Hi again! This is the second chapter of today as I said in the previous chapter. Thank you for the support I really appreciate it!

Tris

There it is.

My fate summed up in ten pages and one dotted line. One year of marriage. No dalliances with other men, public or private. Nothing that looks like an affair. No kisses on the mouth or dinners where I sit a little too close.

For this year, I'm at Tobias' beck and call, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. If he requests my presence, I attend. If he insists I sit in my room, I sit in my room. If he demands I dance for his colleagues—

Well, I'm not actually required to dance. Just to attend, act the part of a loving wife, keep all terms a secret.

Any misstep and I lose the seven-figure payout.

Worse, I lose this new term, the one I insisted on adding last night.

As long as I'm with Tobias, he pays for my father's care. At home. Our apartment in Queens. I wanted to move him into Tobias' place—there's certainly room—but it's too risky. I might break. Confess everything.

This is it.

Three hundred and sixty-five days for a million dollars.

I sign on the dotted line. For a moment, I feel that weight lift off my chest. I taste freedom. I hear the fucking music.

Then a knock on the door calls my attention. Tobias' assistant. Amar.

What the hell?

My lawyer motions for him to enter. He steps inside with a let's get this done look.

"Ms Prior." He offers his hand. "How are you this morning?" He holds up something else. A thermos. "Tori prepared it before I left. It's supposed to stay warm for twelve hours, but I wouldn't bet on it."

"Thank you." It's there, my name on the dotted line, the notarization, the lawyer's signature. I'm officially his. "Have you come all this way to bring me tea?"

"If only, Ms Prior," he says.

"Tris, please."

He nods of course. "If only, Tris. Unfortunately, my plans for the afternoon—knocking off work to put the city's most expensive champagne tea on your fiancé's credit card—have to wait."

I like the way he thinks.

I shake my lawyer's hand with a quick thank you, then I stand and meet Amar at the door.

He smiles as he hands me the mug. "Your fiancé has dinner plans. He needs you to buy a dress."

"What's wrong with this?" I smooth my pencil skirt. It's not fancy, but it looks professional enough. I guess that answers the question.

I look like an assistant. And who shows up to dinner with his secretary? That sends the wrong image. Even for Tobias.

Better for me to look like a trophy wife.

"I believe"—he leans in to whisper—"the idea is to show off your lovely figure."

Oh. Of course.

"Make the other men jealous." He shakes his head how silly. "You are a beautiful girl. I understand the impulse."

I am an object for him to parade. And he can tell me what to wear. So many fun terms to this agreement. It's like Tobias is trying to make earning this million dollars as painful as possible. "Yes."

"Men." He shrugs what can you do? "I have an appointment at a store you'll love. Unless you'd rather find something on your own." Despite his friendly tone, the implication is clear. I should take his help. I should allow him to dress me correctly. So Tobias is pleased.

I suppose I should expect as much. He's specific about his home, his office, his suits, his car. Why not his wife to be?

Is moderation in Tobias' vocabulary? Subtlety? Temperance?

This is New York City. It's possible to find gorgeous, one of a kind clothes in a hundred different spots, at every price point imaginable.

There are knock offs in markets, gorgeous vintage numbers in the village, trendy dresses in Brooklyn.

And here, at this exclusive boutique in SoHo, expensive designer gowns with four-figure price tags.

Do people really pay this much for a dress they'll wear, what, three times? It's ridiculous. My frugal nature screams look online, there are better deals. That dress on display is gorgeous—deep plum with a sweetheart neckline and a mermaid skirt—but it's not worth—

Shit, is that really the price? My head gets light. My knees knock together.

"Tris" Amar catches me before I can full-on faint. "Don't tell me Tori prepared the tea incorrectly."

I can't help but laugh. He's good at his job. Assuming part of his job is keeping the wife in line. "No, it was perfect. But hot. I'm a little flushed."

"Shall I find you water?" he offers.

I nod sure.

"Look around. The manager is in the back. She'll be meeting us soon. If you need assistance."

If I need assistance. Or when I pick out something that isn't to Tobias' liking.

It's hard to imagine Tobias actually caring about what dress I wear. Sure, his intentions are still mysterious and vague, but since when does he care about clothes?

I do a quick walk around the shop. It's a normal size for the city. Small, but still open and airy. A podium in the middle of the room. Neat racks along the wall. Gowns sorted by design.

There aren't enough dresses to sort by colour or style or size. No one wants something someone else is wearing. That's the ultimate embarrassment.

What is it like to have problems so trivial?

I shouldn't be dismissive, I know. I'm no longer a scrappy underdog. I'm already part of the elite. I shouldn't judge.

But it's hard to feel generous with these price tags surrounding me.

This dress is gorgeous—a deep rose and black floral print chiffon—and it could cover two months of expenses. Rent, food, water, electricity.

Two months of necessities or a gown for one evening.

But then I'm no longer a struggling assistant. I'm a rich man's fiancée. A year from now, I'm a millionaire.

Seven figures don't go as far as it used to, especially in a city this expensive, but it means never worrying about rent again.

Never fixing another peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner because I can't afford groceries.

Never camping out in front of a discount designer outlet on Black Friday because my work clothes are worn thin.

I never have to want again.

Not for material goods.

It should make me happy, relaxed, something, but it feels too unfamiliar. My whole life, I've been taught to be smart, savvy, frugal.

How can I spend five thousand dollars on a dress? Even if it is Tobias' money?

I scan the racks for something cheaper. There. A coral with a distinct Marilyn Monroe vibe. Like the dress, she wore in How to Marry a Millionaire. It's fitting. And the movie has a message I need.

What's wrong with a woman wanting a rich husband? Why isn't that okay if it's okay for a man to want a beautiful wife?

It's not my style, or my colour, or what flatters my figure. And I'm certainly lacking the late Ms Monroe's effervescent charm. But I like the idea of channelling her effortless smile and her adorable giggle.

Not me at all. But someone who can laugh and bat her eyes and stay above it all. That's what I want. The only thing, besides Dad being okay, that I want. Some way to survive this year without letting it affect me.

I check the sizes. Grab my usual, one smaller, one larger. Look for the dressing room. Find a smiling woman in a designer suit.

"You must be Miss Prior," she emphasizes the Miss like it's oh so important I'm not yet married to Tobias. "I'm Christina. I understand you need help finding a gown for tonight."

"I'm going to try this one."

Her brow furrows it's not right then her expression shifts to the usual assistant smile. "You should. But will you allow me to pick a few things that better suit your look?"

"My look?"

"You're a winter darling. This pink isn't the worst. It's saturated enough. But it's awfully light. And warm. I see you more like a dark winter. I bet you look gorgeous in scarlet."

I never understood the season thing but maybe there's something to the whole thing. Or maybe Tobias wants me in something demure and subservient.

Okay, a dress can't really be subservient. But the whole I'm going to have final say over what you wear thing?

That's weird. Even for him. He doesn't care about clothes. His mother picked his out when he was a kid. And now?

I'd bet good money he has someone craft his entire wardrobe. I bet he has someone in charge of laundry, socks, goddamn hairstyles.

If I was a less stubborn woman, I'd admit he always looks put together and sexy as hell. I'd admit that whoever it is who curates his appearance is a genius.

But I'm not a less stubborn woman. And, besides, I'm not willing to give up this way of expressing myself. We've never had much money for clothes, but I always found a way to show a little flair.

"I'm trying this one," I say.

"Of course." She doesn't lead me to a dressing room. She motions to the podium in the centre of the room. "Do you need a longline bra? That dress has a fitted bodice. You don't need one. But some women prefer it."

I'm going to change right here, in the middle of the room, on an actual podium.

"Don't worry, Mr Oza is going to stay in the office until I call him in." She holds her hand over her mouth and stage whispers. "When I first met him, I assumed he preferred men. Since most men who come in here willingly do."

Is running an errand for Tobias really coming here willingly? I'm not so sure. But I'm not going to correct her.

Her voice raises to a tone that can only mean what I'm about to tell you is so scandalous you have to prepare yourself. "It turns out he prefers anyone." She motions only in New York.

I'm trying on this dress. In front of her. I can do that.

She wheels over a rack. Takes the three gowns from my hands. Slides one off the hanger. "Whenever you're ready, dear." She motions to the podium. Then to a chair where I can set my clothes.

Okay, I suppose there's no waiting. I step out of my shoes. Unbutton my blouse. Then the skirt. The bra.

My underwear is cheap cotton in a practical black. Not a fit for the luxurious atmosphere. But I'm sure Tobias will change that soon.

I hate to give him credit, but, God, the thought of silk and lace. Of his hands on my panties. His fingers running over my sex, pressing the smooth fabric—

Shit. Not the time. Even if I'm buzzing with desire. Again.

I try to focus as Christina helps me into the dress. It's a bit of a procedure, between the boned bodice and the fitted skirt.

She zips. Adjusts the top. Turns me to the three-panel mirror. "What do you think, darling?" She motions one moment. Moves to a rack of shoes. "What size?"

"Seven and a half."

She nods sure and picks up a pair of silver sandals with red soles. Louboutins. Those run in the hundreds of dollars. Sometimes closer to a thousand. "These might not be ideal for the outfit, but they'll give us an idea of the drape."

"Sure."

"For the next one." She sets them in front of me. Stands next to me. Even though she's on the ground and I'm on the podium, she's nearly at my height. She's taller than I am and she's wearing heels. "What do you think?"

"It's fun."

"Yes, it is fun."

I stare at my reflection. The dress is beautiful. And my boobs actually look like they exist. The pink fabric hugs them just so. Makes my figure look hourglass.

But I look more like I'm going to prom. An '80s prom. Or a Halloween party. It's just not me.

"Maybe something darker," she suggests. "This would be lovely." She pulls a black gown from the rack. It's a simple sheath with a halter top and a smooth skirt. "Or something more daring. I have just the thing." Her smile widens. Her face beams with excitement.

She moves straight to a rack on the right. Pulls off a dress in a deep shade of red. It's cut low. Very low. And the skirt has a high slit.

It screams trophy wife. Or maybe I'm going to tear this thing off and fuck you senseless.

My head skips over the earlier implication. Goes right to Tobias dirty promise.

I'm not going to touch you until you're on your knees, begging.

I can see his eyes lighting up. I can feel his hands running over the low neckline. I can feel his hard-on against my ass as he pulls me close.

"Miss Prior," Christina asks. "Which would you like to try first?"

"The black." I'm not sleeping with Tobias. I'm not. It's going to make things so much more complicated. And they're complicated enough.

Christina helps me out of the pink dress. Then into the designer shoes. The black dress. Onto the podium.

My reflection takes my breath away. Sure, I don't have the makeup and hair to match the majesty of the dress, but I still look like royalty. Elegant, beautiful, rich.

"Gorgeous." She claps her hands together. "Maybe with an updo." She steps onto the podium. Stands behind me. Pulls my hair into a makeshift bun. "It's short, but we can work with that."

"We?" I ask.

"Tobias provided a team. You'll go to lunch after this. Then hair and makeup while we steam and press the dress. Then dinner with your fiancé. It's a big event. A business event. A few colleagues will be there." She adjusts the straps. "Shall we try the red dress or are you set with this one?"

"Sure. Let's try it." I let her help me out of this dress and into that one.

Fuck. My eyes go to my chest immediately. Then my legs. I look like a Bond girl, but with the luxe fabric and my, ahem, less than ample chest, it looks more classy than trashy.

I should channel Ms Monroe. Stay above it all. Giggle and bat my hand oh you.

I shouldn't let him affect me.

But that isn't what I want.

I want to drive Tobias insane. As insane as he's already driving me.

This dress will do that.

"This one." I nod. "It's perfect."

She chuckles. "I'm sure Mr Eaton will enjoy it as well." She says it knowingly like she's sure the dress will be on the limo floor the second we're alone.

And, well—

She's partly right.

I'm going to put that image in his head.

I'm going to drive him wild.

I'm going to make him beg me.