“Maybe we could continue this discussion after lunch?” Anica suggested, once again reading my mood perfectly. “I’m sure Mr. Roskov could prepare some sketches based on what we’ve discussed.”
“A splendid idea,” Anatoly agreed. “Paul, finish the measurements quickly, please.”
As Paul approached with his tape measure again, I noticed something through the archway on the other side of the boutique; a glimpse of white satin and lace. The bridal section. An idea formed in my mind, pushing aside my discomfort with a much more entertaining prospect.
“You know,” I said casually as Paul measured my inseam, “since we’re here, perhaps my fiancée should try on some wedding dresses.”
Anica, who had been texting something on her phone, looked up sharply. “What?”
“A wedding dress, darling. The thing women wear when they get married?” I gave her my most innocent smile. “You haven’t found yours yet, have you?”
Paul stared between us, a crease forming between his brows, mouth parting like a question was on the edge.
“Mr. Burkhardt has an unusual sense of humor,” Anica explained.
“I’m sure Lucas could help.” I nodded to the other assistant, who shrugged.
“Sure.”
“No,” Anica said, shaking her head. “It’s not important.”
“I disagree.” I was enjoying this far too much. “I’d say we’ve already waited too long, but I’m sure these fine gentlemen can help you find the perfect dress.”
“He makes an excellent point,” Anatoly interjected, suddenly reappearing. “And our bridal collection is truly exceptional. Perhaps just a quick viewing?”
Anica’s expression suggested she was mentally calculating how many years she’d serve for strangling me with Paul’s measuring tape. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Please?” I employed the puppy-dog eyes that had gotten me out of trouble since childhood. “Just one dress.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she repeated flatly.
“And you’re the best.”
“Damn straight,” she muttered, but her resolve weakened. “Fine. One dress. Then we’re discussing the next three candidates over lunch, which you’re paying for.”
“Deal.” I grinned, victorious. “And I promise to actually give them fair consideration this time.”
“As opposed to sabotaging them with inappropriate questions?” she asked, raising a brow.
“That was a legitimate test,” I protested.
Anatoly was already crossing to the other side of the store. “Christina!” he called. “We need you for a special bridal consultation!”
A stylish woman in her forties appeared almost instantly. “Yes, Mr. Roskov?”
“This is Ms. Marcel, Mr. Burkhardt’s fiancée. She requires a gown. Something spectacular.”
“Of course.” Christina assessed Anica. “You have a lovely figure, Ms. Marcel. Classic hourglass with exceptional posture.”
“Doesn’t she?” I beamed at Anica, who flipped me off behind her back.
“Are you thinking traditional, modern, or somewhere in between?” Christina asked.
“I’m thinking ‘let’s get this over with as quickly as possible,’” Anica replied with a tight smile. “One dress. Simple, elegant, nothing too fussy.”
“I have just the thing,” Christina assured her. “If you’ll follow me?”
As Anica was led away, looking like she was marching to her execution, I couldn’t help but feel smug. This was turning out to be far more entertaining than I’d anticipated. A little payback for all her rigid professionalism and boundary-setting.
