Fast. Too fast.
I don’t know why he agreed. Whether it’s strategy, pressure from Mike, or…last night.
But the reason doesn’t matter.
What matters is this: Preparations are already underway.
I exhale slowly, forcing myself to steady. This is what I wanted. What I needed.
So why does it feel like I’ve just stepped onto a battlefield I can’t fully see?
A woman brushes past me with a rack of dresses, muttering under her breath. Another follows with shoes, fabrics draped over her arms like a moving display.
“Wait,” I say, stopping her. “What is all this?”
She blinks at me like the answer should be obvious.
“For the wedding, miss.”
The wedding.
I release her, watching as she hurries off, and for a moment, I just stand there.
Then I straighten my shoulders.
Fine.
If this is happening, then I will not stand here like a spectator.
I will control it.
“Miss Petrova! Or should I say, Miss Rusnak!”
I turn at the voice just in time to see a whirlwind of energy barreling toward me, arms full of garment bags. He’s striking—tall, elegant, with an almost ethereal beauty. His nails are long, painted a deep red, and his makeup is flawless, accentuating sharp, expressive features.
Before I can react, he pulls me into a hug.
I stiffen for half a second, then relax.
He pulls back just as quickly, eyes sweeping over me from head to toe, assessing. Not predatory. Not invasive. Just…professional.
“You have a wonderful figure,” he says, already nodding to himself. “I can’t wait to see how these dresses will fit. Is this your room?”
“Yes,” I reply, a little thrown by his energy. It’s bright. Alive. A stark contrast to the tension coiled through the rest of this house.
“Perfect!”
He doesn’t wait for permission. He simply turns, already moving, expecting me to follow.
I do.
He sweeps into my room like he owns it, dropping the garment bags carefully across the bed before turning back to me with a wide smile.
“I’m Matteo,” he says with a slight flourish. “Your designer. Personally hired by the terrifying man you’re about to marry.”
There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“Which means,” he continues, clapping his hands once, “you and I are going to become very close over the next few days.”
