Chapter 28
Aurora
The bell over the door of Maison de la Voile rings as we enter, the delicate jingle too refined to fit my new reality.
Five days. Five days since Alexei claimed me as his fiancée to save my life.
Five days of planning and preparing for this test.
Because that’s what this is. A performance for an audience that can smell lies like a bloodhound scenting deer.
I smooth my sweaty palms against the sides of my new dress and force a smile as a fortysomething woman with a shiny black bob greets us.
“Hello, I’m Pamela, the owner of Maison de la Voile.” The sultry interest in the gaze she sweeps over Alexei prompts a jealous twinge in my stomach. “You must be Alexei. Welcome, and please come in.”
She knows who holds the cards.
The boutique gleams with wealth. Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light across ivory walls and plush ivory carpet. Mannequins are draped in silks and laces that cost more than my rent. Everything screams money and taste and an entirely different world.
Varied, colorful fabrics are showcased against floral and gold wallpaper. It reminds me of the inside of a high-end music box, only crowded with products and open sitting areas.
Not the kind of place you can just waltz into and browse from the rack.
“This is Aurora. My bride.” Alexei’s tone mimics frosted steel. “She’s your customer today. Whatever she wants, she gets.”
The woman’s smile freezes. “Of course. She’s positively radiant.” Her overly bright tone says otherwise. “Now that you’re both here, we can lock up. You’re the last ones to arrive.”
As I follow her, Alexei blocks the entrance, a sentinel in a tailored charcoal gray suit that I’m not ashamed to admit does funny things to my libido. He looks every bit as good in dressier attire as he does jeans and a t-shirt.
He conducts continuous, hypervigilant scans of the space. Door, windows, shadows between racks of white dresses. Considering how some of our other trips into town went, I’m not complaining.
Until I reach the back and find all the people waiting.
A wave of perfume and silk engulfs me. Bodies press close. Women hugging and touching me as voices overlap in a tidal wave of Russian-accented excitement. Kids dart between dress racks, playing hide-and-seek.
My gaze lands on a woman with kind brown eyes and short stylish brown hair. Judging by her regal bearing and the way everyone defers to her, she must be Alexei’s stepmother.
“Aurora!” The woman floats forward and grasps my hands. “We’ve waited so long for you! I’m Irina, and I’m so happy to meet the woman who’s managed to claim my wonderful stepson.”
Everything about her screams “class.”
Irina’s warmth appears genuine, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she squeezes my fingers.
She introduces the group of people around her.
Alexei’s cousin, Sasha Pisarev, is a man in his late twenties with shaggy brown hair and a ready smile.
Trevor, the guy I met at Alexei’s, nods without speaking.
Vitaly, Irina’s son and Alexei’s half-brother, offers me a stiff smile that doesn’t quite reach his dark brown eyes.
She introduces a young woman with Alexei’s jawline but softer features as Valeria, his half-sister.
The handsome man who saunters up to join Irina must be Alexei’s father. He shares Alexei’s dark eyes and the same brooding presence, though his wavy dark brown hair is streaked with gray. Much like his son, he exudes quiet, restrained power.
“Hello, Aurora. I’m Mikhail, Alexei’s father.” He bends around Irina to kiss me on each cheek. “I’m so glad my son is finally settling down. He needs a firm hand to keep him from acting impulsively.”
“Mikhail, don’t scare the girl. Ignore him.
” After pinning her husband with a faux glare, Irina winks at me.
“However, if you do want some hints on how to deal with your future husband, feel free to reach out. Valeria’s always been good at keeping her brothers in line.
Say the word, and I’ll send her right over. ”
I try my best not to snicker. If they expect me to control Alexei, we’re all screwed.
The room swirls with life and color and noise. So much noise. Children laughing, women chattering in English and Russian. Even many of the men are chuckling while sipping tumblers full of what must be vodka. After the sterile silence of Alexi’s loft, the crowd is overwhelming and intoxicating.
I push past my trepidation and manage a real smile.
“Champagne!” Irina claps, and a staff member appears with a tray of flutes.
I accept one, sipping the effervescent liquid as I’m guided toward a raised, mirror-surrounded platform.
The bubbles taste overly sweet on my tongue.
Or maybe that’s a symptom of feeling a little overwhelmed by all these strangers, their competing perfumes and colognes, and the millions of dollars’ worth of wedding attire around us.
Every woman here, and most of the men, are dressed like they’re waiting for their turn on the red carpet.
And I’m supposed to try on wedding gowns in front of these people?
Irina and Valeria flutter around me, pulling dresses from racks and holding them up for inspection. They swamp me in a dizzying parade of white—creamy ivory, stark white, eggshell, pearl, alabaster—in every possible style and fabric.
“This one.” Irina displays a monstrosity of ruffles and tulle. “It’s traditional. Perfect for a Kozlov bride.”
It resembles a skinned cotton candy machine that someone dyed white. My smile falters as she presses the dress against me, cooing at how beautiful I’ll look.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Irina squeezes my hand again. “We’re so glad he found you. We worried about Alexei after…MJ.”
Her whisper attempts to suck the oxygen from the room like air from a punctured balloon. She freezes, and her eyes dart to the men by the door.
Now’s my chance. “Who’s MJ?”
People keep mentioning this name, but I have no idea who he is.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Irina’s face falls before her features settle into an Alexei-like mask. “We don’t talk about MJ.”
I bite my lip to stop myself from blurting that she’s the one who brought up the name.
Valeria appears at my elbow, chattering about veils and trains in an unnaturally bright voice. “I think you need something sleeker, more modern. You have the figure for it.” Her laugh sounds brittle. “Mom, help me find something more satin than chiffon.”
“Yes, definitely.” I find the nerve to voice my opinion. “And could we go with white instead of eggshell?”
Attendants rush in to help as Irina selects dress after dress. She’s not just cheerful but frantic. A peacemaker desperately plastering over the cracks in her family, covering wounds with ribbons and lace.
“Maybe something fitted.” She gestures to the nearest rack. “What do you think, Aurora? Something that shows off your waist?”
A presence at my other side triggers unpleasant prickling down my spine.
Vitaly’s sneer fails to disguise itself as a smile. “Are you enjoying yourself?” He leans closer, his breath hot against my ear. “Hope you know what you signed up for. Alexei breaks all his toys.”
The warning slips under my skin like ice water, chilling me from the inside out.
He smirks as he correctly interprets my reaction as fear. “And once they’re broken, he throws them away.”
Before the threat fully registers, Alexei materializes beside us.
With his focus on me, he drops his hand on Vitaly’s shoulder. The younger man flinches, the color draining from his face as Alexei’s fingers tense. “I think you’ve had enough alcohol, little brother.”
Vitaly’s sneer vanishes, clouded by something resembling fright. His body goes pliant as Alexei steers him toward the door.
No resistance. No argument. Just immediate compliance.
The message is silent yet lethal. Everyone in attendance understands. Even I understand, and I’m the newest player in this dangerous game.
Touch what’s mine, and I will hurt you.
Alexei speaks in low tones to Vitaly, whose skin tone changes from pale to red. The boutique resumes its buzz of activity, conversations flowing again.
But the shift casts a shadow over the previously upbeat mood.
I should be horrified at how easily Alexei intimidates even family. Instead, some treacherous part of me feels…safe.
What’s wrong with me?
“Let’s try a different one.” A blond employee in a lavender pencil skirt and blazer appears with another armful of white silk and lace. “Perhaps a gown with more structure.”
I’m guided back to the dressing rooms and helped into a heavy silk gown with intricate beading at the bodice. The dress is beautiful and timeless. One I might have chosen in another life.
A normal life where wedding dresses symbolize real nuptials rather than survival strategies.
I twist, trying to glimpse at the gown from behind. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”
The attendant hands me a red silk robe to wear while they prepare the next possibility. The material cools my skin, slipping over my shoulders like breeze. I wander back into the waiting area, feeling like a pampered princess imprisoned in a tower.
“So. You and Alexei.”
Roman reclines on the velvet chaise. His shrewd eyes appraise me. Everyone else has busied themselves with combing through the rows of dresses. Even the men and children have scattered.
I stand on the dais, uneasy from being in the spotlight. My hands twist the robe’s slippery silk. Chilling with Alexei’s uncle while clad in a flimsy covering wasn’t on today’s bingo card.
“Yes!” I chirp. “Us. Together. As a couple. Who are engaged.”
Kill me now. I sound like a malfunctioning robot.
A beat passes, and the Pakhan’s unhurried scrutiny activates a flurry of anxiety. I curl my toes into the carpet to stop myself from squirming. “How long have you been together?”
I open my mouth to recite our practiced lie. Six months after meeting at Red Bird’s. A whirlwind romance.
Except under that all-knowing gleam in his eyes, I fold like wet cardboard. “I didn’t see anything.”
My eyes widen in alarm.
A smile, smooth as spilled honey, spreads across Roman’s face. “Could you convince the cops of that? Because you didn’t convince me.”
My mouth dries.
Crap. I’ve failed the test. Failed Alexei. Failed myself. Will Roman murder me? Here, in this beautiful boutique with kids playing hide-and-seek between the racks? If so, how will they possibly remove the blood from all that white fabric?
“I’m not sure, but the way I see it, Alexei saved me.” Desperate words tumble out. “So yes, I think I could convince them, because…or no. No, maybe I couldn’t.” I inhale through my nose to curb my rising panic before meeting his eyes. “To be honest…and this might surprise you…I’m a terrible liar.”
He reveals zero expression at first before barking with laughter. I think I’ve caught the man off guard. Whether that’s good or bad remains to be seen. “Shocking. But don’t fret. That won’t be an issue. Once you’re Alexei’s wife, you can’t be forced to testify against him. Right?”
I swallow hard. “Right.”
He pats my cheek. “Smart girl. You’ll do well.” Rising with fluid grace, he heads toward Mikhail, his posture relaxed.
The audience is over.
I release a shaky breath, lungs burning with the sudden release of tension.
Roman knows.
Of course he knows.
Yet by some benevolent spin of the universe, he’s choosing to allow this fake engagement to proceed. Forcing it to continue, actually. Why? What game is he playing?
Before I can untangle the knot of questions, the attendant signals for me to return to the dressing room. I tug at the silken red robe around me and follow her with leaden feet.
I’m halfway there when the world explodes.
The sharp, violent crack echoes through the boutique.
Floor-to-ceiling windows shatter inward in a cascade of glittering diamonds. A mannequin fractures. The plastic head spins across the room, bouncing once, twice on the carpet.
High-pitched screams erupt.
Irina and Valeria dive behind a display, dragging children with them. The attendants scatter like frightened birds.
My heart slams against my ribs as my mind refuses to process what’s happening.
More glass shatters. More mannequins explode. More shouts rend the air along with fast-paced bangs and pops.
Gunshots. Who would dare attack the Kozlovs?
I’m frozen in place, my muscles refusing to obey my brain’s frantic command to find cover. A bright target in a red silk robe.
Before I can force my shell-shocked body to move, Alexei slams into me like a human battering ram with bone-jarring force.
The impact knocks the air from my lungs as we crash to the floor behind the plush velvet chaise. His body covers mine, a solid, crushing weight shoving me into the carpet.
Again. He’s protecting me again.
The world narrows to his musky evergreen scent and the press of his gun against my hip. His hot breath feathers my ear, and his heartbeat against my chest soothes me.
How can his heart be so steady when mine threatens to explode?
After a few seconds, he rolls off me, pivoting to his knees to create a barrier between me and the shattered window.
He draws his weapon.
The pop-pop-pop of return fire from the Kozlov men is sharp and efficient. Alexei joins in, his actions fluid and precise.
I curl into myself behind him, slapping my hands over my ears and slamming my eyes shut. Still, the noise overwhelms me.
Blood thunders in my ears. My breathing comes in rapid, short bursts, like I’ve just run a marathon.
A coppery tang fills my mouth from where I’ve bitten my cheek.
Glass crunches beneath Alexei’s shoes as he shifts position. After one final shot rings out, silence descends.
Slowly, I crack open my eyes. I’m huddled behind my kidnapper-fiancée in a wedding boutique, surrounded by a blizzard of shattered glass and a headless mannequin. Alexei’s gun remains drawn, his body prepared for more action.
Outside the ruined window, I glimpse men in dark clothes retreating down the street and melting into the crowd.
A hysterical laugh bubbles up my throat and escapes. Alexei’s head snaps toward me, his eyes narrowed with what might be concern. I can’t tell.
His hands flow over my body, gently checking for wounds. “Are you hit?”
I shake my head, the laughter dying as quickly as it came. “No. Just…just terrified. The usual.”
Terror seems determined to rule my life.