Chapter 83
Chapter 83:
“My wife and I need a pair,” Gaston said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He didn’t let go of Jocelyn’s hand. “Matching. Nautilus. Platinum for me, rose gold with diamonds for her.” He glanced at Jocelyn, a flicker of something serious in his eyes. “The Harry Winston you gave me is for us. This is for them. Armor for the world to see p>
The manager’s eyes flicked to Jocelyn, assessing her worth in a microsecond. “Excellent choice, sir. The 5711 and the 7118? We just received a set p>
“Bring them,” Gaston ordered.
Jocelyn tugged on his hand. “Gaston,” she hissed. “This is too much p>
“Hush,” he said, but there was no bite in it. “Let me spoil you. It’s part of the contract, remember? Public displays of affection and affluence p>
The manager returned with a velvet tray. The watches sat there gleaming under perfectly calibrated lights — exquisite, heavy, industrial, yet undeniably elegant.
𝗝𝗼𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗳𝗮𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗻
Gaston picked up the smaller one. The rose gold was warm, the diamonds on the bezel subtle but fiery.
“Give me your hand,” he said.
Jocelyn extended her left arm. Her wrist looked fragile next to his large, tanned hands. He slid the watch over her fingers. The metal was cool against her pulse point.
He focused on the clasp, his head bent. Jocelyn stared at his eyelashes — thick, dark lashes that softened the harsh angles of his face. His fingers brushed the sensitive skin of her inner wrist as he secured the lock.
Her heart rate jumped. Thump-thump.
He must have felt it. His thumb lingered over her pulse a second longer than necessary.
“Perfect fit,” he murmured. He didn’t look at the watch. He looked up, straight into her eyes. The intensity of his gaze made the air in the boutique feel suddenly thin.
He picked up the platinum watch and fastened it onto his own wrist with a quick, practiced movement. Then he placed his hand next to hers on the velvet counter.
The two watches ticked in unison. Metal against metal. His skin against hers. It looked incredibly intimate — like a shackle, but a golden one. A mark of ownership.
“There,” Gaston said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. “Now we look like a set p>
“A very expensive set,” Jocelyn whispered, touching the cool face of the watch. It felt heavy, like armor.
“If anyone asks,” Gaston said with a wink, the playboy mask sliding back into place, “I’m trying to buy your affection because I’m terrible in bed p>
Jocelyn laughed. It was a real sound this time, bubbling up from her chest. “Okay. You spoil me p>
“I intend to,” he said. And for a second, the mask slipped again, revealing that raw, terrifying focus she had seen in the hospital.
They left the store, the bell chiming softly behind them. Across the street, a camera flashed. Paparazzi.
Gaston didn’t shy away. He pulled her closer, his hand sliding up to grip her shoulder — shielding her, claiming her.
In the car, Jocelyn looked out the window as the city blurred past. She touched the watch. It felt like a shield against her mother, against Kieran, against the world. She wasn’t just Jocelyn Wolfe, the victim, anymore. She was Mrs. Collins. And she had the hardware to prove it.