There are also…more of the same dresses. There are seven dresses in total.
“Those are all the sizes the boutique stocks.”
I whirl around at the sound of Viktor’s voice.
“I…I don’t understand,” I murmur.
He comes up behind me. “I’m so sorry, Avelina. I messed up before. I should have asked your dress size before buying the dress. I just tried to guess, and I got it wrong. I thought you’d exchange it if it didn’t fit, but I should have thought my plan through better?—”
“You weren’t to know,” I say quickly, hating that he’s blaming himself for my insecurities.
“I hate seeing you upset. You can choose whichever size fits you.” He gestures to the box. “And I’ll give the rest to Goodwill.”
“But this must have…cost you a fortune,” I stutter, knowing that a single dress from this boutique must cost more than an average person earns in a month.
“It’s just money. And I don’t care what it costs to see you happy.” He shrugs. “Anyway, the seven spare dresses that don’t fit you will make seven other people happy and earn money for Goodwill, so it’s not a waste at all.”
I trace my fingers over the silk again, feeling the smoothness beneath my skin. Seven dresses. Seven chances for someone else to feel beautiful. It’s such a Viktor thing to do—fixing something with thoughtfulness instead of words. And somehow, it makes my chest ache in the best possible way. Because no one’s ever done this for me before. Not Geliy, not anyone. No one’s ever looked at me—really looked—and tried to understand why a simple dress could make me spiral. Why it mattered that it didn’t fit. Why it hurt to feel like my body was always a problem to solve.
But Viktor never makes me feel like that. He makes me feelseen. Like my body, my heart, all of me, is something worth cherishing—not apologizing for.
I think about the way his voice softened when he said he hatesseeing me upset. The quiet sincerity of it. The way he always fixes the broken things I didn’t even realize were cracked inside me.
And his words make me smile up at him. At his generosity. At his thoughtfulness.And at the way he wants to see me happy.
And I realize how utterly lucky I am to have met a man like him.
The days are flying by, and the children are adjusting well to life at the compound. The dinner date was a success, although to be honest, I’m just as happy working outside in the garden with Viktor.
It’s mid-afternoon by the time I finish my work in the office, and the moment I open the door to the den, my little girl beams up at me like she’s just discovered a lifetime’s unlimited supply of sugar.
“Mama, look,” Sofia trills.
She’s kneeling on the rug, surrounded by a glitter explosion of stuffed toys, plastic tiaras, and costume jewelry. And in front of her sits Albert, who no longer looks like a dog. Instead, he looks like the canine king of a very questionable fairy kingdom.
Albert is wearing a sparkly pink diamante crown that’s already toppled to one side, a fluffy purple cape clasped under his chin, and…oh no, is that blush on his cheeks? Sofia’s pink plastic tea set is also set out on the floor, obviously so that they can have a tea party together. I’m not sure where Queenie is, but it seems that maybe she had the good sense to flee this madness.
I slap my hand over my mouth to smother the giggle bubbling up. “Oh my goodness.”
Sofia looks up at me. “Do you like it?”
“He looks very… royal,” I manage.
Albert just sits there, stoic, and tolerates it like a martyr, although he is enjoying lapping lemonade from a sparkly pink bowl.
But behind me, a low growl rumbles. “What the hell isthat?”
I whirl around to find Grigory standing in the doorway, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene.
“Why is my dog dressedlike a clown?!” He looks like he’s about tospontaneously combust. “Your…your child—” His hands flap helplessly, which is odd considering he usually moves like a lethal panther. “She’s, she’s…defiledmy dog!” Grigory has become awfully attached to and possessive over Albert in such a short time.
“Defiled is a bit, er, strong,” I say. “I’d call it…accessorized, don’t you think?”
“And what are thosethingson his ears?” Grigory cries.
“The doggy wanted to have his hair in pigtails,” Sofia explains, as if she knows all of Albert’s wishes and life ambitions. “He wanted tolook pretty. So, I let him borrow my hair clips and hair bows.”
Grigory’s glare sharpens, but there’s a flicker of panic under it. “He’s aguard dog. He’s supposed to intimidate intruders, not star in a Disney princess movie.” He breaks off, visibly restraining himself as my little girl adjusts Albert’s tiara to the right. “I can’t believe what you’ve done to Albert,” he wails.
