Chapter 7
Alina
Iswear, every time I talk to my future husband, my mood gets a little bit worse.
I drown myself in work for the next couple days. I refuse to think about the wedding and how much I’m dreading it. Not just because I’m marrying an asshole, but also because it’s everything I don’t want. Small, quiet, family only.
Seamus was right. I want big. I want loud, over the top, intricately planned, rehearsed down to the second.
I’ve been dreaming of my special day since I was a little girl.
Papa always made it clear: soon you will marry, Alina, and you will make the family proud.
It’s always been in my blood, this wedding.
Now it’s happening, and I hate it.
I know that’s selfish and stupid, which is why I’m not making a big deal out of this. I’m not going to call his mother and I definitely won’t complain. That’s not what a proper bratva woman does.
Privately though, in my heart, I’ll mourn for the dream I’ve lost.
There are other reasons to be pissed. Like how I’m still heartbroken over Alex, when I really shouldn’t even care. The bastard was a junkie and a cheater. I should be livid.
Instead, it’s like I lost another piece of myself.
He was my secret. An open secret, but still.
I was being careful and discreet with him, and because of that, I was allowed to keep the relationship going.
I could be myself when he was around. The bratva and my family name didn’t factor into our time together.
Things were so simple with him, and yeah, maybe he was using me for my nice apartment, but still.
Seamus dragged me back to reality.
I miss the pleasant lie I was living.
It’s around nine in the morning on a Thursday.
The boutique’s closed for the day. I sit in my living room with coffee and a book, trying to get some reading done, but I keep getting distracted by my phone.
Doomscroll, look at words, doomscroll more, look at words, over and over, until all I want to do is throw my phone across the room.
Until the apartment phone buzzes. “Kira MacPherson here for you.”
“Send her up.”
What’s she doing here right now? I check my phone but there are no missed calls or texts.
Last time we talked was yesterday at the store while we were closing together.
I open the door and she comes waltzing into my apartment a minute later, wearing sweats, her hair messy and pulled back, carrying two huge iced coffees.
“Aren’t you ready?!” She stares at me in surprise. “Seriously, Alina, you’re not going like that, are you?”
I look down at myself. I’m in my ratty sweats, an old sports bra, and underwear that should’ve been replaced five years ago. “Uh, I didn’t realize we were going anywhere?”
“What are you talking about?” She frowns, cocking her head. “I got the confirmation call last night. They said you were first on the list for today.”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Celeste Delacroix?! Her workshop in Tribeca? In like—” She checks her phone. “Fifteen minutes?”
I stare mutely, trying to process. Celeste Delacroix is everything in the fashion world right now.
She’s notoriously picky about clients and only releases one line every year with no fanfare and no press release.
One day her clothes appear in certain retailers, and nobody knows how to get on that list. God knows I’ve been trying forever.
“I don’t get it. Celeste’s assistants won’t even acknowledge my calls, let alone get me an appointment.”
“It’s not for buying, it’s for shopping.” Kira stalks over and grabs me by the shoulders. “For your wedding dress. Are you hearing me?! Your wedding dress!”
This makes no sense. “I didn’t even know Celeste made wedding dresses.”
“She does now, apparently. I don’t know how, but you’re on the list, and it’s happening today.”
“Are you sure we’re not getting scammed?”
“Positive. Trust me. That was my first thought.” She rubs her lower back. “I like my kidneys where they are.”
“So how do you know this is legit?”
“Double-checked. Asked around. I definitely spoke with Celeste’s personal assistant, and we’re absolutely on the list for today. So if you want a dress from the best designer in New York—”
I peel away from Kira. Horror fills my stomach. “You said fifteen minutes.”
“I thought you’d be ready!”
I run up the stairs and into my bedroom. Off come the trashy underwear, and on goes a more respectable pair. I slip into nicer sweats, something respectable, and do what I can about my hair and face, all in approximately five minutes.
“We’re going to be late,” I groan as we rush downstairs. I nearly trip and spill the freaking iced coffee all over myself.
“Listen to me, Alina, if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to make sure you get to this appointment on time. Do you hear me?”
“What if we don’t?!”
“There’s no what if. Do you trust me?”
“I trust you,” I say softly.
“Good.” She marches through the lobby. “Now don’t comment on my driving because I’m about to break some laws.”
People hurry past as I lean against the brick facade. Kira’s still upstairs drinking champagne and talking with Celeste’s army of assistants. I raise the phone to my ear and wait for it to ring.
My brother answers right before it goes to voicemail. I can’t remember the last time Taras picked up right away. I swear, he stares at the screen, debating whether or not he wants to talk to me before finally accepting my call.
We have almost nothing in common. He’s over a decade older than me. We technically grew up in the same house, but he was always like a big cousin or an uncle at best. There’s never been warmth between us.
“Yes, Alina? What do you need?”
Typical Taras. Too busy for the world. “I wanted to call and thank you. Or maybe I should thank Papa.”
“For what?” He sounds annoyed like usual.
“The dress. Celeste Delacroix.” I frown a little when he doesn’t answer. “You know, the appointment today?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Is this actually important?”
“Then maybe Papa did it?”
“If it’s got something to do with the wedding, I can guarantee he didn’t. The Whelans are handling everything.”
“Oh. That’s right.” My stomach drops a little as I glance down the street. “So, uh, Taras—”
“If that’s all, I have to go.”
My older brother hangs up.
I sigh and look down at the phone. I need to be back upstairs in two minutes. We’re taking a short break while Celeste recharges her creative energies or whatever. Kira thinks that’s shorthand for do drugs and she’s probably right, but I don’t care. So long as I get the dress I’ve always wanted.
Working with Celeste is incredible. The woman is chic, smart, and competent. I’m also aware that this meeting is probably costing a hundred dollars a minute or something obscene like that. Getting a full two hours of her time is madness. Plus an actual dress at the end of it.
I’ve taken things all my life. Papa’s been providing since I was little.
But this is too much. I idly thumb the phone and stare at Seamus’s name, trying to debate whether I want to actually go through with this or not.
I don’t have his mother’s contact information, despite him telling me to get in touch with her. Maybe I can just ask for her number—
A black BMW pulls up to the curb in front of me. I glance over as the window rolls down, and Seamus himself stares out at me, smiling ever so slightly at the sheer surprise in my expression.
“Not expecting me?” he asks, leaning across the car.
“What are you doing here?”
“Wanted to make sure everything was going well.” He glances at the building. “This is where that fancy dress lady works? I thought she was some starving artist.”
“She’s a multi-millionaire,” I mutter, glancing over my shoulder. A simple brass plaque with the number 37 is all that marks her door. “I was actually thinking about calling you.”
“Something wrong?” His expression hardens. “I was told she was the best. If she’s not giving you what you want—”
“No, no, Celeste is amazing. I was going to call and ask…” I trail off, frowning at him. “Wait, how did you know I was here? Did your mother tell you?”
That smirk comes back as he shakes his head. “For once, this wasn’t Siobhan’s idea.” He climbs out of the car and strolls over like he owns the sidewalk, grinning the whole time. I stare at him, dumbfounded.
“You did this?” I shake my head. “Is that why only Kira got a call and I didn’t?”
“I wanted to surprise you. Did it work?” His eyes sparkle with amusement.
“We were late. She was pissed. All because I didn’t know and wasn’t ready.”
His grin gets bigger. “I love it. But here you are.”
“Seriously, how did you make this happen?”
“Let’s just say that someone has to provide Miss Delacroix with her creative inspiration.” His eyebrows raise as he touches his nose.
Yep. Definitely doing drugs.
I bite back a groan. “You’re her dealer. I should’ve known.”
“Not me personally, but her dealer’s boss. That’s how these things work. Half the city’s getting high thanks to me.”
“And thanks to your drugs, I’m getting to work with a dream designer.” I sigh and lean my head against the wall. “Thank you, Seamus.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“Also, next time, give me a heads-up.” I blow out a breath and steady myself. “I hate surprises.”
“I have a feeling you should get used to those.”
I turn and head back to the unmarked door. But before going inside, I turn and look at him. “Why’d you do this, by the way? There are plenty of good dress shops in the city. Why Celeste?”
“You love her. She’s the best.”
“But how did you know that?”
“You had her look book on your coffee table.”
I laugh lightly in total disbelief. “You noticed that? And you remembered?”
“I’m more observant than you realize.”
I’m forced to admit that’s impressive, even if I don’t say it out loud. I have to revise my opinion of him, but only slightly. Seamus comes off like he’s a leaf in the wind, but clearly, there’s more to him than he lets on.
“You’re going to like it,” I say as I push inside. “The dress is going to be fantastic.”
“I’d better!” he calls after me. “I want the prettiest wife in the fucking city.”
I’m smiling to myself as I stomp back upstairs to where Kira’s chatting with the others. Celeste’s still not back, and now I’m thinking about Seamus down there, and how he didn’t have to do all this for me.
But he did anyway.
One second, he acts like I’m some annoying, shallow piece of trash.
The next he’s giving me extravagant and insanely thoughtful gifts.
I really don’t know where to land with him.
But if it ends with me getting the dress I’ve always wanted, I’ll accept the ambiguity for a while.