“Thank you, Viktor,” I reply, then dig into the croissant with gusto.
As well as a body guard, lie detector, and errand man, Victor is also one of the best drivers in the entire city. In less than ten minutes after pulling into the heavy New York traffic he has the town car pulling up to the front of the dress shop.
I lick my fingers clean of the croissant and take a long swig of my coffee, feeling a little better as the pastry and caffeine push away my hangover.
“Finally,” Valya says in greeting as I walk in, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “You know, just because Papa can afford to make people wait for you, it doesn’t mean that you should.”
I force a cheery smile as I look at my baby sister, used to her more spoiled and self-centered way. Like me, Valya shares our father’s blue eyes, but while I got our late mother’s dark blonde, curly hair, Valya was gifted our father’s dark chocolate brown poker straight locks. At twenty-two, she’s a sophomore at NYU studying dance, holds to a strict diet that keeps her stick thin, and does her very best to suck up to our father at all times.
“Good morning to you, too, Valya,” I greet sweetly.
“Pay her no mind,doch,”our father says, getting up from his seat beside Valya. “You are the bride. You are allowed to do these things on your own time.”
Except choose my groom or if and when I want to actually get married.
I keep the thought to myself, knowing that to say it would only make my doting father feel even more guilty. This was my life. My family and my traditions. Sacrifices had to be made.
My smile turns genuine as I open my arms and accept my father’s hug. Like him, it's warm and big and full of protection. Even now, as an adult, I still curl myself into them like I’m a little girl and let him lift me off my feet.
“I missed you,” Yulian says as he squeezes me tightly.
“Oh, Papa,” I laugh softly. “I was only gone one night!”
“I know,” he sighs, letting me go, “But soon that won’t be true, will it?”
I hear the guilt lacing my father’s tone and see the sadness flash in his blue eyes. I know this isn’t what he wanted for me- but just like me, he didn’t have a choice. Not if we want to form the much-needed alliance between the two powerful families.
“That’s enough of that,” I say, my tone gentle as I cup his cheek.
“Yeah, really,” Valya said behind us.
I don’t have to look to know that my little sister is rolling her eyes.
“Haven’t we’ve been keeping this designer waiting long enough?” Valya adds with irritation.
“Valya,” Yulian sighs warily.
“No, Papa, she’s right,” I say, stopping him from giving Valya another lecture.
I turn to the elegantly dressed dressmaker and offer a charming smile as she extends her hand.
“Mrs. Ivanov, thank you so much for your patience,” I offer, “I am truly sorry for wasting your time.”
The tall, beautiful, and thin middle-aged woman spreads her red lips into a smile as she accepts my hand and gives it a polite shake.
“Not a problem at all, Miss Shabalin. It has been an honor to work with your family,” Mrs. Ivanov replies.
With her being the main dressmaker within the powerful circle of the Russian mafia families, I am sure that’s true. Our inner circle no doubt paid for the upscale shop as well as the high-end townhouse Mrs. Ivanov and her husband no-doubt live in. This woman, I’m sure, is used to being patient in order to please her very wealthy,verypowerful clients.
“Come right this way,” Mrs. Ivanov encourages, waving a hand toward the large suite of white and gold curtained changing rooms. “I have your gown ready for you.”
Ten minutes later and with the help of Mrs. Ivanov, I’m fitted into my wedding dress. Even though it’s only my first fitting, the ivory long-sleeved sheath dress fits my curves like an absolute dream. The first layer of silk hugs my features perfectly. It dips down into a sweetheart cut at my breasts and rides low on my back, while the hand-stitched ivory lace overlay clings to my arms, neck, and upper back as if it were a second skin. Ivory silk buttons lay in a perfect line down my back, from my neck all the way down to my tailbone.
It is…perfection. A dream wedding gown. Unfortunately it isn’t for the dream wedding.
“Oh no,” Mrs. Ivanov said worriedly, studying my face in the full-length mirror. “You do not like it.”
I snap out of my depressive thought and quickly put a fake smile back on.
