In Sickness and in Wealth Read Online Free PDF
Author: Gina Robinson
solve so many problems.
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J ustin
I wanted to buy Kay everything, including the world. A good portion of the clothes in it, anyway. I expected her to be thrilled with the adventure of buying a completely new fall wardrobe in one of the fashion capitals of the world. At the most exclusive boutiques. With personal attention and all the privilege of money. If money couldn't buy me love, I was damn well going to use it to bribe some affection from Kay. And turn her into the hottest piece of eye candy in Seattle.
To my surprise, she fought me on the clothes—dresses, skirts, jeans, and blouses in fabrics so soft they were unbelievable. When she eased off and relented even slightly, she tried to sneak flowing, blousy, loose-fitting clothes past me. What the hell? Suddenly she was fiscally conservative? And modest about her body? Where was that partying sorority girl I knew and lusted after in college?
I appreciated her concern for my wallet. She was sensitive about looking like a gold digger. But damn, it made me all too aware that she wasn't my wife, but my employee. And these days, this was mere pocket change to me.
Make me happy. Behave like a real wife and buy the damn clothes, Kay. Run me broke. Give me a chance to bitch with the guys about how much my old lady spends on rags. Give me that fantasy.
And then she saw a "sweet little pair of shoes" in the window of Gucci. Girly squeal! And that was all she wrote. Her mood lightened and the old Kay I knew emerged, laughing and joyous as she bought pair after pair of stilettos, pumps, and platforms. Every brand, from Gucci to Jimmy Choo. She didn't constrain herself to Italian brands. Shoes that gave her a good four to six inches of height and made me think about nothing but sex. Like an addict, she lost all restraint as she moved on to necklaces, gloves, jewelry, and purses.
There was nothing like Italian leather for purses. And nothing like Italian gold for jewelry.
"Only eighteen karat and above for the Italians!" she said with a glint in her eyes. "Look for the 750 mark and we're golden."
I rolled my eyes at her bad pun, happy to see her so happy. Elated to see my plan working. "That was bad, Kay. So bad."
She only kissed me and laughed.
Damiani, Bulgari, and Milan's own Buccellati. We bought it all.
We spent nearly five days in Milan, shopping and meeting with prospective suppliers, budding designers hungry to be showcased on Flashionista and make their name. Kay knew how to handle and flatter them. She modeled their clothes for me.
We ate fabulous Italian food, though Kay tended to pick at hers. And drank no more than a glass of wine a day. "If I eat like the Italians, I'll never fit into my new clothes! How do the Italian women stay so thin?"
At night, she wore the jewelry and the shoes she insisted she had to have now and we fucked like honeymooners. She wanted it hard. Hard. Harder, Jus!
There was no tenderness in it, just passion and abandon. And lust. Plenty of raw lust.
On our last day in Milan, I took her to the big white Gothic Cathedral of Milan, designed by Leonardo da Vinci. The outside was magnificent. Kay insisted on going in. The inside was disappointing compared to the exterior. Dark and damp. There were better, more majestic Italian cathedrals to see.
I caught Kay buying a candle to light. I laughed at her. "What are you praying for? More money? More good fortune?"
She laughed softly and covered my mouth. "Shhh! You can't be irreverent here. We're in a church!" She shook her head. "Obviously, you have no clue about my character."
"I don't?" I stared at her, waiting for her to continue. "Enlighten me? What are you going to pray for? World peace?"
She shook her head. "You are so rotten. Stop with the beauty pageant crap. If you must know, I was going to pray for something more personal."
I waited for her.
"I'm going to light a candle to one of the patron saints of marriage. Living with you, I need all the help I can get." She winked,
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J ustin
I wanted to buy Kay everything, including the world. A good portion of the clothes in it, anyway. I expected her to be thrilled with the adventure of buying a completely new fall wardrobe in one of the fashion capitals of the world. At the most exclusive boutiques. With personal attention and all the privilege of money. If money couldn't buy me love, I was damn well going to use it to bribe some affection from Kay. And turn her into the hottest piece of eye candy in Seattle.
To my surprise, she fought me on the clothes—dresses, skirts, jeans, and blouses in fabrics so soft they were unbelievable. When she eased off and relented even slightly, she tried to sneak flowing, blousy, loose-fitting clothes past me. What the hell? Suddenly she was fiscally conservative? And modest about her body? Where was that partying sorority girl I knew and lusted after in college?
I appreciated her concern for my wallet. She was sensitive about looking like a gold digger. But damn, it made me all too aware that she wasn't my wife, but my employee. And these days, this was mere pocket change to me.
Make me happy. Behave like a real wife and buy the damn clothes, Kay. Run me broke. Give me a chance to bitch with the guys about how much my old lady spends on rags. Give me that fantasy.
And then she saw a "sweet little pair of shoes" in the window of Gucci. Girly squeal! And that was all she wrote. Her mood lightened and the old Kay I knew emerged, laughing and joyous as she bought pair after pair of stilettos, pumps, and platforms. Every brand, from Gucci to Jimmy Choo. She didn't constrain herself to Italian brands. Shoes that gave her a good four to six inches of height and made me think about nothing but sex. Like an addict, she lost all restraint as she moved on to necklaces, gloves, jewelry, and purses.
There was nothing like Italian leather for purses. And nothing like Italian gold for jewelry.
"Only eighteen karat and above for the Italians!" she said with a glint in her eyes. "Look for the 750 mark and we're golden."
I rolled my eyes at her bad pun, happy to see her so happy. Elated to see my plan working. "That was bad, Kay. So bad."
She only kissed me and laughed.
Damiani, Bulgari, and Milan's own Buccellati. We bought it all.
We spent nearly five days in Milan, shopping and meeting with prospective suppliers, budding designers hungry to be showcased on Flashionista and make their name. Kay knew how to handle and flatter them. She modeled their clothes for me.
We ate fabulous Italian food, though Kay tended to pick at hers. And drank no more than a glass of wine a day. "If I eat like the Italians, I'll never fit into my new clothes! How do the Italian women stay so thin?"
At night, she wore the jewelry and the shoes she insisted she had to have now and we fucked like honeymooners. She wanted it hard. Hard. Harder, Jus!
There was no tenderness in it, just passion and abandon. And lust. Plenty of raw lust.
On our last day in Milan, I took her to the big white Gothic Cathedral of Milan, designed by Leonardo da Vinci. The outside was magnificent. Kay insisted on going in. The inside was disappointing compared to the exterior. Dark and damp. There were better, more majestic Italian cathedrals to see.
I caught Kay buying a candle to light. I laughed at her. "What are you praying for? More money? More good fortune?"
She laughed softly and covered my mouth. "Shhh! You can't be irreverent here. We're in a church!" She shook her head. "Obviously, you have no clue about my character."
"I don't?" I stared at her, waiting for her to continue. "Enlighten me? What are you going to pray for? World peace?"
She shook her head. "You are so rotten. Stop with the beauty pageant crap. If you must know, I was going to pray for something more personal."
I waited for her.
"I'm going to light a candle to one of the patron saints of marriage. Living with you, I need all the help I can get." She winked,