Chapter 15 #2
I hesitate. “Not yet. But she’s trusted me so far. Please, Alicia. No one is forcing me into anything." The half-lie comes easier than it should. Ronan isn’t forcing me, but it also doesn’t really feel like there are very many options. "I'm making my own choices."
"And what about your job? Your entire life here in Boston?"
“I I-I’m going to figure all of that out. Soon. One thing at a time.” I force a smile. “I’m adapting.”
"But marriage? To someone you've known for three weeks?"
"It's the right choice for me. For Mom. Please trust me. I want you to come dress shopping with me. I need my best friend. Please?” I look at her, desperately wanting her to understand that if she won’t relent, I’ll have to walk out.
I can’t put her in danger, but I don’t want to have to do this without her.
I can see the worry and confusion in her eyes. She knows something is wrong, knows I'm not telling her the whole truth, but she can't figure out what.
Finally, she lets out a breath and grabs my hands across the table. "Promise me something."
I look at her hesitantly. "What?"
"Promise me you'll call if you need anything. Anything at all. I don't care what time it is or what kind of trouble you think you might be in. I'm your friend, Leila. That doesn't change just because your life has gotten complicated. I don’t understand why you can’t talk to me, but I’ll trust you. We’ve been friends for a long time. I’ll be there for you if you need me. ”
Tears prick at my eyes. "I promise."
"And promise me you'll be careful. I don't know what's really going on with you, but I can tell it's dangerous. These men, this sudden marriage, the way you're acting—it all feels like something out of a movie."
If only she knew how accurate that assessment is.
"I'll be careful," I tell her, and I mean it.
She follows me out to the SUV, and I see her eyes widen as the black-fatigued men coalesce around us, but to her credit, she doesn’t ask any more questions or say anything about it.
She just slides in next to me in the SUV, making small talk as we head to the elite bridal boutique that Ronan has managed to close up for an exclusive, private appointment for me.
"Remember," Finn says as he helps me out of the car, his voice low so that Alicia doesn’t hear, "you're here to buy a dress for your wedding to Mr. O'Malley. Nothing more, nothing less. Keep the story simple."
I nod, my stomach churning with nerves. The bell above the door chimes as we enter, and I'm immediately greeted by a woman who looks like she stepped out of a fashion magazine—tall, elegant, with perfectly styled blonde hair and a happy smile on her face.
"Miss Thompson?" she says, using the fake name Ronan provided. "I'm Catherine. I spoke to your fiancé on the phone."
Alicia shoots me a confused look at the false name, but I give her a quick shake of my head. "Yes, thank you for accommodating such short notice," I say quickly to Catherine, who beams at me.
"Of course. When it's true love, time doesn’t wait, does it?" She gestures toward a pink velvet sitting area in front of a row of dressing rooms. "Now, tell me about your vision. What kind of wedding are you planning?"
“It’s a church wedding,” I manage, trying to think of how to describe it.
Ronan told me it would have to be big, showy.
Something secretive and small would look to the other families as if he’s hiding me, as if he’s ashamed or knows he shouldn’t be marrying me.
He’s the equivalent of mob royalty, a prince in Boston, and for the wedding to hold the weight it needs to, it needs to be the equivalent of a royal wedding.
“A big one. VIP guests, no expense spared. The dress needs to match.”
“Absolutely,” Catherine agrees, smiling as, no doubt, a high five-figure price tag flashes in her head.
“I’ll pull some sample gowns, and we can go from there.
Be right back. There’s champagne and tea snacks waiting for you over there.
” She gestures toward a silver cart, and I see Alicia immediately make a beeline for the champagne.
She holds out a glass to me, then hesitates.
“Wait, you’re not pregnant, are you? Is that the reason this is so fast?
” When I shake my head, she frowns, pushing the glass at me.
“I wish you’d tell me what’s going on. Are you marrying a celebrity?
Is that it? Did you meet some movie star, and that’s with all the security and secrets and over-the-top wedding? ”
God, I wish. Everything would be so much simpler if I’d just somehow crossed paths with Pedro Pascal and had my entire life turned upside down in a whirlwind romance. The truth is much more complicated and much less romantic.
Although having a powerful man drop everything and halt his quest for revenge to save me is pretty romantic—if that same man hadn’t said marrying me was a “last resort.”
“I really can’t tell you anything,” I whisper, taking the champagne. “Please don’t ask. The security is really jumpy about it. Just trust me. Please.”
I can tell Alicia doesn’t want to let it go, but she does, for me. Catherine comes back with an armful of gowns and hustles me into a dressing room, where we start the process.
And it is a process. I strip down to my underwear—I wore a strapless bra and a thong, thinking that would be the best choice for trying on a variety of dresses, but I feel uncomfortably bare around this strange woman—and Catherine helps me into the first dress.
It’s a cupcake confection of a gown, but I can already write it off—Ronan told me no strapless dresses in a Catholic church.
When I point that out, Catherine waves a hand. “We can add sleeves or a bolero,” she says. “See what your friend thinks.”
Alicia shakes her head as soon as I walk out in the bright-white, strapless ball gown with the pick-up skirt. “You look like you’re going to prom in the early 2000s,” she says, and I laugh. The gown does kind of look like that.
The next one is better, but I think it might not be formal enough. It’s an off-white, all-lace sheath gown with cap sleeves and a portrait neckline, but no train, stopping neatly at my ankles. Alicia loves it, but I don’t think it’s fancy enough for the setting.
On and on it goes, dress after dress. One that I particularly love is a diamond-white gown in a swiss dot lace, with long, sheer off-the-shoulder drapey sleeves and a structured bodice. We set that one aside, unsure what to do about the bare shoulders, and keep trying on gowns.
Alicia is a fan of one that has a sweetheart neckline, long fitted lace sleeves and bodice, and a huge tulle skirt with 3D embroidered flowers all over it, a tiny seed pearl in each one.
“It might be a little too fairytale for me,” I suggest, although I do have a hard time stopping myself from twirling more than once in it.
The full skirt is mesmerizing. “I don’t know if it suits me. I’m not this frilly of a girl.”
“You only get married once,” Alicia says with a shrug as she refills her glass of champagne, and I feel my chest tighten.
Usually, the hope is that would be true. Instead, I’m going into my marriage counting down the days until divorce. The thought casts a pall over the whole thing—it’s hard to be excited for a dress when I’m reminded that it’s all really a sham. This is all one big lie, from beginning to end.
"Are you okay?" Alicia asks, noticing my expression in the mirror. I go still, forcing a smile onto my face.
“Yeah,” I manage. “This is all just a little overwhelming. There’s so much to choose from, and I don’t know what my style really is. Just that it needs to fit in at a big formal church wedding.”
Catherine, sensing the shift in mood, steps forward.
"Why don't we try on a few more options? Sometimes it takes seeing several gowns to know which one is right. And you will know, as soon as you find the one." She gives me a bracing smile, and I want to ask her if I’ll still ‘know’, even though I’m picking out a gown for a man I’m not in love with.
A man who scooped me out of a rusty cage in a filthy warehouse and brought me back to his mansion, who is protecting me from a ruthless mafia don.
The next hour passes in a blur of silk and lace and tulle.
I try on dress after dress, each one more elaborate than the last. There's a mermaid-style gown with intricate beadwork that looks like it would be more at home on an Oscars red carpet than a wedding aisle, a classic A-line gown with a short train, and a modern sheath dress with geometric lace that's stunning but doesn't feel right for a church wedding.
I’m starting to feel tired, hungry, and a little hopeless. I don’t love any of them, and the ones that I’ve seen that fit the setting seem boring to me.
“Let me grab you one more,” Catherine says, tapping her lips with her index finger.
“It’s from a very expensive line. But your fiance said money was no object, so—” She smiles, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s been holding this one in reserve, waiting for me to exhaust all the other options so she can wow me with this one last, far too expensive dress.
But then she brings it out, and I have a feeling it’s the one, regardless of what ulterior motives she might have had.
It’s the most exquisite dress I’ve ever seen.
It’s a soft white that flatters my rosy skin tone and auburn hair, with a fitted bodice, square neckline, lace sleeves that taper down to my wrists, and a full ballgown skirt that spreads out behind me in a train fit for a princess.
The lace is the softest thing I’ve ever touched, hand-embroidered in panels down the sides of the satin bodice and covering the sides, back, and train of the skirt.
There are tiny seed pearls scattered throughout, so small that they’re barely visible, but from a distance they add a texture to the gown that’s stunning.