Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
It fit as if it had been designed for my body alone. It made me look sensuous, made my legs seem longer, my curves more decadent.
If I were actually getting married, this would be the dress I’d want to wear.
A thick lump rose in my throat, tears burning behind my eyes, threatening to spill. Veronika should be here for this.
No.
I yanked the thought away before it could take root. It was ridiculous.
I wasn’t supposed to be here.
I wasn’t a bride.
And yet, here I was, standing in an elegant boutique, dressed in white, surrounded by women who treated this moment as if it were something normal.
“This is stupid,” I said abruptly, my voice too sharp, the sound grating against the delicate atmosphere of the boutique.
“It’s not stupid,” Yelena said, hands on her hips. “I worked hard on that dress.”
“Not the dress,” I corrected quickly, shaking my head. “The dress is stunning.” I swallowed hard. “What’s stupid is that I’m the one wearing it. I’m not getting married today. Or any other day.”
Silence stretched between us.
The three women exchanged looks, something unsaid passing between them. Something heavy.
“Well,” Yelena finally said, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from the fabric. “Kostya is expecting to marry someone today.” She lifted her gaze to mine. “And the three of us are already taken.”
A slow, sickening wave of dread washed over me.
“No.”
The word came out too fast, too forceful. I stomped my foot, an absurdly childish move considering the situation, but my body was thrumming with static, with the need to move, to run.
“Look,” I snapped, my voice trembling, “I know you’re all mafia wives, and you signed up for this, but I didn’t. This is not my life.”
Samara lifted her hands in a placating gesture, her lips pulling into something soft, almost sympathetic.
“Honey,” she said gently, as if she were speaking to a skittish animal. And maybe she was. “I think you might be past that point. Everything is already in motion.”
My heart lurched.
“Everything,” I echoed numbly, my pulse pounding against my skull. “Everything except for the bride’s consent.”
The words came out in a rush, my arms crossing over my chest in an effort to shield myself, as if I could will my body to reject the silk and lace molded to my skin. The dress wasn’t at fault. The dress was perfect. It deserved to be worn by someone who actually wanted this.
Maybe Kostya could con someone else into marrying him.
And maybe she could wear this work of art.
Not me. Never me.
I just had to find a way to make that happen before it was too late.
“Kostya is an Ivanov.” Nadia’s voice was casual, matter-of-fact. She could have been explaining something as simple as the weather. “He didn’t ask because no one tells him no.”
I gritted my teeth. “I told him no,” I snapped. “Several times. In fact, I spent all of last night telling him no.”
Yelena arched a perfectly groomed brow on her way toward a display case, her fingers skimming over the delicate tiaras and bridal crowns. Without hesitation, Nadia moved behind her, sifting through the rows of veils, picking out accessories for a wedding that appeared to be already set in stone.
“How did that work out for you?” Yelena asked, not even bothering to look up.
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
Samara sighed, stepping closer, the warmth of her perfume wrapping around me. “She means you said no… and yet here you are. In a wedding dress.”
I gave a small shudder.
“And in a few hours,” she continued, “the men will be here to take you to the church.” She smiled, acting as though this was some great love story unfolding rather than a nightmare swallowing me whole. “It’s kind of romantic if you think about it.”
“Is it?” I bit out, my gaze snapping to hers in the mirror’s reflection.
Her smile didn’t waver. It deepened.
“You need to understand something,” she said smoothly. “These men are… unusually stubborn. Once they set their mind to something, that’s it. They will move heaven and earth to make it happen.”
She glanced down at her left hand, at the diamond glittering on her finger.
“I ran from Gregor. For three years, I ran. I lived a lie, convinced myself I was free. And when he caught me?” She let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “He had a priest waiting on a private plane. We were married before my feet touched the ground.”
I stared at her. Unblinking.
“He took care of everything,” she went on, her voice softer now. “And by making me an Ivanov, he kept me safe. My father was involved in some very bad deals, and Gregor made sure I was untouchable.”
Silence settled over the room, the only sound the slight rustle my dress made when I turned, meeting her eyes directly. “Samara, sweetie,” I said flatly. “Blink twice if you need me to get you out of here.”