Page 125 of Poison Vows

I stare at the pictures, but I can’t see anything really.

The dresses are all generic, white, and nothing I’d suggest for a friend.

But I guess to Vaughn all he wants is me in white, choosing him and making him the next Don.

My stomach twists up yet again. I’m going to have ulcers at this rate.

“How about we go with this one?” she says. “Actually, we only have these three that Mr. Vaughn said would suit you best.”

So he chose for me. I look at the three dresses Vaughn picked, a swift denial coursing through my veins.

“Would you like to try them on?”

“Do I have a choice?” I mutter.

Just then, the doors open with a flourish and Ripley comes back.

“Thank you all,” he announces to the room full of women. “Your particular services will not be required anymore. Please, leave.”

The four ladies all glance at each other, clearly confused, but when Ripley stares at them, they jump, grab all their bags, equipment, and make to leave.

“Don’t forget all your things.”

“But… the bride has to choose the dre?—”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Ripley says, shoving the garment bags that had been placed on the back of a couch into one of the lady’s arms and ushers them out in a heartbeat.

The room empties in short order with a firm precision that shows how efficient Ripley is.

“Uh, excuse me, Sir Ripley,” I mutter. “What’s going on? Has this thing been canceled?”

Please say there’s been a change of plans!

I need more time to find Emmett!

If I can just get my laptop, I can run my locating program…

“No, Young Miss,” Ripley replies calmly but with a gentle smile. “There’s just been a change of personnel.”

“Why?”

“I was told this should be more comfortable for you, Young miss,” he says simply. “If there’s anything amiss or not to your liking, please do let me know and I’ll take care of it immediately.”

Before I can wrap my mind around what Ripley just said, a new team, looking much more professional and sophisticatedthan the one before strut into the room, led by a vaguely familiar man.

“This is her,sì? Molto bello!”the short Italian man says, sizing me from head to toe with a critical eye that I’m sure is highly experienced.

Where have I seen this man before?

Ripley doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to.

The new team immediately get to work.

Wedding dresses get shoved against my front by the stern-looking Italian man. His assistants also hold up different types of shoes to the dresses.

“Which do you prefer?” the man questions, looking at me seriously.

Somewhere in the fog, it occurs to me that this question has been asked multiple times.

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