Chapter 6
MADDIE
Once we’re out of the boardroom, Snorty shifts in my arms and shoots me a loving doggy smile.
“What a cute little dog,” Antoine says, chucking him gently under the chin. “What’s his name?”
“Snorty.”
His mouth quirks. “How did you come up with that?”
I shrug. “He snorts. A lot.”
As if on cue, Snorty makes a small, wheezy noise.
"But that isn't a snort," Antoine says, stopping in the middle of the lavish marble corridor to take a closer look at him. His professional mask slips, just for a second. "He's unwell?"
“Yeah,” I say quietly, adjusting my grip on my puppy. He seems to grow heavier each day.
“It’s a breathing issue that can only be fixed with surgery. And to be honest, I only agreed to this fake fiancé gig so I can pay for the medical care he needs."
"Then we'll make sure everything goes according to plan," Antoine says cheerfully.
He studies us for a moment, his eyes scanning Snorty like he’s a fashion accessory. "Does he have a travel carrier? Something structured? Leather?"
“I... no,” I stammer. “I just got him three weeks ago from the shelter. I carry him in my arms since he’s so tiny. But I have the feeling he prefers to 'strut his stuff' so folks can admire him as he walks.
“Walk? Not in this hotel,” Antoine says, shaking his head. "His little legs will tire long before he pads toward the elevators. Plus, holding him like that, with his paws spread out every which way, will spoil your silhouette."
Silhouette? I wasn't aware I had a silhouette.
Antoine taps his chin. "We need a carrier. Something bespoke. If he is going to be the accessory to the future Mrs. Rio Wilder, he needs to look the part."
Calling me the future Mrs. Rio Wilder, excites and terrifies me at the same time.
It excites me because since I was eight years old, all I could do was imagine myself all grown up, the wife of my big brother's handsome best friend.
And it terrifies me because since that time, I had first-experience of what Rio can be capable of.
But I don't share any of that. Instead, I ask a simple question. "What does 'bespoke' mean?"
"A made to order creation by a known designer."
I glance at Snorty.
“Well, he does like to be pampered,” I say. “He loves anything girly, even though he's technically a boy dog. Treats, attention, strangers telling him he's cute.”
“Don’t we all,” Antoine says dryly. He gestures toward a storefront gleaming under soft gold light. "Come. First, we dress the dog. Then, we dress the bride."
Antoine leads me towards the glamorous Louis Vuitton store.
Inside, everything gleams. Polished surfaces. Strategic lighting. The signature brown leather accented by a shade of orange I can’t quite place. Pumpkin? Saffron?
I inhale the scent of expensive leather and extravagance.
“Can I be of assistance?” A woman approaches us, her straight blond hair as glossy as the glass displays.
“Yes,” Antoine says, his cultured voice carrying easily through the hushed space. “We would like to buy a carrier for this little fellow.” He gestures to Snorty.
Sensing attention, Snorty lifts his head proudly.
“We have several options,” she says, already leading us toward a small pet section. “He’s about six pounds?”
“How did you know?” I ask.
“We’re a dog-friendly hotel. We see a lot of small breeds.” She lifts a miniature Louis Vuitton dog carrier. “This would fit him perfectly now. He won’t grow into it, but the next size up would be too large.”
Snorty squirms, and I set him gently on the counter. He sniffs the carrier, then steps right inside.
The carrier is a work of art. Plush lining. Structured sides. Like a tiny throne.
“The carpet is cushioned,” the woman says, running her manicured hand along the interior. “And notice the whisper-soft ventilation netting.”
“Excellent,” Antoine says without hesitation. “We’ll take it.”
I glance at the price tag and nearly choke. “Three thousand seven hundred dollars? Antoine, absolutely not. He’d be fine in a potato sack.”
“Chérie,” Antoine says gently, scratching behind Snorty’s ears. “A dog of such distinction cannot be transported in a sack. He deserves a chariot.”
I look at Snorty. He’s already curled up inside, eyes half-closed, looking like he was born into luxury.
Antoine hands over his card without breaking stride.
Snorty gives a proud little yip as we leave the store, fully aware he’s been upgraded to official luxury pet.
We pass a row of designer storefronts. All polished glass and gold lettering. Mannequins posed like they belong to a different species of woman.
My reflection flickers back at me in the mirrored panels. I don't know what to make of myself.
Compared to Antoine in his sleek suit and even Snorty in his designer carrier, I look plain. Out of step with my own companions and the entire Las Vegas scene.
Antoine glances at me, following my gaze. “You look like someone who believes she does not belong here.”
A sardonic laugh escapes me. "You heard what Rio called me. I stand accused of rocking the 'schoolmarm look.'"
"And that's what we're going to correct right now," Antoine says. "Prince Michael sent a list of the weekend’s activities. We need to make sure you’re presentable.”
“Activities? What kind?” I rise onto my toes, trying to peek at his phone. He tilts it away.
“Patience, darling,” he says smoothly. “All in due time.”
Right. Of course. Rockstars and their secrets.
Still, a tiny knot tightens in my stomach. Steven made it sound simple. Stand next to Rio. Smile. Look supportive.
Maybe let him sling an arm around me. But Antoine saying we need to “prepare” feels like something else entirely. Something bigger.
We walk deeper into the hotel’s shopping arcade, past designer stores I’ve never dared enter on Manhattan’s Fifth Avenue.
Everything has that expensive hush, like the entire place is whispering, You do not belong here.
“What kind of events will I attend?"
“All types. Formal. Casual. Social. Public. This weekend is a PR showcase. But the truth of the matter is that it's not the clothing that matters. It's the confidence.”
He looks closely at me.
“Confidence,” he says, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret, “is architecture. It can be built.”
“Then I hope you brought blueprints.”