The rejection rack was more crowded than the begrudgingly accepted one.
“It looks exceptional on you.” I especially liked the deep slit that flashed her bare leg.
Her head tipped sarcastically at me. “If you’d just let me call my sister, I’d have my things and?—”
The couture stilista didn’t hide her thoughts on the matter. A string of rapid-fire judgments about Allie’s style flew from her lips. None of it registered on Allie, but they gouged deep in my heart.
Allie was not plain, nor provincial. She was classic, reserved, and strong of both mind and heart.
Despite orders from both my physician and a beautiful veterinarian, I stood. “Enough.”
Everyone except Allie froze. She hurried to my side and hissed, “Sit down before you fall down.” Her hand rested on my hip bone, just below the line of stitches.
Under my breath, I corrected her. “It doesn’t hurt.” To soften the rebuke, I pulled her hand to my lips. “Trust me.”
Her nostrils flared, but she knew better than to argue with me in front of the small army who’d invaded our temporary home.
“It is obvious my wife prefers a more classic look. She has refined needs. Judging by the choices she’s made, she prefers comfort, utility, and timelessness, not whimsy. Think royalty, not vulgarian.”
With the fanfare of a carnival barker, the stylist brought in two more racks of clothing. The existing ones, save for the few core pieces Allie chose, were whisked away.
In the end, she chose an elegant, muted-sage dress. It was clean-lined with a hint of softness at the neckline where it draped artfully without exposing more than her collarbone. Her honey-blonde hair curled slightly over one shoulder and rested on her chest, daring me to touch.
I conveyed my approval with a nod and only a small tightening of my mouth toward a smile. I longed to see her in a summer garden, accented in the filtered light of a winery trellis.
Her smile was larger. Confidence squared her shoulders, and she held her head like a queen. My queen.
The gold of my ring on her finger glinted on her finger.
Yes, she should have more jewelry. But the solitary piece was a brand, a signal to the entire world that this woman was mine. Heir to a brutal legacy, and owner of my soul.
If I had one.
“We’ll need travel clothes as well. Let her pick at least three outfits to tide us over until she can connect with her luggage.”
My words made an eyebrow go up. I hadn’t outright promised her she could talk to her sister, but I wouldn’t rule it out. She wasn’t my prisoner, but it was safer for everyone if she remained close. At least until I worked out an amicable solution with my hard-headed father.
Tonight’s meal with him would not go well.
He had been the one to suggest my marriage to Dianora. An alliance between his banking and shipping interests and their multi-faceted empire would elevate him into legendary circles.
The world was not enough for some people.
At the time, I wasn’t fighting the union, nor was I helping it along. I’d reached out to Dianora’s brother mere days ago to suggest a solution that didn’t result in marriage to his conniving sister.
And without any schemes on my part, I’d found one.
Of course, that didn’t change the facts. Her brother, Adelmo, was dead. I was blamed for his demise, and to complicate things, my bride was not Dianora, but this golden siren with her forward, but humble, no-nonsense approach to life.
This respite came with strings. Ones my father was undoubtedly working on ways to manipulate.
Marrying Allie may have severed his current puppetry, but he was a master of diplomacy. A weapon so cruel and subtle, it was a challenge to outwit.
For that, I needed an ally. One who lived to keep my father under control. I left Allie to the whims of the stylist and reached out to the only other person who I trusted.
When he picked up the extension, I greeted him warmly. “Aiaiu.” Grandfather. He was my mother’s father. She had been his youngest and favorite child. And me? The spoiled son of a man who never answered for his transgressions.
“Mario. It has been too long since I’ve heard your voice.”
