Nadia bursts out laughing, Gwen following suit, her hand flying up to cover Toni’s ears.
“I’m sorry, did I not just walk in on you humping his leg?”
“That wasn’t me! I was— I was baking biscuits and then he?—”
“Pinned you against the counter and dry-humped you into submission?”
The tailor actually snorts behind me, and I whirl around to Gwen, horrified. “Gwen!”
“Yeah, Gwen,” Nadia groans, rubbing a hand down her face. “Please stop talking about my brother in sexual positions.”
“Nadia, are you blind?” Gwen shrieks. “They are practically fucking every time they look at each other!”
“We are not!”
I can feel my whole body flush as their words echo in my ears. My face is hot, my scalp prickling under the pins holding my hair back, and suddenly I’m very aware of how much bare skin this dress leaves exposed. The tailor fussing around my waist only makes it worse; I feel like I’ve been caught in a spotlight.
My reflection in the mirror stares back at me: the lace, the slit, the curve of my body that the gown refuses to hide. And the only thing I can think about is Aleksandr walking into this room—into this exact moment—while Gwen is still talking about dry humping.
It’s mortifying.
I cross my arms tightly over my chest, even though the bodice doesn’t allow much movement, and mutter, “This conversation is the reason people elope.”
“Sweetheart,” Gwen says, grinning at me like a cat, “if Aleksandr was five minutes earlier, none of us would be sitting here. You’d be on the counter again, and Toni would have to learn a whole new vocabulary.”
I slap both hands over my face, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole, veil and all.
“Arms down, please,” the tailor commands, tugging lightly at my wrists.
“Sorry,” I mutter, my voice muffled through my palms. I lower my arms as fast as I can, but the heat in my ears is a dead giveaway.
“Stand still,” the tailor warns gently, fussing with the illusion sleeves, smoothing them so they lie perfectly across my shoulders and arms.
“Look,” Nadia says finally, setting the memo pad aside and walking toward me with that same cool confidence she carries everywhere. She plants her hands on her hips like she’s getting ready to deliver a verdict. “You like my brother.”
My head jerks around, but the tailor clamps his hands firmly on my shoulders, forcing me to face forward and watch everything play out in the mirror.
“It was a high school crush,” I say, eyes wide, panicked, as if that explains everything. Gwen uncovers Toni’s ears, but rolls her eyes.
“A high school crush that survived all four years of college and somehow managed to hang on for another four years of adulthood?” Nadia arches a brow at me in the reflection.
“It’s… like a low humming crush in the background,” I mumble, staring down at my hands like they hold the answers. “I’ve liked other people.”
“Not as much as you like Aleksandr,” Gwen pipes up, rocking Toni on her knee like she’s watching a drama unfold on stage.
“Gwen!” I nearly squeak her name.
She shrugs, unrepentant. “I call it like I see it.”
“Look,” Nadia says again, her voice softening just a touch, though her eyes remain razor sharp. “Aleksandr likes you, too.”
I huff out a breath, my reflection betraying every thought I’m trying so hard to bury, because I know. Ireallyknow that he likes me. The whole caveman ‘you are mine’ thing kind of got me up to speed on that. Pretty sure he’s been liking me for as long as I’ve liked him.
“That’s cool,” I say, my voice tilting upward like everything I say is a question, but I force myself to keep going. “But this wedding is fake. It’s not real, so this doesn’t count.”
“Doesn’t count?” Gwen snorts, almost choking on her laugh. “Aleksandr planned this entire wedding himself.”
“What?”
