Series: The Sacrifice Series by Natasha Knight
Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“Oh, these are so pretty,” Willow says, touching the folded items. “So soft.”
She holds up a dress that seems made for a doll and smiles while I watch her as she caresses everything almost reverently, her eyes growing damp as she finds a small stuffed rabbit with huge pink ears that must have the fluffiest coat I’ve ever seen.
“Do you think it’s too soon to buy something?” she asks me, suddenly looking worried.
“There’s only one left. We’d better take it just to be sure.”
She nods, hugs the little rabbit, and moves to another rack. She picks up a few onesies then sighs, putting them back.
“Maybe one or two of those, too,” I say.
Soon, we’ve gathered a collection of items, and the saleswoman comes to take them from us to set them on the counter.
“The cribs are made to order, so you’ll definitely want to choose one soon. It can take up to six months. They’re made by hand locally, you see.”
“Oh, are they?” Willow asks, peering around her. “We’d better have a quick look.”
I nod and follow Willow. When the bell over the door dings, I tense and turn to watch a couple enter. The woman is heavily pregnant and smiling happily. The man she’s with looks suspiciously around the shop, his gaze resting on Willow longer than I like. I step in front of her, blocking her from his view, just as the saleswoman greets them, setting a large shopping bag on the counter.
“Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, your order is ready.”
“Azrael?” Willow says as the man walks up to the counter and takes out his wallet to pay.
I look down at Willow, who glances between them and me.
“Azrael?” she asks again, eyebrows raised. “Everything okay?” She squeezes my hand, which I realize is fisted. I force myself to relax and nod, trying to remember we’re having a normal day. Doing normal things. Having fun.
“Fine.” I try for a smile. “What did you find?” I follow her into the backroom where we spend another hour looking at a few things and end up leaving the shop with two bags of clothes, two books detailing the stages of pregnancy, and a mobile with various animals for the baby’s room as well as several stuffed toys.
From the baby shop, I take Willow down the street to another boutique, this one for her, not the baby. It’s a Society-owned shop and they’re expecting us when we walk in.
Willow turns a circle in the small but well-stocked boutique, where a dozen dresses in mostly black or red—or some combination of the two—have been laid out for her to try on and choose from. Shoes have been matched with each, and when Willow looks back to me, her smile is wide and her eyebrows high.
“I called ahead,” I say, taking a seat on the large leather sofa and accepting the whiskey one of the two attendants hands me as the other one locks the door and draws the curtains closed.
“That was sneaky of you.” Willow narrows her gaze, but that smile is still there as she walks to the closest dress, my personal favorite, and glances at the price tag. “Wow.”
“Try it on,” I tell her. “Try them all on. We’ll take all that you want.”
“Why?” she asks as she looks a few over and points to the ones she wants to try on.
“A husband can spoil his wife, can’t he?” I check my watch. “We have dinner reservations in an hour. Once you choose the dress you want to wear, these ladies will help you with hair and makeup.” I sit back, cross my ankle over the opposite knee.
“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
I wink at her and sip my drink.
The saleswoman carries the dresses Willow chose along with all their accessories and, after a half-hour long fashion show where I decide my wife would look amazing even in rags, she settles on my favorite, a wine-red velvet gown that hugs her curves and drapes low down her back. Her hair is styled up, and her makeup consists of black-winged eyeliner and lipstick to match the dress. She doesn’t need more. She’s glowing.
I swallow the last of my drink and stand as a necklace is draped over her neck to hang down her bare back. I walk around her and brush my knuckles over the curve of her spine.
“You look so fucking beautiful,” I say, unable to take my eyes off her.
“Thank you,” she says. “I like it. Very much. In fact, I like this day very much.” Even in four-inch heels, she still has to stand on tiptoe to wrap her arms around my neck and kiss me.
“Ready?”
She nods and turns to the women who helped her. “Thank you.”
They smile and one tucks a short lock of Willow’s hair behind her ear. I don’t let myself think about why it’s shorter than the rest as the other woman unlocks the door and we step out.