Aiden finished his meal, but it may as well have been air on a plate.
It wasn't about being full—he could've easily downed dessert, coffee, and maybe another steak if his nerves weren't tying knots in his stomach. Tomorrow's dinner with Valeria's parents was looming like a court summons, and the weight of it had stomped all over his appetite.
Valeria, by contrast, looked like she belonged in a honeymoon ad. Arm looped through his, strolling beside him through the glowing, upscale corridors of Lexington Avenue's luxury mall, heels clicking like punctuation to her confidence.
He wasn't sure if he was in a romantic comedy or a high-stakes hostage situation.
Before he could make sense of how surreal it all was, she tugged him gently into a men's boutique. Not just any boutique—the kind with minimalist decor, glass display cases, and suits so smooth they practically whispered tax brackets.
"Welcome!" chimed a sharply dressed saleswoman. Her polished tone dipped ever so slightly when she noticed Valeria's mask, though the sleek outfit, poise, and purse probably tipped her off—this wasn't just another customer.
Valeria offered a polite nod and made a beeline for the racks of suits.
She held up a crisp white blazer and sized it against Aiden's frame like she was measuring for a red carpet. "Try this. And get me a navy shirt to go with it," she said to the saleswoman, who'd already sprung into motion like she was auditioning for The Devil Wears Prada.
Aiden looked down at the fabric in his arms with an expression that belonged at a funeral.
"A white blazer? Really? I'm gonna look like I do magic tricks for tips."
"You'll look confident and impossible to ignore," Valeria said, eyes scanning for matching ties. "Which is exactly what I need you to be."
Moments later, the saleswoman returned with the requested shirt, folded like origami. Aiden sighed and vanished into the fitting room.
As the door clicked shut, the saleswoman turned toward Valeria, dropping her voice. "You've got excellent taste. That jacket's from our new line—it'll look amazing on your boyfriend."
"He's not my boyfriend," Valeria said without missing a beat. Her eyes stayed on a nearby display of cufflinks.
"Oh… fiancé then?"
Valeria turned slightly. "Husband."
The woman's eyes widened, and she let out a quiet, startled "Oh" like she'd just remembered to breathe.
Then the door opened.
Aiden stepped out, visibly uncomfortable but undeniably sharp. The white suit draped perfectly across his shoulders, the blue shirt adding just enough contrast to turn heads. He looked… expensive. Which was ironic, considering he'd probably walked in here with thirty bucks in his wallet.
He shifted awkwardly. "How do I look?"
Valeria tilted her head and gave a small, satisfied nod. "Better than I expected. You clean up nicely."
He narrowed his eyes. "So before this, I was a lost cause?"
She smirked, stepping closer to smooth the fabric near his collar. "You were fine. Now you look like someone I'd be proud to introduce to my parents."
He gave her a suspicious look. "So that's what this is about. You're dressing me up like a doll."
He retaliated with a light pinch to her cheek. She yelped, swatted his hand away, and let out a surprised laugh.
The saleswoman busied herself with a rack of scarves, very clearly trying to pretend she wasn't witnessing the plot of a Hallmark movie.
"I still think black suits me better," Aiden said, gesturing toward a more classic option nearby.
Valeria turned to look and, in the process, her mask slipped just low enough to reveal her full face.
Recognition dawned like a spotlight on the saleswoman's face.
That face.
Valeria Quinn. The actress. The one who had practically set the internet on fire with her surprise wedding announcement. And this guy? The groom?
He looked even better in person.
Valeria casually pulled the mask back up and tossed the black suit into Aiden's arms. "Fine. Try that one too."
While he disappeared again, she moved through the boutique with surgical focus—selecting belts, shirts, socks, shoes, and other essentials like she was prepping him for a magazine cover. The saleswoman could barely keep up.
It wasn't just style. It was care. Purpose. Precision. She was dressing her husband—presenting him to the world, maybe even to herself.
Aiden reemerged in the black suit, more at ease. It was clearly his comfort zone—simple, classic, clean.
"Well?" he asked.
Valeria circled him, her heels tapping lightly on the marble floor.
"You look good," she said.
"Just good?"
She tilted her head. "You look like a real estate agent."
His face fell. "Fantastic. Next stop: open house in Jersey."
"I'm just saying," she teased, "you had more spark in the white."
"I'm not trying to sparkle. I'm trying to convince your father I won't bankrupt his daughter."
Valeria rolled her eyes but didn't argue.
For the next hour, he was a human hanger. She had him try slate blue, charcoal gray, even a subtle pinstripe that made him look like he was running for Congress. Every outfit was photographed, analyzed, and discussed like a political campaign.
Eventually, they landed on a charcoal-gray suit layered over a black merino sweater. Quiet confidence. Clean lines. Adult.
It felt right.
Aiden changed back into his regular clothes, and as he stepped out of the fitting room, he heard it:
"That'll be $9,600," the saleswoman said with a chirpy tone.
His body went cold.
"Excuse me?" he asked.
He turned to double-check the tags, hoping he'd misheard:
Suit: $3,500Sweater: $1,200Shirt: $600Shoes: $2,800Accessories: $1,500+
His stomach dropped.
That was everything. His emergency fund, his freelance buffer, even the money he'd secretly stashed away for a real engagement ring someday—gone in one swipe.
Gloria's voice echoed in his head—taunting, cold:
You think you can give her a future? You can't even afford her shoelaces.
And for a second, he believed it.
Just as he opened his mouth to protest, Valeria was already handing over her platinum card like it was nothing more than a coffee receipt.
He stepped forward too late.
Beep. Transaction complete.
The saleswoman handed over the receipt with a glowing smile. Valeria accepted it with zero hesitation, slipping her card back into her wallet like this was routine.
Aiden stared at the paper like it had slapped him.
"That's a loan," he muttered. "I'll pay you back. Every cent."
Valeria gave him a look. "It's a gift."
"I don't accept gifts that could double as a down payment."
"You're helping me tomorrow. Think of it as your wardrobe budget."
"It's not a costume."
Her expression softened slightly. "Fair point. So what's your plan, then? Pay me back in Monopoly money?"
He pulled in a breath. "Base salary's about three grand a month. With freelance bonuses, I average around four. I'll send you $1,500 each month—should clear the debt in six."
She blinked. "You've already thought it through?"
He nodded. "Living here means no rent. Fewer expenses. It's doable."
Valeria stared at him, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes.
"You're really serious about this."
"I said it was a loan."
She didn't argue.
But as they walked out of the boutique, high-end shopping bags in hand, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
She glanced sideways at him.
What if I made him owe me just a little more?
Just to see how far he'd go.