Page 38 of Velvet Vaughn

“I feel like there should’ve been a please somewhere in there.”

“Sit and don’t talk unless I ask.”

Leo sat.

Anja grinned. Watching Leonardo De Luca get put in a time-out might be worth the trip all by itself.

He narrowed his eyes at her and mouthed, “You’re enjoying this.”

“Immensely.” She planned to remember this technique for future use.

Larisa turned back to Anja, and she quickly blanked her expression. Larisa took her hands and scrutinized her with the critical eye of a sculptor assessing a lump of clay. She walked in a slow circle. Anja stood motionless and let herself be evaluated, which was not something she did for most people.

“You move like an athlete,” Larisa announced. She stepped in and lifted Anja’s braid off her shoulder, considering something. “The hair stays up or down tonight?”

“Up.”

“Good choice.” She set the braid back down. “What do you want the room to see?”

Anja kept her voice even. “Someone who belongs there.”

“And what do you not want them to see?”

“Everything else.”

Approval flashed across the older woman’s expression. She turned toward the covered rack at the far end of the room and began removing gowns without hesitation, returning a few and selecting others. She had six options arranged on the rail in under four minutes.

“Start with the black,” Larisa instructed, and disappeared to give Anja the space to change.

The black was architectural and beautiful, making Anja look like someone attending a different event entirely, possibly one with a red carpet and photographers. She came out, stood under the track lighting, and watched Larisa’s face.

Larisa shook her head once before Anja could ask.

“Too much volume. You’re there to listen, not to be listened to.” She circled a finger. “Next.”

The champagne satin was elegant and entirely wrong. It was too silky and yielding. It turned her into someone she wasn’t, and she could feel it.

“No,” Larisa declared before she’d even fully emerged from the dressing room.

Anja did an about-face. “Agreed.”

The red column with the slit was close enough that she paused under the light and actually considered it. Larisa tilted her head back and forth, undecided, which was more consideration than anything else had gotten.

“It’s not wrong,” Larisa allowed, “but it is not right either.” She disappeared back to the rack.

Behind her, Leo refilled his water glass and offered no opinion, which she appreciated.

Larisa returned with something draped over her arm in deep, liquid midnight blue.

“Try this. Put the hair up first.”

Anja took the gown into the dressing room. She freed her braid, twisted the pale length of it into a low knot at the base of her neck, and secured it with the pins Larisa had left on the counter. Then she stepped into the dress.

The fabric was heavy silk crepe, deep navy, nearly black in low light. The neckline sat straight across her collarbone. It was modest in front, and then the back opened in a clean V that stopped at the base of her spine. The fit was precise and calibrated, as if the dress had been cut for someone with her specific measurements. The skirt fell straight to the floor with the weight of something well-made.

She came out without saying anything and stood under the track lighting.

Larisa considered her for a prolonged moment. Then she nodded once, and it was the definitive kind. “That one.”