When I came downstairs, Roman was standing beside the car, hands in his pockets, waiting patiently.
"Sienna," he said, and opened the door.
"Shopping?" I said.
"Yes."
I got in, he closed the door, then headed to the driver’s seat.
We pulled out of the parking lot without another word.
The boutique he took me to was quiet and sophisticated, with clothing arranged carefully along the walls and across a few small display tables.
Roman stood near the entrance with his eyes on his phone. I moved through the space in my tight, red dress, which on a Friday night had been perfect, and on a Saturday morning in a boutique felt like a very clear statement about the kind of night I'd had.
I found dark jeans and a soft cream top and carried them to the register. The woman at the counter looke
