Page 60 of Ruthless Savior
Usually, the hope is that would be true. Instead, I’m going into my marriage counting down the days until divorce. The thought casts a pall over the whole thing—it’s hard to be excited for a dress when I’m reminded that it’s all really a sham. This is all one big lie, from beginning to end.
"Are you okay?" Alicia asks, noticing my expression in the mirror. I go still, forcing a smile onto my face.
“Yeah,” I manage. “This is all just a little overwhelming. There’s so much to choose from, and I don’t know what my style really is. Just that it needs to fit in at a big formal church wedding.”
Catherine, sensing the shift in mood, steps forward. "Why don't we try on a few more options? Sometimes it takes seeing several gowns to know which one is right. And youwillknow, as soon as you find the one." She gives me a bracing smile, and I want to ask her if I’ll still ‘know’, even though I’m picking out a gown for a man I’m not in love with. A man who scooped me out of a rusty cage in a filthy warehouse and brought me back to his mansion, who is protecting me from a ruthless mafia don.
The next hour passes in a blur of silk and lace and tulle. I try on dress after dress, each one more elaborate than the last. There's a mermaid-style gown with intricate beadwork that looks like it would be more at home on an Oscars red carpet than a wedding aisle, a classic A-line gown with a short train, and a modern sheath dress with geometric lace that's stunning but doesn't feel right for a church wedding.
I’m starting to feel tired, hungry, and a little hopeless. I don’tloveany of them, and the ones that I’ve seen that fit the setting seem boring to me.
“Let me grab you one more,” Catherine says, tapping her lips with her index finger. “It’s from a very expensive line. But your fiance said money was no object, so—” She smiles, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s been holding this one in reserve, waiting for me to exhaust all the other options so she can wow me with this one last, far too expensive dress.
But then she brings it out, and I have a feeling it’s the one, regardless of what ulterior motives she might have had.
It’s the most exquisite dress I’ve ever seen. It’s a soft white that flatters my rosy skin tone and auburn hair, with a fitted bodice, square neckline, lace sleeves that taper down to my wrists, and a full ballgown skirt that spreads out behind me in a train fit for a princess. The lace is the softest thing I’ve ever touched, hand-embroidered in panels down the sides of the satin bodice and covering the sides, back, and train of the skirt.There are tiny seed pearls scattered throughout, so small that they’re barely visible, but from a distance they add a texture to the gown that’s stunning.
And it fits me, which matters most of all, because we don’t have time for much in the way of alterations. Catherine tugs at the bodice a little, noting where it could be taken in, and I glance at her.
“The wedding is the day after tomorrow. But whatever rush alterations cost?—”
“Your fiancé already informed me,” she interrupts. “No expense spared. You’ll have the gown tomorrow evening, to your measurements.”
My stomach tightens, and I take another look at myself in the mirror. I’m still having a hard time wrapping my head around how easy things become when you have money. How much the world opens up to you.
The dress is a work of art, no doubt about it. And it’s the dress I want to wear to get married in. I feel a pang at the thought that a part of me wishes I could wear it for a wedding that would last, to someone that I’m in love with. Someone who would look at me walking down the aisle in it and well up with tears at the sight of his bride.
I catch a pinched frown on Catherine’s face in the mirror, and let out a quick, forced laugh. “Just nerves,” I tell her. “I’m going to go show Alicia.”
"Oh my God," Alicia whispers when I walk out. "Leila, you look like a princess. No, you look like a queen.”
Catherine beams, her frown vanished. "This is it, isn't it? This is your dress."
I turn to look at myself in the three-way mirror, and I can barely believe what I'm seeing still. The dress is transformative. The woman looking back at me looks regal, sophisticated, like she belongs in Ronan's world. The dress is everything I didn'tknow I wanted, and everything I need for the kind of wedding we're planning.
"How much?" I ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.
Catherine names a price in the low six-figures, and I hear Alicia quietly choke on her champagne. I start to open my mouth to say we’ll need to revisit one of the other dresses I liked, but Catherine beats me to it.
“Your fiancé assured me there was no limit on the card on file. Would you like to look at veils?”
I open my mouth, close it again, and swallow hard. “Yes,” I manage, after a moment. “I’ll take the dress. And veils… veils would be great.”
Alicia's eyebrows shoot up. "Leila," she says carefully, "that's a lot of money. Are you sure?"
It’ssomuch money, more than I can ever imagine spending on a piece of clothing. But I think about what Ronan said about this needing to be a statement. I think about the kind of people who will be at this wedding, the kind of world I'm stepping into, even if it's only temporary. This dress isn't just for me; it's for the role I need to play. And that role matters not just for me, but for my mother.
It’s his money. If he wants to spend it like this, who am I to say no?
“I’m sure,” I say firmly. “I assume you need my measurements, too?”
Catherine nods, escorting me back into the fitting room as Alicia stares at me. She bustles around, taking my measurements and making notes about the alterations needed. The dress fits remarkably well already, but it needs to be hemmed and taken in slightly at the waist. A few moments later, I reemerge, still in the dress, waiting as she brings me a selection of veils, including one made to match the gown. As she walks off, I catch Alicia's eye in the mirror.
"You're really doing this," she says quietly.
"I'm really doing this," I confirm.
"And you're happy? Really happy?"
