Page 27 of Saint Valentine

Chapter thirteen

Aria

The Dark Prince had left the lady at the bakery traumatized, but that wasn’t enough. He scared the lady at city hall too when we went and got our marriage license. Now he wanted me to try on dresses for this farce of a wedding.

The air in the wedding boutique was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, a blend of vanilla and roses. When we pushed into the store, his henchmen stayed outside, guarding the door like they did at the bakery.

The saleswoman greeted us with a smile so bright it almost hurt to look at.

“The future Mrs. Valentine!” she chirped, clasping her hands together like she had just won the lottery. “We’ve been expecting you.”

At her calling me Mrs. Valentine, I gritted my teeth, forcing a smile that probably looked like I’d been chewing on glass. Saint, on the other hand, looked entirely too pleased with himself. His arm slipped around my waist like he owned me—and in his mind, he did.

“Let’s get started,” he said.

The saleswoman led us through the motions, taking measurements, jotting down notes, asking about mypreferences. But it was a waste of time—Saint picked what he wanted.

The first dress was fucking hideous. A puffed-up, lace-covered nightmare that looked like it had been plucked straight from an ‘80s rom-com. A white Cameron Crowe one at that.

I stepped out of the fitting room, feeling ridiculous.

Saint barely reacted.

“I like it,” he said, his voice thick with fake enthusiasm.

“No, you don’t, lying ass,” I shot back. “I’m not getting married in this.”

He chuckled, dismissing my opinion. “We’ll see. Try on the next.”

The next one was even worse—a Cinderella-style ballgown, with enough tulle to choke a horse.

I didn’t even bother trying it on.

Turning to the attendant, I said, “I want something fitted. A mermaid silhouette, with a slit up the side. No lace. You have anything like that in a size fourteen?”

The attendant nodded and scurried off like she was scared to say no.

She returned with a dress that made my breath catch.

It was everything I’d asked for—sleek, fitted, with a high slit up the side. The dress hugged every good curve on my body, the slit revealing just enough leg to make a statement. The fabric shimmered under the lights, like liquid silver.

When I stepped out of the dressing room, Saint’s expression was anything but approving.

His jaw went tight, his eyes turned into slits.

“No,” he barked so severely, the attendant let out a squeak and damn near ran from the room.

I raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “Why not?”

Without another word, he rose, stalking toward me, his long legs eating up space quickly.

He grabbed me and pulled me to him.

His hand slid down the curve of my waist, and the heat of his touch radiated through my body.

I clenched my fists at my sides to keep from touching him back, my traitorous nipples standing at attention.

He answered me, low and menacing.

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