𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐃 // 𝐇.𝐒.

31!

I look at him after I've finished the ice cream in my bowl. I then set the spoon down and say, "So now that I'm rich... That six grand I know you paid for me, let me pay you back."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

What a damn liar.

"Oh, c'mon, Harry," I begin. "Drop the act."

He only huffs. "It was only a deposit. I'll get it back. Unless Fuck and Fucker don't remove the bloodstain from the hardwood floors properly."

I grimace. I wasn't thinking about her at all and now that I've been reminded that she's dead, I shift in my seat and look elsewhere. I'm not ready to face the reality anytime soon. Fuck and Fucker... Liam and Louis from the tattoo parlor? To brush it off, I don't ask any more questions.

"So don't worry about it. You don't have to pay me back," he finally admits to the truth of paying the deposit for me in the first place.

Wanting to get my mind off of it all, I finally reach for my tote bag to slide it onto my shoulder. I glance at him. "I'm done now."

He begins to slide out of the booth and so do I. Tugging down the ends of my dress, I follow him out of the buffet.

"Can we go shopping?" I suggest when we step onto the carpeted casino walkway. I stay by his side as the people crowd and walk in all directions.

"For what?" He frowns.

"I'm rich now," I remind him with a grin.

"Your check is sitting in the safe in our hotel room," he reminds me right back.

I shrug, crossing my arms as we head for the nearest exit to Las Vegas Boulevard. "I'll charge it to my credit card. I'm rich now."

I spot a dimple forming on his face when I look up. "Now, D'Amore, no one likes a bragging snob."

"Hey," I laugh. "I'm serious. I want to go shopping, but not for me."

He then raises an eyebrow.

"No offense, I don't want you wearing my clothes for however long we're here for," I say and I look down to watch my step when we approach a downward escalator. "Can I style you?"

"Can you—what?"

"Harry Styles, can I style you?" I grin at my play-on-words. On the ride down the escalator, I keep looking up at him. "Let me dress you up."

"Fuck no."

"No?" I huff and look ahead again. "Damn, here I thought you were secured with your masculinity."

He's quiet beside me.

"You paint your nails and wear eyeliner sometimes, but you won't let me dress you up?" I continued.

"I am secured with myself, D'Amore. Don't get that wrong. I'm just not a damn-"

"Doll?" I tease. I laugh a little when we step off the escalator. I can see the bright yellow lights shine through the glass doors. When Harry stays silent again, I say, "You should really stop calling women dolls, by the way."

I think he rolls his eyes at me, but I'm unsure when I step in front of him to slide myself into the slot of a revolving door. I push myself out onto the Las Vegas streets. Leaving the air-conditioned space, we step out into a warm breeze when the sun has already set. I turn back to see Harry behind me.

"It'll be fun, Harry. I'll pick out something you'll like!" I try to convince him.

He's frowning at me.