Chapter 117: Shopping Extravaganza

AYAH ISABEL FERNANDO POV

Our wedding is fast approaching created by our children; Marco Fernando Senior siblings from me and Danielle Gustilo. As much as possible I have to keep it in a low-profile event. But, my Billionaire husband wanted to be a well-known marriage of all time. Even my personal things, I want to be discreet. But, Marco accompanied me to the first-class shopping mall.

My eyes are immediately blessed with masses of drool-worthy handbags, but I'm not given the opportunity to look. He walks with purpose and meaning as he drags me along behind him and when we get in the elevator, he presses the button for the first floor. I scan the store guide.

'Hey, I want the fourth floor.' I would like to avoid the international collections of the first floor. They scream expensive, but he completely ignores me. "Marc?" I look at him and find his face is completely impassive as he keeps a firm grip on my hand. The elevator door opens and I'm pulled out behind him.

'This way.' he says, pulling me through the incredible displays of designer clothes and couture gowns. I'm glad he's bypassing those. beautiful wedding gowns!

Oh no!

My heart sinks when I spot the sign for Personal Shopping. 'No, Marc, no no no,' I try to stop him, but he presses forward, pulling me towards the entrance of the department. 'Marc, please.' I plead, but again, he completely ignores me.

I want to kick him in the shins. I hate fuss and attention in stores. They kiss your arse and tell you everything looks fabulous and the whole thing makes you feel like you have to buy something. The pressure will be immense, and I dare not even think about the cost.

'I have an appointment with Zenaida.' he advises the smart, suited, and booted chap who greets us. Why did he ask me where we were heading if he already knew? I want to wring his neck.

'Mr Fernando?' The assistant asks.

'Yes.' Marco says, still refusing to look at me, even though he knows damn well I'm scowling heavily at him and I'm mighty uncomfortable with this.

'Please, this way. Can I get you any drinks? Champagne, perhaps?' he asks politely.

Marco looks at me, and I shake my head. I want to cut and run straight to Pizza Hut, where I can eat in peace with a can of coke and with minimum fuss.

'No, thank you.' Marco replies. The young man leads us into a luxurious private area and Marco pulls me over to a big, leather sofa. I sit down next to him and pull my hand out of his. This is quite possibly my worst nightmare.

'What's up?' he asks as he makes a grab for my hand again. "You have to be with yourself my wife, your husband is a Billionaire."

I look at him accusingly. 'Why did you ask me where I wanted to go if you'd already made an appointment?'

He shrugs. 'I don't understand why you would want to trail around a dozen stores when you can have everything brought to you here.'

He really doesn't understand? He's a man. What did I expect? 'Is this how you shop?' I ask. He must have more money than sense. I'm getting sweatier by the second.

'Yes, and I pay for the privilege so just humour me, will you?' he says shortly.

I look at him, completely stunned, Oh, this is you, I didn't know, but before I have a chance to retaliate, a young colored-blonde haired girl appears and beams at Marco. She's pretty and kitted out in a Ralph Lauren cream suit.

'Marco Fernando!' she sings at him. 'How are you? He gets up and she kisses him continental style. I assume they are familiar with their exchange.

'Zenaida. I'm good. You?' He smiles at her. It's one of them knock-out smiles – the one that reduces women to a mass of hormones at his feet.

'Great, this must be your wife Ayah Isabel. It's a pleasure to meet you.' She puts her hand out to me, and I stand to take it, offering a small smile. She's friendly enough, but I'm still not comfortable here. She sits in the chair opposite us. 'So, Ayah, Marco tells me we're looking for something special for an important party or a wedding.' she says excitedly. Something special sounds like it's going to have a special price tag too.

'Something very special.' Marco reiterates as he pulls me back down to the couch. I suddenly feel like I'm overheating, and I'm all claustrophobic in this massive room.

'Okay, what's your style, Ayah Isabel? Give me an idea of what you like.' She places her hands in her lap and looks at me expectedly.

I don't know what my style is. If I like something and I feel good about it, I buy it. I can't categorize my style. 'I don't have a style really.' I shrug, and her eyes light up. That must have been a good answer.

'Lots of dresses, and everything' Marco interrupts. 'She likes dresses.'

'You like dresses.' I mutter, earning myself a nudge of his knee.

She smiles, revealing a perfect set of Hollywood, too-white teeth. 'You're about a ten, yes?'

'Yes.' I confirm.

'Not too short.' Marco spits quickly.

I look at him with my mouth agape. This is what I knew would happen. I'm not generally a short-dress person, but he's turning me into one with his caveman attitude.

Zenaida laughs. 'Marco, she has fantastic legs. It would be a shame to waste them. What shoe size are you, Ayah?'

I like her. 'I'm a five.'

'Great, let's go.' She stands, and I join her. Marco gets up too.

'I can't believe you've done this to me.' I whine as he dips and kisses me on the cheek. I like Zenaida, but I would much prefer to be left to my own devices.

He sighs. 'Mrs. Fernando, let me have my fun,' He leans in and crowds me. 'I get my own little fashion show with my favourite lady modeling.' He pouts.

'Who gets to pick the dress, Marco?'

He nuzzles my nose. 'You do. I'm just observing. I promise. Go on, knock yourself out.' He sits back down on the sofa and starts making a call. I'm relieved. I don't think I could bear him following us around the store, trampling everything I give a second look at.

Zenaida leads me through the department. 'So, you're being spoiled today?' she asks on a friendly smile. She is lovely, but those teeth are really very white.

'I am, under duress.' I return her smile.

'You don't want to be spoiled?' she laughs, picking up a long, green gown and presenting it to me. I give a little apologetic shake of my head. She mirrors it. 'No, I agree. What about this one?' She places a hand on a lovely Grecian-style dress.

'That's lovely.' I admit, but it also looks very expensive.

'It is. We'll try it. What about this?'

'Wow!' I blurt at the cream, tight number with a thigh-high slash up the leg. 'Marco can be a bit uptight with overexposure.' I laugh as I hold the split open. You would have to shave everything off!

'He can?' She looks at me curiously. If she says... 'He's so laidback.' she adds.

No, he's not!

I release the dress and move on to a red satin one. 'Not with me,' I mutter. 'I like this one.'

Zenaida replaces her curious stare with a smile. 'Good choice. And this one?' She walks across the way and strokes a stunning cream, strapless affair. Is strapless allowed?

'It's lovely.' I agree. I can try it. I'm sure he will make it known if it's a no-go. My attention is seized across the department, and I'm wandering over before I realize my legs are moving.

I run my finger lightly down the front of the black, delicate lace gown. It's beautiful.

'You absolutely must try that one.' Zenaida says, joining me in front of the gown. She takes it down and turns it gently. It's attached to a security wire which can only mean one thing. 'Isn't it wonderful?' she asks dreamily.

Oh, it is. It is also in the realms of ridiculously expensive if the store feels the need to wire it up. There is also no price on the tag – another tell-tale sign that I'll pass out at the price. I run my eyes down the back of the fitted dress that splays mid-thigh to pool the floor slightly. The design is simple, with a plunged V-shaped back, dainty capped sleeves that fall slightly off the shoulder, and a flattering deep neckline. It absolutely screams couture.

'Marco loves me in lace.' I muse quietly. He also loves me in black.

'Then we should definitely try,' Zenaida hangs it back up. 'How long have you been away with Marco?' she asks casually.

The question instantly puts me on guard. What do I say? The truth is, I've been seeing him ever since we married. A sudden nasty thought invades my mushy brain. 'Long,' I try and sound as casual as Zenaida when I follow it up with, 'Does he bring all of the women he dates here?'

She actually starts laughing. I don't know if that's a good thing. 'God, no! He would not do that."

It's definitely a bad thing.

She must catch my expression because she pales a little. 'Ayah, I'm sorry. That came out all wrong.' She shifts uncomfortably on her heels. 'What I meant to say was if he brought all of the women he had slept...' She halts and pales further. I feel slightly sick. 'Shit!' she exclaims.

'Zenaida, don't worry about it,' I turn my attention to another dress. Who am I kidding? I know he put himself about.

'Ayah Isabel, he's never actually dated, anyone. As far as I know, anyway. He's quite a catch because he's a Billionaire.

'Yeah,' I laugh lightly. I need to get away from this line of conversation. That thought –the one of Marco with another woman – pops into my head again. Zenaida clearly knows her business. 'Where to next?' I plaster on a non-jealous, unaffected face if there is such a thing. I'm bubbling on the inside and bristling on the out. Why did he have to be such a slut?

'Shoes!' Zenaida sings, leading me off towards the Egyptian elevators.

An hour later, we return to the plush personal shopping area with a young guy pulling a rail of dresses and shoes. Marco is still sitting on the sofa with his phone to his ear.

He smiles brightly and disconnects the call. 'Have fun?' he asks as he gets up and smoothers my face with his lips. 'I missed you.'

'I've been gone an hour.' I laugh and grip his shoulders as he pushes me back.

'Too long.' he grumbles. 'What have you got?' He brings me back up to vertical.

'Too much to choose from.' I say. I managed to convince Zenaida to abandon the lace gown. In fact, I avoided anything that was attached to a security wire.

'Go try.' He slaps my bum, and I turn to follow Zenaida and the rail into a large fitting room. Zenaida's admiring face doesn't escape my notice.

For the next few hours, I'm trussed into a dress after dress. I count twenty dresses, all of which are stunning and all of which Marco approves.

Zenaida disappears for a while, leaving me to sit and wonder which bloody dress I'm going to choose. They are all too nice. My head jumps up when she walks back in with another rail of dresses, but these ones are more day dresses and evening dresses, not gowns. I look at her, completely confused.

She shrugs. 'I'm under strict orders to make you try lots of dresses, so I got these,' she says as she goes to the back of the rail. She comes back to the front holding the lace gown. 'And this too.'

'What?' I blurt, pushing myself to my feet. I'm in my underwear and gaping like a goldfish.

'Well,' She starts towards me, 'He didn't say to try this gown in particular, but he did say you must have what you want.' She smiles brightly. 'And I know you really want this one.'

'Zenaida, I can't,' I stutter, trying to convince my brain that the dress is hideous – disgusting. Damn right awful. It's not bloody working.

'If it's the price that's bothering you, then don't worry. It's within the budget.' She hangs the dress on the wall hook.

'There's a budget? What's the budget?' I ask hesitantly.

She turns and grins. 'The budget is; there is no budget.'

I groan and collapse back into the chair. 'Can I ask how much it is?'

"No limit, I mean open, no limit budget."

XXX