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“Wow,” I whisper, fondling the tiny intricate little beads of the champagne-colored, floor-length gown. It looks like Vera Wang meets Monique Lhuillier meets Jesus H. Christ with a sewing machine.
The neckline is scooped and low enough that I already know I’m going to be displaying a fair amount of cleavage. The straps of the dress are thin and the silhouette is lithe. It toes the line of being extravagant without ever stepping across. The whole thing looks light as air, smooth as water. I’m honestly terrified to touch it.
Backing up so I don’t breathe on it wrong, I nearly trip over something underfoot. Once I get my balance back, I look down to see what it is.
Shoes. Not just any shoes, either. Three-inch, pointed toe silver heels, with a pearl collar around the ankle. They’re practically glowing. I’m not gonna lie—my heart flutters just a little.
It takes me almost ten minutes to get the dress on, mostly because I’m worried about snagging the dress or ripping off some of the beading or just exhaling at an inopportune moment. But once it’s on, the side zip slides up easily and it hugs my body like a second skin.
Like it was made for me.
I put on the shoes every bit as carefully and walk to the full-length, hand-carved mirror next to the dressing table.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t hate what I see.
I don’t linger, though. Lingering would bring back those old familiar self-critiques. The scar Adrian gave me. The hair he said was too flat and brittle, the hips that were too wide. The knee that wouldn’t bear my weight anymore. The scars on my chest that told stories I wanted so badly to forget.
I spend the next half an hour at the dressing table, putting on makeup and doing my hair. I construct a more graceful updo than the messy bun that’s my usual go-to, and I keep my makeup simple. Smoky eye and nude lipstick.
By the time I’m done, I feel good. I feel as though I could stand next to Milana and not be the slightest bit insecure. Well, maybe just the slightest bit.
Clutching this new feeling to my chest, I check the clock. Seven fifty-five. It’s showtime.
Kolya is standing by the balcony when I walk out, looking like something out of a dream. The suit he’s wearing is perfectly tailored to his large frame, a dark navy that feels like desire personified. Like looking into space on a starless night.
He doesn’t immediately turn to look at me. When he does, though, something about him freezes me in my tracks.
It’s not quite a glance. Well, it is at first—but then it becomes so much more. His breath catches in his chest. His eyebrows arch. His fists clench.
But it’s his eyes I can’t look away from. They darken faster and faster until his suit looks pale in comparison. They darken with danger, they darken with lust, they darken with so much of both that it’s impossible to tell where one stops and the other begins.
He takes a few steps forward, close enough to make the heat rise to my neck and flood my face with color. He reaches out unexpectedly and pushes a loose curl back behind my left ear.
“You look stunning,printsessa.”
Something about the way he says it makes it feel like so much more than four little words. He says it with his whole body. With his whole soul.
The kind of moment that makes you feel truly seen.
“Thank you,” I mumble, cheeks heating. “You look alright.”
He smiles and then offers me his arm. “Come on. The limo’s waiting outside for us.”
“Limo?”
“I’d like to make an entrance tonight.”
“Something tells me you would have done that regardless.”
He shoots me a sideways smirk. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to flatter me, June Cole.”
“Yeah, well, good thing you know better.”
We go downstairs together, neither one of us saying a word. As he helps me into the limo, I suddenly register an onslaught of nerves that I’d been keeping pinned at the edge of my consciousness, like realizing you haven’t been breathing.
“So, um… what’s the game plan tonight?” I ask tentatively, more than aware that he might tell me that it doesn’t concern me.
Instead, he turns to me. His blue eyes seem so much bluer against his navy suit. “We go, we dance, we observe,” he says. “We let the night play out. Have you heard anything from your sister?”
