my skin with the soft graze of his fingers. My skin pulsed at the slight contact, electricity buzzed between us till he withdrew his hand.

"It's perfect, and they won't know what hit them." He said softly, staring deeply into my eyes like he wanted to hypnotize me.

It was working.

The saleswoman beamed as she looked at me in shock, like she couldn't believe I was the same person who went into the dressing room. “She’s stunning.”

Lucien’s gaze didn’t move from mine. “She’s mine.”

The words weren’t for me, but they sank deep in a part of my mind anyway.

Later, as the bag was handed to me, I caught the boutique clerk sneaking a picture of us on her phone. I turned to Lucien and waited for him to say something, but he simply looked away and acted like she didn't exist.

“You’re leaking this?” I asked as we left, the bag of clothes in his hand.

He smirked, his lips pulled in that slow, dangerous smile as he glanced. “What’s the point of a crown if no one sees you wear it?"