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There’s one dress shop in town. We get coffee at the nearby café first—decaf for Cecelia—and then walk over to the small shop. There are a few dresses in the window, all gorgeous lace confections, and I stop and look at them for a moment before we walk inside.
There’s a middle-aged blonde woman pinning a dress on a mannequin. She pulls a handful of pins out of her mouth, dropping them on a small table, and smiles brightly at us. “Can I help you?”
“I need to find a wedding dress.” My heart thumps oddly in my chest, saying it out loud. “And I need to find one that fits me now. I don’t have a lot of time for alterations. We’re getting married in a week.” Maybe less, I think, but I don’t say it aloud. I’m already not surprised when the woman’s assessing gaze immediately drops to my midsection.
“Well—” She gives me an appraising look. “You’re the right size to fit in a lot off the rack, I think. Maybe with just a few nips and tucks here and there. So.” She raises an eyebrow, gesturing for us to walk over to where several blue velvet chairs and a matching loveseat are arranged in a half-circle, with dressing rooms on one side and a three-way mirror on the other. “You ladies sit here. What are you thinking?” she asks me. “Lace? Silk? Simple or fancy?”
“Simple,” I say, at the same moment that Cecelia chimes in.
“Fancy!”
The woman chuckles. “Alright. I’ll pull a handful of gowns for you. I’m Anita.”
“Bella. This is Agnes and Cecelia.”
Agnes raises a hand, smiling, and Cecelia bounces in place, her eyes darting continuously around the shop in an effort to take it all in.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m stripped down to my underwear in one of the dressing rooms, the striped curtain pulled closed as Anita surrounds us both with a sea of lace, silk, satin, and tulle.
The first dress she puts me in is very much not my style. It’s a tight, plain satin bodice with stiff sleeves and a full skirt—very Cinderella. I walk out in it anyway, because I don’t want to disappoint Cecelia, who told me very firmly on the way over that she wants to see every dress.
This is as much for her as it is for me. I’m not sure that it matters what I walk down the aisle to Gabriel in, especially when this isn’t a real marriage, but this might be Cecelia’s only experience of seeing the woman her father is supposedly in love with trying on dresses. This wasn’t anywhere in the plans before a couple of days ago, but Cecelia knows about all of this now, and I don’t want this to be marred for her. Especially if, eventually, this ends with me walking away.
My chest contracts at that thought, and I have to plaster a smile on my face as I walk out of the dressing room.
“Definitely not that one,” Agnes says with a chuckle as I walk out. “I can see from the look on your face.”
“You look like a princess,” Cecelia breathes, and I laugh a little at that.
“Not my kind of princess,” I tell her. “But we’ll see what the next one looks like.”
We go through a series of dresses. Unsurprisingly, Cecelia likes the puffy princess gowns the most, but the ones I gravitate towards are more elegant. I snap pictures of those, sending them to Clara. A long sheath gown made entirely of fragile lace, with a sweetheart neckline and off-the-shoulder cap sleeves. A thin silk halter dress that drapes over me. A strapless column gown made of heavy satin.
Clara’s pick is the lace one. And when I walk back out in it again, looking in the mirror, I hear Cecelia’s wistful sigh and I know she’s in agreement.
“You look beautiful,” Agnes says. “Every bit a bride. It suits you.”
It does suit me. It barely needs any alterations. It feels almost meant for me, and in some ways, that makes me want to choose one of the others. The dress feels too perfect for a wedding that’s being arranged because my life, and the lives of the people I care about, are in danger. I feel too happy in it for a marriage to a man who I secretly love, who is only going to break my heart in the end.
Nothing about this wedding is a fairytale. But as I look in the mirror, I wish I could believe in it. That this could be real—Gabriel and I, together, happily ever after.
I know that’s not true. But I look at Anita, smoothing my hands over the delicate lace skirt. “I’ll take it.”
16
BELLA
The morning of my wedding is perfectly beautiful and sunny, not a cloud in the sky. I open my eyes and see the sun shining, and I immediately feel a wave of nausea, panic flooding me as the memories of a different, beautiful, clear morning come flooding in. A different wedding. A different groom.
I’ve come a long way since then. I’ve fought back the memories of Pyotr, the carnage in the church, the terrifying lock of the doors that signaled the Bratva to begin their violence. The rough hands on me, the threats of the men, the betting over who would get me first when Pyotr was done with me. The way I was so sure that I was going to be violated, and then killed.
The thought of it happening again terrifies me. I can’t shake the feeling that Igor might have somehow found out about this plan, that he’s biding his time to attack today, while we’re at the church. It sends a cold sweat prickling over me, and when Agnes knocks on my door and walks in with a tray of breakfast, I’m still in bed.
“Breakfast in bed for the bride,” she says cheerily, a smile on her face right up until she sees mine. “Oh, Bella. Are you getting cold feet?”
My feet actually do feel very cold. But for different reasons than I think she’s imagining.
“What has Gabriel told you about all of this?” I ask carefully, as she sets the tray down and goes to the closet, getting out the garment bag with my wedding dress. Agnes hangs it on the back of the closet door, letting out a sigh as she smooths her hands down it, unzipping it a moment later.
