Page 59 of Ruthless Savior
"But marriage? To someone you've known for three weeks?"
"It's the right choice for me. For Mom. Please trust me. I want you to come dress shopping with me. I need my best friend. Please?” I look at her, desperately wanting her to understand that if she won’t relent, I’ll have to walk out. I can’t put her in danger, but I don’t want to have to do this without her.
I can see the worry and confusion in her eyes. She knows something is wrong, knows I'm not telling her the whole truth, but she can't figure out what.
Finally, she lets out a breath and grabs my hands across the table. "Promise me something."
I look at her hesitantly. "What?"
"Promise me you'll call if you need anything. Anything at all. I don't care what time it is or what kind of trouble you think you might be in. I'm your friend, Leila. That doesn't change just because your life has gotten complicated. I don’t understand why you can’t talk to me, but I’ll trust you. We’ve been friends for a long time. I’ll be there for you if you need me.”
Tears prick at my eyes. "I promise."
"And promise me you'll be careful. I don't know what's really going on with you, but I can tell it's dangerous. These men, this sudden marriage, the way you're acting—it all feels like something out of a movie."
If only she knew how accurate that assessment is.
"I'll be careful," I tell her, and I mean it.
She follows me out to the SUV, and I see her eyes widen as the black-fatigued men coalesce around us, but to her credit, she doesn’t ask any more questions or say anything about it. She justslides in next to me in the SUV, making small talk as we head to the elite bridal boutique that Ronan has managed to close up for an exclusive, private appointment for me.
"Remember," Finn says as he helps me out of the car, his voice low so that Alicia doesn’t hear, "you're here to buy a dress for your wedding to Mr. O'Malley. Nothing more, nothing less. Keep the story simple."
I nod, my stomach churning with nerves. The bell above the door chimes as we enter, and I'm immediately greeted by a woman who looks like she stepped out of a fashion magazine—tall, elegant, with perfectly styled blonde hair and a happy smile on her face.
"Miss Thompson?" she says, using the fake name Ronan provided. "I'm Catherine. I spoke to your fiancé on the phone."
Alicia shoots me a confused look at the false name, but I give her a quick shake of my head. "Yes, thank you for accommodating such short notice," I say quickly to Catherine, who beams at me.
"Of course. When it's true love, time doesn’t wait, does it?" She gestures toward a pink velvet sitting area in front of a row of dressing rooms. "Now, tell me about your vision. What kind of wedding are you planning?"
“It’s a church wedding,” I manage, trying to think of how to describe it. Ronan told me it would have to be big, showy. Something secretive and small would look to the other families as if he’s hiding me, as if he’s ashamed or knows he shouldn’t be marrying me. He’s the equivalent of mob royalty, a prince in Boston, and for the wedding to hold the weight it needs to, it needs to be the equivalent of a royal wedding. “A big one. VIP guests, no expense spared. The dress needs to match.”
“Absolutely,” Catherine agrees, smiling as, no doubt, a high five-figure price tag flashes in her head. “I’ll pull some sample gowns, and we can go from there. Be right back. There’schampagne and tea snacks waiting for you over there.” She gestures toward a silver cart, and I see Alicia immediately make a beeline for the champagne.
She holds out a glass to me, then hesitates. “Wait, you’re not pregnant, are you? Is that the reason this is so fast?” When I shake my head, she frowns, pushing the glass at me. “I wish you’d tell me what’s going on. Are you marrying a celebrity? Is that it? Did you meet some movie star, and that’s with all the security and secrets and over-the-top wedding?”
God, I wish. Everything would be so much simpler if I’d just somehow crossed paths with Pedro Pascal and had my entire life turned upside down in a whirlwind romance. The truth is much more complicated and much less romantic.
Although having a powerful man drop everything and halt his quest for revenge to save me is pretty romantic—if that same man hadn’t said marrying me was a “last resort.”
“I really can’t tell you anything,” I whisper, taking the champagne. “Please don’t ask. The security is really jumpy about it. Just trust me. Please.”
I can tell Alicia doesn’t want to let it go, but she does, for me. Catherine comes back with an armful of gowns and hustles me into a dressing room, where we start the process.
And itisa process. I strip down to my underwear—I wore a strapless bra and a thong, thinking that would be the best choice for trying on a variety of dresses, but I feel uncomfortably bare around this strange woman—and Catherine helps me into the first dress. It’s a cupcake confection of a gown, but I can already write it off—Ronan told me no strapless dresses in a Catholic church.
When I point that out, Catherine waves a hand. “We can add sleeves or a bolero,” she says. “See what your friend thinks.”
Alicia shakes her head as soon as I walk out in the bright-white, strapless ball gown with the pick-up skirt. “You look likeyou’re going to prom in the early 2000s,” she says, and I laugh. The gown does kind of look like that.
The next one is better, but I think it might not be formal enough. It’s an off-white, all-lace sheath gown with cap sleeves and a portrait neckline, but no train, stopping neatly at my ankles. Alicia loves it, but I don’t think it’s fancy enough for the setting.
On and on it goes, dress after dress. One that I particularly love is a diamond-white gown in a swiss dot lace, with long, sheer off-the-shoulder drapey sleeves and a structured bodice. We set that one aside, unsure what to do about the bare shoulders, and keep trying on gowns.
Alicia is a fan of one that has a sweetheart neckline, long fitted lace sleeves and bodice, and ahugetulle skirt with 3D embroidered flowers all over it, a tiny seed pearl in each one. “It might be a little too fairytale for me,” I suggest, although I do have a hard time stopping myself from twirling more than once in it. The full skirt is mesmerizing. “I don’t know if it suits me. I’m not this frilly of a girl.”
“You only get married once,” Alicia says with a shrug as she refills her glass of champagne, and I feel my chest tighten.
