Chapter 32
AVERY
"Step in, Avery. Arms through first."
It's the day after the gala and I'm having my final dress fitting at House of Delaire before I walk down the aisle and marry Nick—for the second time—on Saturday. I can barely keep the smile off my face as Serena guides the gown up over my hips, the ivory silk whispering against my skin.
"Deep breath," Serena says from behind me. "And... hold."
The closure draws snug at my waist. Serena's fingers test the fit, then she comes around in front of me and tilts her head. "We're a bit tighter here than last time." Her voice carries no judgment, just steady assurance. "How does it feel to you, Avery? Are you comfortable?"
I test the fit by exhaling, imagining myself wearing it on Saturday, then sitting in this work of art for several hours after the wedding. "Do we have enough time to let it out again, just a little?"
"Of course," Serena says.
As she continues checking the dress's fit and making notes with her team, I smooth my hands over the fitted bodice, pausing where my waist feels a bit fuller, if not visibly discernible to anyone else.
The baby is only the size of a blueberry by now, but it won't be long before my pregnancy begins to show.
Between that and Nick's constant cooking, I may need to invest in a closet full of yoga pants and stretchy sweaters.
Spending time in the kitchen is its own kind of therapy for him, always has been. It's how he works through the things that bother him, the things he's not quite ready to confront or talk about—like the bombshell from last night's gala.
We're both reeling from the revelation that his longtime business rival, Sebastian Roth, is his cousin. And that the grandmother who disowned his mother is still alive.
He'd refused to talk about it after we got home from the event, deflecting my questions with long, unhurried kisses and hours of lovemaking that left me boneless and sound asleep in his arms. I wanted him to tell me what he was thinking, how he was feeling about everything he learned last night, but I know Nick.
He'll come to me when he's ready. Pushing will only make him pull further away.
I drag myself back to the activity surrounding me, watching Serena's deft fingers working the closure of my gown. "I guess I'd better lay off the pasta this week if I want to fit into this dress on Saturday."
Her laugh is low and real. "Do what makes you happy.
Most of my brides are living on anxiety and espresso by this point.
" She finishes the closure, her touch gentle but efficient.
"This is exactly why we schedule a final fitting.
We'll let out this seam just a bit. You won't feel the difference, but you'll have room to breathe. And eat cake."
She steps back, studying me with the attention of an artist assessing her work. I've come to recognize that look over these months, the way her gaze moves methodically, assessing fit and fall and the way light catches the fabric. She sees what most people miss. It's why I like her.
"Whatever you're doing. It's working," she says, her usual composure giving way to a genuine smile. "You're absolutely radiant, Avery."
Radiant. The word settles into me. If she only knew what's making me glow.
Across the room, Nadiyah sits at her worktable, bent over the veil.
Her hands move with precise rhythm, needle rising, thread pulling taut, each seed pearl placed on the veil she's creating with deliberate care.
She hasn't looked up since I arrived. Someone who disappears into her work the way I disappear into a canvas when the painting finally starts to speak.
"Now." Serena makes a small note on her tablet and hands it to Clara, who hovers nearby with her hands clasped, ready for the next task. "You mentioned wanting to try a special necklace with the gown?"
I nod. "Please. I want to see how it looks with the neckline."
Clara retrieves the red velvet box from my bag and carefully brings it to me. When she lifts the lid, the gasp that escapes her fills the quiet room.
"Oh my." She catches herself, professional training warring with genuine awe. "This is extraordinary."
"Stunning," Serena agrees. The pearl and diamond infinity necklace catches the light as she lifts it from its bed of velvet. Her fingers are cool at my nape as she works the delicate clasp. The pearls settle against my collarbone, familiar now, weighted with everything they mean.
"The symbol for eternity." Yuki has paused her work at the pressing station to come closer too. "An elegant choice for a wedding. Not to mention, wildly romantic."
"Yes, it is." My fingers find the infinity symbol, brushing the diamonds briefly. A private moment inside a public one. The deck of the Icarus at sunset. Nick in his linen pants and white shirt, his dark hair riffling in the salty breeze. Marry me right now. "Nick had it custom-made for me."
Serena nods. "He has remarkable taste."
Even Nadiyah has looked up from her work now, drawn by the commotion. Her dark eyes move from the pearls at my throat to my face, and she offers her typical reserved smile, present but contained, like someone watching through glass.
"Yes, very nice," she says, then she returns to the veil, her needle resuming its steady rhythm.
Some people aren't effusive. I've learned that about her over these months of fittings. The careful distance, the economy of expression. I've convinced myself it doesn't mean anything except that she's different from the others. Some artists live in their heads.
"It's perfect with the gown," Serena says as she guides me toward the platform where the three-way mirrors wait. "Let's see the full effect."
The reflection that greets me steals my breath.
The woman in the mirror is luminous. The fabric flows over her every curve, lustrous and creamy. The pearls and diamonds gleam at her throat. Her eyes shine with misting tears of pure joy.
How has this become my life?
The adjustments continue in a comfortable rhythm.
Yuki pins a minute alteration at the hem, her movements quick and certain.
Sofia examines the beadwork along the bodice, murmuring something about a loose bit of lace appliqué she'll secure.
Serena orchestrates with quiet authority, keeping everything moving while the room fills with easy conversation.
"Have you decided on honeymoon plans yet?" Clara asks, smoothing fabric at my shoulder. "Or is that still a surprise?"
"We're going sailing in the Mediterranean. That's all I know. Nick's planning everything."
Sofia sighs dreamily. "That's so romantic."
Clara nods. "I know, right?"
I smile into the mirror at the two younger women. "He does like to be in control." The understatement nearly makes me laugh.
"Speaking of Nick's plans," Serena says, pinning something at my waist, "I was glad we could reschedule after last week. Did you have a nice trip, wherever you went?"
"We went to Key Largo." The memory unfolds, days of salt air and bare feet and the sun warm on our skin. Tender vows and simple gold bands. "And it was a perfect trip. Turns out, it was exactly what I needed."
Serena glances up at me, her expression soft. "A man who knows what a woman needs and delivers before she has to ask? That's a man you hold on to."
I smile at the wink she gives me. "I don't intend to ever let go of Nick. He's mine forever."
Across the room, Nadiyah's hands have stopped moving. The needle hovers mid-stitch on the veil, suspended above the delicate lace, and I catch the moment she brings her finger to her mouth—a bead of blood welling where she's pricked herself.
Without acknowledging the little injury, she reaches for a tissue, dabbing at her fingertip. Then she resumes her work as if nothing happened.
I turn the moment over in my mind before letting it go. A distracted pause. A pricked finger. Nothing more than that. Maybe she's lonely. She doesn't wear a ring. Never speaks of her personal life.
Maybe the talk of honeymoons and enduring love stirred something inside her. Old memories, perhaps? Past loves? I can't be sure, and she doesn't seem the type to share anything about her private life.
But the conversation has moved on, and so do I.
"One final look," Serena says, stepping back to survey me in the mirror. "And then we'll get you out of this so you can breathe again."
I nod, taking another moment to admire the artistry of her and her team. Then my phone rings from somewhere across the room. "That's mine," I say, unable to move for fear of risking the gown. "I left my phone with my bag over there."
"I'll get it." Sofia crosses to retrieve it, bringing it to me with a small smile.
I glance down and find Lita's name on the screen. "I should take this, sorry."
Serena nods, and I answer before the call goes to voicemail. "Hey, Lita. What's up?"
"Quick question." Her voice sounds harried. "Remember those art supplies you picked up last week?"
"Yes."
"Did they ever make it to the rec center? Because tomorrow's class is going to be interesting if we're working with invisible sketchbooks."
My stomach drops. "Oh, God."
The supplies. Dozens of quality sketchbooks and drawing pencils I picked up from Blick in SoHo—materials intended to make kids feel like real artists with real artist tools.
I put them in my trunk after the shop, planning to drop them off on the way home.
And then Nick surprised me with Key Largo, and my pregnancy brain switched to thinking about sunsets and white sand.
"They're still in my car." I wince. "I'm so sorry, Lita. I completely forgot."
"No worries. You're getting married in a few days. Honestly, I'm amazed you remember to put on your pants." She pauses, deadpan. "You didn't forget your pants today, did you?"
I laugh. "I'll bring the supplies to the center first thing tomorrow morning."
"You sure? I can meet you somewhere and grab them for you. I'm only a subway ride away."
"No, it's fine. There's too much for you to carry. I'll run them over to Chelsea first thing. I promise."
"You're a goddess. See you tomorrow."
The call ends, and a knot tightens behind my ribs. The art program matters to me. Those kids matter to me. But this is fixable. I'll take care of it tomorrow morning, before anything else on my list.
Serena and Clara help me out of the gown, carefully extricating me from the silk and lace. Sofia gingerly unfastens my necklace and places it back into the box Yuki holds. Then I duck into the fitting room and slip back into my cashmere sweater and tailored wool slacks.
When I emerge, Serena is waiting near her tablet. "I want to walk you through Saturday so there are no surprises."
I listen as she outlines the wedding day plan. The atelier team will arrive at the penthouse at seven. She'll be there personally, along with Yuki and Clara. I'll be dressed and ready by nine-thirty, with time for photographs before the ceremony.
"I'd like to be there as well."
Nadiyah's quiet voice cuts across the room. She's risen from her worktable, the veil draped carefully over one arm like something precious.
"I should be there to ensure the veil is perfect." Her dark eyes meet mine. "In case there are any last-minute adjustments."
The offer surprises me. She's been so reserved, so contained, I'd wondered if she even liked me at all, or if I was just another commission to complete. But this feels different. Personal somehow.
"I'd really appreciate that, Nadiyah. Thank you."
Serena nods at her employee, approving. "I'll add you to the day-of schedule."
Moments later, the receptionist appears at the entrance to the fitting area. "Avery? Mr. Baine is here for you."
"Thank you." Then I turn to Serena. "Well, this is it. Next time I see you is the big day."
"I'm honored to be part of it," she says, then draws me into a warm hug. "If you need anything before Saturday, anything at all, just call me."
"I will."
I offer brief goodbyes to the other women, then I head out to the lobby where Nick is waiting. When I reach him, his hand curves around my hip. "Everything go all right?"
The question is quiet, meant only for me. But I hear what's beneath it. The last time he came here, it was to drive me to the emergency room. I can see that memory in the tension at the corners of his eyes, the way he looks at me with solemn intent.
"Everything's perfect." I lean into him, savoring the solid heat of his body, his scent. His hand spreads wider against my hip, and I feel each finger like a separate point of contact, each one a quiet claim.
"Four more days."
He nods, his mouth curving in a slow smile. "Four days. Then you're mine in front of everyone."
"I'm already yours."
His eyes darken with barely banked heat and possession, and that raw tenderness he only shows me. His forehead tips toward mine, the space between us charged with everything we can't do in this elegant lobby with the receptionist a few feet away and Serena and her team just in the other room.
"Let's get you home," he says, his deep voice lowering to that tone that makes my thighs want to press together. "I have plans for you that don't involve an audience."
He guides me toward the door, his hand moving from my hip to my behind, that proprietary press of palm against my ass that says mine without words. I can hardly wait to be alone with him again.
At the door, I glance back to say goodbye to the receptionist and find Nadiyah is in the lobby now too.
She's speaking with the young woman, but her attention isn't on the conversation.
Her gaze is fixed on Nick. In her expression I notice that same careful watchfulness I've seen before, sharpened now into something I can't quite read. Intent. Assessing.
She quickly looks away from him and gives me a small smile. "I'll see you on Saturday, Ms. Ross."
I nod. "Bye, Nadiyah."
Nick's hand presses warm and steady against my back as we step through the door and walk out to his waiting car at the curb.