Ms. Donatello brings her hand around my shoulders, pulling me farther into the room with her. “Come, come, let me show you what I brought.”
Mikhail walks past us, his steps fading as he moseys down a large hallway in the distance. “I’ll be in my office. Don’t break anything.”
Once she knows we’re truly alone, my mentor pulls me to an empty spot on the couch, holding my hands. “How are you,cara? Has he hurt you…?”
I shake my head. “No. I mostly sit in my room all day. I don’t know where he goes or?—”
“And the others? Has thePakhanthreatened you?”
“No. His wife actually helped me get settled. I’m fine, I just…”
“The nightmares,” she says softly, “You still have the same one, right?”
My breath hitches as I recall my latest. “Mostly the same.”
“So they’re changing?” Her gaze sharpens.
“I…”
She squeezes my hands a little harder, the gesture odd but affirming. “You know you can tell me anything. I’ve helped you before, and I can do it again. If you need that tincture again…”
A sad smile tugs at my lips. “I know. Thank you. I just…I don’t really want to talk about that right now.” The last thing I want her to know is how I woke up pinned beneath my future husband…and liked it.
Her lips press into a tight line. “That’s alright. We’ll have more time to talk now that I’m helping with the wedding preparations.”
“Do you know when it is? No one tells me anything.”
“What a bastard.” She scoffs, glancing away. “It's two days from now. Not a lot of time, I know, but then again, this wedding is just to close the deal publicly.”
Two days.
My stomach lurches.
Of course, it’s just business, yet hearing it aloud makes my pulse spike. Because once that ring is on my finger, I’ll belong to Mikhail officially.
“Let’s see about that dress then,” she says, getting up from the couch.
We go through dozens of gowns—all massive, suffocating things with layers of tulle and stiff corsets that bite into my ribs. They remind me too much of being displayed back home.
“This is it, I think,” Ms. Donatello says an hour later, clasping her hands together as I stand in the mirror wearing a monster of a dress. “Royal. Sumptuous. Worthy of Cecilia Ferrara, pianist extraordinaire.”
I turn to the side, taking in all the ruffles before meeting her gaze. “You don’t think it’s a bit…much?”Pompous. Heavy. Too…out there.
“What? No, no, no. It’s perfect.” She steps closer, her tone shifting into that soft command she’s always used on me. “You’ve always loved statement pieces. Big dresses make people notice you onstage.”
Did I? I remember preferring simpler pieces. Satin. Then again, she knows best. She usually does.
“Right, but…”
She lets out a sigh, placing both hands on my shoulders from behind. “Trust me on this one. There’s a lot of tension back home. The last thing your father needs is for you to look small. Let them see power.Presence.”
Slowly, I begin to nod, realizing she’s probably right. She’s the one with an eye for these things, and her wardrobe attests to that. Besides, I don’t even want this wedding, so might as well pick this dress and get it over with.
“Good.” She smiles victoriously. “I’ll call the atelier and make the order.”
As she goes to retrieve her purse and coat from the couch, Mikhail’s reflection joins mine in the mirror. Our eyes meet, and immediately, his nose scrunches, his disappointment all over his face. I look away, unable to stop the embarrassment from flooding me.
So what if he thinks I look ridiculous? Let him.
