Iarrived at Bespoke & Co. right on time. 11:00 AM exactly. It was sure to throw Anica off her game. Punctuality: the ultimate power move when dealing with someone who expects you to be late.
The boutique occupied the entire ground floor of a historic brownstone on the Upper East Side, it was polished mahogany and hushed voices, with prices high enough to make even billionaires check their account balances. The kind of place where they didn’t display price tags because if you had to ask, you couldn’t afford it.
I hated it immediately.
Don’t get me wrong. I appreciated quality. But places like this weren’t about quality; they were about exclusivity. About making certain people feel special by making everyone else feel inadequate. A game I’d learned to play exceptionally well but never quite enjoyed.
Growing up in Queens with hand-me-down clothes and shoes patched with duct tape had left its mark, even after fifteen years of wealth. The memory of my grandmother working double shifts to afford my school uniform still made these temples of excess feel slightly obscene.
“Mr. Burkhardt!” The owner appeared as I stepped through the door. Anatoly Roskov, a trim man with silver hair. “What an unexpected pleasure. We’ve been hoping you might visit us.”
His accent carried traces of Eastern Europe softened by years in Manhattan’s elite circles, not the affected British inflection I’d half-expected from the boutique’s pretentious exterior.
“Anatoly,” I nodded, having never met the man before in my life but certain he would pretend otherwise. “I need a tuxedo for the Pediatric Cancer Foundation gala.”
“Of course, of course. We have several exceptional pieces that would complement your frame.” He gestured toward the back of the store. “If you’ll follow me, we have a private viewing area where?—”
“I’m waiting for someone,” I interrupted, checking my watch. 11:03. Still no Anica. Maybe my punctuality play had backfired.
“Your assistant, perhaps? We can offer refreshments while?—”
“My fiancée,” I said, the lie rolling off my tongue. After the Rhodes Estate, it felt almost natural. “She’s helping me choose.”
Anatoly’s eyebrows rose. “I wasn’t aware you were engaged, Mr. Burkhardt. The society pages have been surprisingly quiet.”
I bit back a smile. In Anatoly’s world, a billionaire bachelor getting engaged without proper society announcement was like a royal abdication. The gossip value alone probably had him mentally composing texts to his most valuable clients.
“Very recent,” I assured him. “We’re keeping it quiet.”
“Discretion is our specialty,” he said, while clearly calculating how this information could be strategically leaked. “Perhaps while you wait, I could show you our new collection of?—”
The door opened, and there she was in a pantsuit with a cream silk blouse, hair in a sleek ponytail. Her expression shifted from composed to surprised when she saw me.
“You’re on time,” she said by way of greeting.
“Don’t sound so disappointed.” I grinned.
Her lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. “How considerate.”
“Ms. Marcel, I presume?” Anatoly stepped forward. “A pleasure to welcome Mr. Burkhardt’s... fiancée to our establishment.”
The look Anica shot me could have flash-frozen hell. “I’m Mr. Burkhardt’s wedding planner,” she corrected smoothly. “Here in a strictly professional capacity to ensure he selects appropriate attire for upcoming events.”
“Of course,” Anatoly said, looking between us with poorly concealed curiosity. “How... modern.”
“Isn’t she wonderful?” I draped an arm around Anica’s shoulders. She stiffened beneath my touch. “So dedicated to her work that she insists on maintaining professional boundaries in public. We’re very private about our relationship.”
“Mr. Burkhardt,” she said through gritted teeth, “perhaps we should focus on selecting your tuxedo?”
“Whatever you say, darling.”
She shrugged off my arm. “Mr. Roskov, we’re looking for something classic but distinctive for the gala. Mr. Burkhardt needs to make an impression without appearing as though he’s trying to make an impression.”
Anatoly nodded. “A woman who understands the subtleties of men’s formal wear. Refreshing.”
“I understand the subtleties of many things,” she replied with a cool smile. “Including the value of efficiency. Shall we?”
As Anatoly led us toward the fitting area, I leaned close to Anica. “Subtle threat. Very effective.”
