“You’re done here, I suppose?” he asks Ms. Donatello.
“For now,” she answers, a clear bite in her tone.
“Great. I look forward to never seeing you again. Now, get out.”
She approaches him—slowly, controlled, with a feline grace that always unsettled me. “You don’t want me as your enemy.”
“Out,” he says.
Ms. Donatello turns to me, offering a smile. I return it, and before I know it, she’s in the elevator, disappearing before the closing doors.
“You didn’t have to talk to her like that,” I scoff, gripping the hem of my dress so I can walk. “She’s done nothing to upset you.”
“Cecilia…” He lets out a controlled breath. “What onEarthare you wearing?”
“Great. Now you’re being a jerk to me as well.” I avert my gaze, a sob catching in my throat as I pull my lower lip between my teeth.
“I’m not trying to—fuck… Just tell me the truth. Do you actually like this thing? If yes, I’ll shut up.”
I pause, considering the question, searching his eyes for any hint of mockery but finding none. Instead, I find something worse—confusion. Frustration. And something that looks disturbingly like concern.
“Well?” he asks.
“I…” I cross my arms, shrugging. “It’s not what I would’ve chosen, but if this is for the best…”
His nostrils flare. His brows lower. In fact, all his features twist with something I haven’t seen displayed on his face yet—anger. And it’s not directed at me at all.
“Go take this off. In fact, rip it to fucking shreds.”
“What…?”
“We’re going shopping,” he says, getting our coats from the hanger.
“But I can’t just—” I shake my head, a smile tugging at my lips. “She’s already putting in the order for this dress.”
“Shecan wear it then. My wife will wear whatever the fuck she wants on her wedding day. Let’s go.”
18
Cecilia
Mikhail and I are on the streets of New York, entering a high-end bridal store together. My palms are slick, my frantic pulse hammering against my ribs as I follow him, clinging to his confidence. As much as I appreciate him bringing me here, the looks I’m getting from the stylists and sales consultants are unnerving.
“Good morning, sir,” a clerk greets him. “Do you have an appointment today? And if yes, may I please have your name?”
Mikhail simply pulls out a black Amex and places it on the front desk. I don’t miss the way the clerk frowns at the tattoos on his knuckles.
“My lovely wife here would like to try on some dresses,” Mikhail says. “Wedding’s in two days, you see. I’m sure you’ll be able to accommodate her.”
My lovely wife.
I know that’s just the way he speaks—like he takes nothing seriously—but I can’t help the butterflies from forming in my stomach or the heat skittering down my spine.
“Oh—” the man says. “We’re…um…we’re currently in private appointments, but I’d love to help you book a time so we can give her the full experience.”
A dark chuckle has my eyes widened in shock. I’ve been around Mikhail enough to know what that means. Trouble.
“False,” he says, cracking his neck muscles. “You’re currently inoneprivate appointment, and it’s this one right here. You can either take my money to book us in, or you can take a bullet to the mouth instead. Either way, someone here is giving my wife the full experience. Am I fucking clear?”
