Chapter 4 You'll Have to Kneel to Measure
"It's been washed!" Clara Bennett blurted out, flustered. "I swear it's clean—no issues at all!"
"Washed?" The clerk sneered. "Miss, you rented it for one day. Why would you wash it? You wore it to get married, not to work in the fields, right?"
Clara Bennett's thin skin couldn't take the jab—her face flushed a deep red, as if it might drip blood.
The truth was, her wedding day hadn't been much better than trudging through a field. She'd braved pouring rain and muddy paths in Willow Creek, her pristine white gown and shoes ending up filthy, her feet blistered and raw.
The clerk flipped the dress's hem back and forth, shooting Clara Bennett disdainful looks.
"Miss, if this dress needed cleaning, it should've been dry-cleaned!"
"You do know what dry-cleaning is, don't you?"
Sensing Clara Bennett's meekness, the clerk pressed her mockery further. "Ugh, ever since we opened this shop, every gown's been sold outright. Renting one out? That's a first... Hah! Can't even afford a wedding dress, and you're still getting married?"
"Who says you can't get married without buying a dress? What law is that?"
A sharp, commanding voice cut through the air. Clara Bennett froze, turning to see Mason Reed stride in from the doorway. His brows were knit with a frosty edge, his presence radiating an unspoken authority.
He stepped beside Clara Bennett, slipping an arm around her naturally, and fixed the clerk with a cold smirk. "Your sign out front says 'Wedding Dress Rentals' in big, bold letters. Are you calling your customers blind?"
"You—"
"And honestly," he continued, "the dresses here? Mediocre styles, average quality. Hardly worth buying to keep."
The clerk glared at them, rolling her eyes so hard they nearly hit the ceiling. "If you can't afford it, just say so! No need to nitpick our stock... Hmph, we've got designer couture pieces here!"
Mason Reed raised a brow, glancing at the gown on the mannequin in the center of the room—a fishtail design that hugged the figure, adorned with subtle gold threading and a scattering of rhinestones at the neckline.
It was eye-catching, sure, but compared to the finer things he'd seen in his past, it didn't hold a candle.
"Hah, don't bother looking!" the clerk taunted. "You couldn't afford it anyway! Poor miss, I feel sorry for you—so pretty, and yet you didn't even shop around before settling. What a waste of that face!"
"My marriage is none of your business!"
Mason Reed blinked, caught off guard. This timid little woman, usually so submissive, was suddenly standing her ground, bristling with defiance.
Clara Bennett took a step forward, glaring at the clerk. "I'll take the dress to be dry-cleaned and bring it back. But you owe my husband an apology for what you just said!"
"What?"
Clara Bennett might be soft by nature, but that depended on who she was dealing with. She could swallow insults aimed at her, but when it came to someone close—even a husband she'd barely known for a day—she'd fight with everything she had.
Her face flushed with anger as she enunciated each word. "I said, apologize to my husband!"
The clerk shot her a dismissive glance, treating her like she was invisible.
"No need for an apology," Mason Reed said, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he looked down at her. "Do you like that dress?"
"Huh?"
Clara Bennett followed his pointing finger to the shimmering gold gown in the center, her heart skipping a beat.
She had no idea what he was up to.
Mason Reed gave a half-smirk, pulling a card from his pocket and setting it on the counter. "My wife likes that dress. I'll take it."
The air seemed to freeze. The clerk's eyes widened, staring at him, while Clara Bennett stood there, bewildered.
"Mason, what are you doing..." She tugged at his sleeve, whispering, "We're already married!"
"Doesn't mean we can't buy one as a keepsake," he said casually. "That's a designer piece, right? Custom-fitted? Do you have someone here to take measurements?"
The clerk snapped out of her daze, plastering on a fawning smile and bowing slightly, hands clasped. "Sir, you're really buying it?"
"Yes. Measure my wife now."
"Oh, I'll call the designer—"
"Miss," Mason Reed interrupted, his sharp brow arching, "can't you do it?"
The clerk's face stiffened.
"If it's not you taking the measurements, I'm not buying."
Under the weight of his commanding presence, the clerk faltered. Orders like this were rare, and she was obligated to measure customers. Reluctantly, she grabbed a tape measure and approached Clara Bennett.
"Miss, I'll just—"
"Can you measure the hem like that?" Mason Reed scoffed, his ink-dark eyes locking onto her coldly. "For the skirt's length, you'll have to kneel!"