Chapter 19
AVERY
The bodice feels a bit tighter than I remember.
I stand on the raised platform at House of Delaire, surrounded by mirrors and holding my breath as Yuki circles with pins and measuring tape.
The gown's architectural lines catch the afternoon light streaming through the atelier's tall windows, transforming silk and structure into something that looks less like fabric and more like sculpture.
"Exhale for me, please," Yuki says, her voice professionally neutral as she marks something on her tablet. "I need to check the fit across the ribs."
I obey, but even with empty lungs, the bodice presses against me differently than it did the last time. Tighter across the bust. Snugger at the waist. I straighten my spine, trying to create space that isn't there.
It can’t be the pregnancy already? More likely, it’s just the result of Nick's relentless campaign to feed me every few hours like I might wither without constant supervision.
"Too many of my fiancé's home-cooked meals," I say lightly when Yuki pauses, her brow furrowing at whatever measurement she's noted.
She smiles. "That’s a nice problem to have. We'll adjust."
Across the room near the atelier's front windows, my shadow for the day, Kelsey O'Connor, shifts her weight. She's positioned herself where she can watch both the door and me simultaneously, close enough to intervene, far enough to be unobtrusive.
I'd protested when Nick insisted on sending one of Gabe’s team along with me for my dress fitting. But he'd given me that look—the one that says this isn't a negotiation.
In the end, I relented. Easier than arguing with him. And honestly, after the paparazzi issues we’ve had, after their shouted questions about my mother's conviction and their camera flashes that strobed in my face outside this studio, maybe it's not the worst idea.
He'd also insisted that Gabe be briefed on the pregnancy. Kelsey too. I didn’t even try to debate that. If I’m resigned to having a security detail, it only makes sense that they need to know they're protecting more than just me.
Kelsey’s pressed blazer and slacks don't fool anyone.
Neither does her discreet earpiece or the military bearing that announces her as security as clearly as if she'd worn a uniform. Visible below her right sleeve is a state-of-the-art prosthetic, evidence of the combat injury she suffered before retiring from active duty. She wears another prosthesis under her right pant leg, though no one would ever know it from looking at her or seeing her work. She’s impeccably competent and, I have to admit, a comforting presence in general.
"You're looking lovely as ever," Serena says, approaching with a warmth that feels genuine rather than professional. She studies me in the mirror, head tilted, that artistic assessment I've come to recognize. "You’re absolutely glowing in this gown today."
I stifle my smile, since I know the real reason. “Thanks.”
Things have been good lately. It’s been three days since the ultrasound.
The tabloid scandal from more than a week ago feels distant now.
Background noise. Nick’s done everything in his power to remove any stress or drama from our lives, so all that’s left for me to do is prepare for our wedding so we can begin getting ready to welcome our baby in eight months.
"The veil is ready for another fitting," Serena announces. "Nadiyah has been working miracles."
As if summoned, the older woman appears from the back workroom.
She carries the veil like an offering, its cascade of delicate lace catching the light and scattering it into a thousand tiny stars.
The craftsmanship takes my breath away. Intricate pearl micro-beading placed with surgical expertise, the overall effect diaphanous and ethereal.
"It's even more beautiful than the last time I saw it," I say as she approaches. "Nadiyah, your work is exquisite."
She accepts the compliment with a neutral expression and the barest nod. No warmth softens her features. No smile acknowledges the praise.
I've tried for weeks to crack this woman's shell. Compliments about her craft. Questions about her time in Paris and the Gulf, her training, her inspirations. Friendly overtures that all seem to land like stones dropped into deep water, swallowed without ripple or response.
I tell myself it's generational. Cultural, maybe. Or perhaps she simply doesn't like me. Some people don't, and I suppose that's fair enough.
It shouldn't bother me. But it does, a little.
Nadiyah drapes the veil over my hair, her fingers deft and impersonal.
In the mirror, I watch myself transform within the gown, the veil, the afternoon light gilding everything it touches.
I look like a bride. I smooth my hands over the silk and lace and beadwork, marveling at how magical it all looks.
I let myself imagine walking toward Nick in this dress.
The silk whispering against my thighs, the train trailing behind me, and Nick's eyes finding me through the crowd and holding.
My skin warms beneath all this delicate fabric just picturing that moment.
Every terrible thing we've weathered to get here fades against the thought of that walk to Nick.
Of reaching him, and feeling his hand close around mine as we stand together and promise each other forever.
On the other side of the room, Kelsey's hand moves to her earpiece. A brief touch, checking in, ever vigilant. She catches my eye in the mirror and gives me a brief smile, mouthing the word, “Beautiful.”
"He must care for you very much."
I startle at Nadiyah's voice. She so rarely addresses me directly.
"To be so concerned for your safety," she continues, nodding vaguely in Kelsey’s direction, though her attention still on the veil, adjusting its placement. “You are quite a treasure to him.”
I try to catch her gaze in the mirror, but she doesn’t look up. "My fiancé worries too much," I say lightly. "I suppose that’s not a bad thing, though, right?"
She doesn't respond, but her mouth flattens into a half-smile. That small crack in her armor makes me determined to win her over one of these days. Her fingers make one final adjustment to the lace at my temple, and then she steps back, scrutinizing the piece with a frown.
“It’s perfect,” I assure her. “I love it. Thank you, Nadiyah.”
She says nothing, just indicates for me to step down off the platform so she can remove the veil. Once she’s carefully taken it off my head, she walks away with the piece in her arms.
Such a strange woman. But unquestionably talented, and the veil she’s created for me is genuinely stunning.
Yuki continues her work, circling me with quiet efficiency. The fitting is winding down now. She has her notes, Serena is satisfied with the progress, and the late afternoon light has shifted from gold to amber.
"We'll have the adjustments ready for your final fitting next week," Serena says, making a note on her tablet. "You're going to be a stunning bride, Avery."
“All thanks to you.” I smile, but something feels... off.
The studio is warmer than when I arrived.
The afternoon sun through those tall windows, bodies moving through the confined space.
The weight of silk and structure wrapped around my torso.
I've been standing for over an hour. My feet ache in the wedding heels I brought with me to the fitting.
Beautiful, delicate things. I teeter on them now, feeling slightly unsteady.
A faint lightheadedness whispers at the edges of my awareness. Nothing alarming. Just there. Like a hand waving at the periphery of my vision.
I haven't eaten since breakfast. Nick would scold me if he knew.
He's taken meal timing very seriously since the ultrasound, watching me eat with the intensity he usually reserves for hostile takeovers and other difficult negotiations.
But the fitting appointment threw off my routine, and nerves had stolen my appetite this morning.
That's all this is. Low blood sugar. The stifling warmth of the studio. Standing too long.
I’m sure I'll feel better once I'm off my feet.
"Let's get you out of this," Yuki says, already moving to unfasten the row of tiny buttons down my back. "We don't want to keep you standing longer than necessary."
I nod, grateful. The gown is beautiful, but it's also heavy. I'm ready to be in my own clothes again, to sit down and have a cup of cold water.
Yuki supports my elbow as I transition from the platform area to the dressing rooms, my heels adding complexity I don't need. Clara, the junior assistant, appears at my side to help guide the train.
The dressing room is small and private. Louvered door, soft lighting, a cushioned bench and brass hooks for clothes.
Once inside, Serena’s team helps me out of the gown, Yuki working the buttons while Clara manages the skirt.
In minutes, they depart with the dress hanging on its padded hanger, protected and perfect.
I stand alone in my underwear, reaching for my blouse.
That’s when the wave hits.
Not subtle anymore. The lightheadedness surges, a tide pulling me under without warning. The room tilts. My vision blurs at the edges, the soft lighting smearing into something impressionist and wrong.
I grab for the wall. And miss. My shoulder connects with the louvered door and it rattles in its frame, loud in the small space, announcing my failure to anyone listening.
I catch myself—barely. One hand braced against the wall, the other gripping the door frame. My fingernails dig into painted wood.
My heart pounds against my ribs. Cold sweat prickles along my hairline, the back of my neck.
Breathe. Just breathe. Don't faint. Don't be sick. Not here, not now, not in front of everyone.
"Avery?" Kelsey's voice, sharp with concern, right outside the door. "Are you all right?"
I try to answer. My voice comes out thin, reedy, belonging to someone weaker than I want to be. "I'm fine, just—"