Page 143 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

Even when Nikolai isn’t here, he’s able to help me turn my brain off.

That goofy smile from before returns. At least until I pass by my reflection in the entrance hall mirror.

“Yikes.” I quickly run my fingers through the bird's nest on my head and pinch my cheeks to give me a little color.

Convinced the person knocking on the other side of the door won’t run screaming, I finally pull it open.

Thankfully, it isn't Nikolai.

"A delivery for you, Miss Belle.” A young blonde woman in a polo with the hotel’s logo on it holds out a stack of packages to me.

I frown. “For me? I didn’t order anything.”

“From Mr. Zhukova,” the girl explains. She practically shoves the packages into my arms. “I swore I’d make sure they were delivered exactly at four. So you’d have time to get ready.”

“Get ready?” I ask. “For what?”

As soon as the boxes are in my arms, she pulls a third note from her back pocket and hands it to me wordlessly.

“Of course,” I mutter. “Another note.”

The girl bows and pulls the suite doors closed.

Oookay then. Apparently, everyone is scared of Nikolai all the time, whether or not he’s even in the same zip code. I awkwardly slide the big packages onto the counter and then unfold the latest note.

There will be a grand opening gala tonight for the hotel staff and investors. These are for you and Elise. I’ll meet you there.

The note is short and to the point, in typical Nikolai fashion. But something about it feels grand.

I turn to the first box and lift the lid. Inside is a delicately folded ball gown in a beautiful shade of cerulean blue. It will look perfect with Elise’s hair and skin tone. The neckline is modest, but the skirt is short enough that she shouldn’t complain too much. A pair of nude high heels sit tucked into the bottom corner of the box.

I set the box aside and open the next one. I’m expecting something similar—a nice dress for a nice party. I’ve never been big into ball gowns or playing princess. Even business formal felt out of my reach until I graduated college and got my first adult job.

But when I open the lid on the second box, my heart nearly stops.

I’ve never seen something so gorgeous in my entire life.

The bodice is gold with tiny beads stitched on in an intricate pattern, interspersed with gold embroidery that continues down into the deep maroon skirt. I pull the dress out of the box and notice the train attached at the waist. It adds a bustle around the hips and flows well past the dress. It’s nicer than any wedding dress I’ve ever seen.

A quick, high-pitched whistle from the doorway pulls my attention.

Elise is standing there, her eyes wide. “Oh my—Who is that for?”

I blink at her and then back to the dress. “Me, I think.”

Elise snorts. “For your coronation? Are you and Nikolai about to become the King and Queen of Iceland?”

“I don’t think Iceland has a monarchy.”

She kicks the door closed with a mud-covered shoe and wipes her hands on the front of her jeans. “Who is the blue dress for?”

“For you,” I tell her. “There’s a gala tonight, I think.”

“A gala?”

“A ball,” I explain. “A party. I don’t know. Nikolai sent these and told us to meet him there.”

The last few months have been a continuous string of teenage angst and snark. But suddenly, my sister’s face splits into a wide smile. “We’re going to a party?” she squeals.

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