Chapter 23
NINA
“This one's pretty,” says Lily, holding up the glossy magazine to show me a dress. It’s simple, with off-the-shoulder sleeves and intricate lace that falls in a waterfall style to the ground. She calls over the shop attendant and points at the page. “Can we get that one too?”
“Of course, Ms. Adams.”
The shop attendant clicks her fingers and shows the dress to her assistant, who rushes away as though it’s an emergency and not the twentieth dress I’ll be trying on today.
This place is a whole new world. Every surface is pale pink or cream, with thick brocaded drapes and plush carpet. Soft instrumental music plays in the background, and everything smells like an expensive floral arrangement.
But it also feels as sterile as a dentist’s office. There is not a single other customer in the building, because you have to book a personal appointment to get in. Normally, you have to queue up years in advance to get a spot, so I’ve got no idea how Art or his people arranged this so quickly.
I sincerely hope there weren’t any threats of violence involved, but I suspect that’s wishful thinking. Art has enough money to make anyone open their doors and welcome me in, so this appointment may have been a matter of greasing the right palms.
The wedding is a lot. Art got everything arranged in record time, but I don’t understand the rush.
Still, it’s hard not to be swept up in it. Especially when Ava is as excited to be a flower girl and a ring-bearer as she is. She’s already started referring to Art and me as the prince and princess, and it makes my heart flutter to think that this really might be a fairytale ending.
If I ignore the bloodshed, the manipulation, he’s done so much to sweep me off my feet.
I can’t believe it’s real.
But while I drown in designer fabric in the fanciest shop I’ve ever entered, it definitely feels pretty damn real.
Lily and I have been going through a catalog of wedding dresses all morning, debating the difference between ivory and white. Ava is bouncing off the walls, helped along by the generous servings of high-tea style cakes on offer.
The attendants in the shop are crazy helpful, asking for my makeup palette — not sure — and even offering to do a color analysis for me. The fitting room is so big and comfortable that it could be a bedroom — which feels appropriate, because after trying on 15 dresses, I do want to take a nap.
“Can I get you anything else?” the shop attendant asks smoothly. “Tea, coffee, cakes?”
I shake my head. “No, thank you.”
Any more cake and I won’t be able to fit into any of the dresses in this shop. I smooth my hands over the thick silk of the dress I’m currently wearing, the luxe fabric sliding beneath my hands.
This one is far too wedding-cake-shaped for my taste, but Lily insisted I try it on because it’s the most expensive thing in the entire catalog.
“And where is—?”
“Ava?” It hits me at the exact same time as the shop attendant’s eyebrows rise up, her gaze turning out to survey the shop as though my daughter is going to be running wild amongst the crisp, untouched ivory fabric of the dresses lining the shop floor.
Then I feel something brush against my leg.
“Ava!” I gasp, bringing a hand to cover my mouth. I’m unable to stifle a laugh. “How long have you been under there?”
She pokes her head out from under the skirt and giggles, rushing over to Lily, who bursts into laughter.
The shop attendant looks like she’s about to have a heart attack. She folds her arms across her chest, looking at us all with something like disgust on her face.
“That is— You shouldn’t— I’ve never—”
But I can’t help it. I break into a fit of uncontrollable giggles too.
“I think that’s a no, for this one. If I can fit an entire four-year-old under the skirt without noticing, that’s too much fabric for me.”
I keep my words moderate because the shop attendant is still looking like she’s just swallowed a frog.
Lily nods her approval from the ottoman where she’s lounging with a cupcake. “Good choice.” She wrinkles her nose. “The color is perfect, but you look kinda like a dessert from the Great British Bake-off. Maybe a profiterole tower, with those gauzy flowers.”
She shoots a look at the shop attendant, who is taking the next dress from her colleague to bring over to us. “Sorry… It’s uh, gorgeously made, of course, just not quite Nina’s style.”
“I think you look like a princess, Mommy,” Ava says, hugging my leg. Or attempting to, through the flared organza.
“Exactly, Ava, it’s a princess dress.” I smile at the shop attendant.
She remains stony and stern, pursing her lips.
“Please keep your child’s grubby little hands away from the dresses.”
Lily’s jaw drops, and she gets up from the plush ottoman she’s been sitting on. “What did you just say to her?”
The attendant pinches the bridge of her nose. “We cannot have children touching the dresses. You are only trying on the clothing, not buying it. Please keep your child out of it.”
“Is there a problem here?” comes a rumbling voice.
Art has sent his cousin Nikolai to keep an eye on us while we wedding dress shop. I didn’t think it was a high-stakes situation, but he’s been paranoid ever since the gala.
Despite being covered in tattoos — even his face is a map of Russian mob symbols — Nikolai is surprisingly soft. Especially when it comes to Lily.
Now the shop attendant truly looks like she’s about to faint, taking in his tattoos and general demeanor. He has an uncanny way of melting in and out of the shadows. She opens her mouth and then closes it again, maybe deciding to keep her thoughts to herself.
With a deep breath, she turns to me again with the demeanor of a disappointed schoolteacher.
“We were happy to make this appointment at the last minute thanks to your fiancé’s, er, generosity.
But at Briar’s, we are not used to these kinds of disturbances during our fitting sessions, Ms. Porter.
Kindly ensure that all members of your party remain civil, no matter their age or,” she looks down her nose at Nikolai, “occupation.”
When she stalks off and is safely out of earshot, Lily and I turn to each other with perfectly matching expressions.
“What. The. Fuck.” I mouth to Lily, covering Ava’s ears.
“Do we… keep shopping here?”
“We do not,” growls Nikolai, already collecting our bags.
We both turn to him in surprise.
“Disrespect towards you is disrespect towards the Petrov name,” he says, nodding his head towards me, like it’s obvious. “It won’t be tolerated.”
“I’m not a Petrov, yet.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he grunts, sweeping his tattooed arm at us. “She is.” He points at Ava and my brows shoot up in surprise. I didn’t think Art had told anyone yet. “We’re leaving.”
The rigmarole of removing this gauzy, huge wedding dress delays our dramatic exit.
When it’s finally back on the hanger, I sigh with regret and trace my hand over the waterfall lace dress, still hanging in the fitting room.
“Damn. I did like that dress. Now I’ll never get the chance to try it on.”
“I don’t think Nikolai is going to let us buy anything here,” Lily says regretfully.
So the whole morning was a waste, and I don’t have a dress for my wedding, which is in two days.
“No one’s gonna… kill her. Right?” I ask Nikolai as we leave, keeping my hands pressed firmly over Ava’s ears.
He shrugs. “I’m not. Your fiancé will make that call.”
I sigh. “He doesn’t need to know about this.”
“Actually, I have to tell him. He’s asked for a full report of your every movement.”
I shoot a look at Lily, whose mouth has dropped open in shock. Yeah. Getting used to the Bratva is a crazy adjustment for a normal person to make, even if it does involve luxe shopping trips.
“Romantic,” she finally says, her tone dripping with sarcasm.