Page 32 of Bloody Lace

“Most people would be scared of him. You have no idea the things he can do to people who cross him.”

I shiver a little at that. “I don’t want to know. I guess I like not knowing better than to argue with him. I think—” I hesitate, thinking back to that look in Dimitri’s eyes the first night he came to my shop, as I picked through the wreckage. “I think he likes it, honestly.”

Dahlia shrugs. “Some men are like that. Powerful ones. They like women who stand up to them because no one else does.”

“I’m not just going to let him run over me. Even the boutique isn’t worth that.”

“Atta girl.” Dahlia grins at me. “Oh! We’re here!”

My spirits lift when we walk into the rose-scented warmth of the shop. It’s impossible for it to be otherwise—my whole life has been about fashion, about clothes and designing them, and now I’m going to get to choose a dream wedding dress. Dimitri asked me who I would want, if I could pick anyone, and an hour after I told him, he texted me with the time of my appointment. He pulled strings for this, and it’s never been more evident than when a gorgeous blonde in a perfectly tailored black dress and heels comes up to us, her smile bright and her manner that of someone who knows we’re about to spend an ungodly amount of money.

“Ms. Ashbury?” Her gaze flicks briefly to my left hand, and I see her eyes widen slightly when she sees my ring. “Here for your appointment? And this is?—”

“My bridesmaid, Dahlia. She’ll need a dress as well.”

“I—” Dahlia’s mouth drops open. Her parents are wealthy, and they spoil her, but this is beyond even her. “Are you sure, Evie?” she whispers as the blonde escorts us back to the dressing room, and I grin at her.

“Of course. Dimitri is footing it. He told me I can get whatever I want. And what I want is to have my best friend spoiled today, too. You’ve been treating me to things I can’t afford for years. And now it’s my turn to get to do the same.”

“Thank you,” Dahlia whispers, an excited smile on her face as we walk back behind a rose-colored velvet curtain. “A private shopping appointment at Oscar de la Renta is a dream.”

“I know.” I can hardly keep the squeak of excitement out of my voice. The heavy weight I felt earlier is temporarily gone, swept away by silk and lace and being surrounded with some of the most beautiful designs I could imagine.

“My name is Bryce,” the blonde woman says with a polite smile. “I’ll be back with champagne and some small bites for you, while I pull some dresses for the two of you to try on.”

Dahlia and I both sit in the rose-velvet chairs next to the three way mirror, and a few minutes later, Bryce returns with a bottle of Cristal on ice, two glasses, and a small tray of tiny iced petit fours and slivered sandwiches, like we’re having tea. “Enjoy,” she says brightly. “I’ll be back shortly with the first dresses for you to try on.” She looks at me, considering. “Do you have any preferences? And color, for your bridesmaid?”

“Something with dark reds, green, or gold for the bridesmaid,” I tell her. “I want there to be a holiday feel to it, a winter wedding theme. And for me—I want a statement. No simple, plain dresses. I want something that will stand out.”

“Really?” Dahlia looks at me with surprise as Bryce sweeps out. “Even as much as you love fashion, I would have guessed you’d pick something classic.”

I shake my head, pouring us each a glass of champagne. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime thing,” I say firmly, looking around the space we’re in. “I’m getting married to Dimitri because I don’t have any other choice. But I made the choice, and since I’m here?” I smile, a new resolve washing over me as I sit here, in the middle of something that once would have only been a fantasy. My marriage might not be real, but I’m not going to let myself lose out on the chance that Dimitri has offered me. I just have to make sure not to lose myself in it.

I hand Dahlia her glass, gently clicking the edge of mine against hers.

“I’m going to make the most of it.”

12

EVELYN

At least some of that is bravado, but I remember how terrified I was of owning my own business. As Dahlia and I both take a sip of our drinks, I remind myself of how I made it through when I first started Pearls & Lace. I was terrified of owning my own business, unsure I could handle it, and desperate to prove myself to my parents and anyone else who thought I couldn’t do it. But I pretended like everything was fine until it was, forced myself to behave as though I was already successful, and shoved down the fear until, eventually, it dissipated.

I’m scared of what it will mean to be married to a man like Dimitri. Scared of being in such close proximity to something like the Bratva. There are so many unknowns, and I’m afraid of them all.

But this is a moment that’s a dream come true for me, all the same, and I don’t want to let my fear ruin it.

Dahlia picks up one of the slivered cucumber sandwiches, taking a small bite and another sip of her champagne as Bryce comes around the corner with an armload of dresses. “Most of our brides want at least two gowns,” Bryce says, starting to hangthem up in the dressing rooms. “One for the ceremony and one for the reception. Are you thinking two, or?—”

“Two,” I assure her hurriedly. “I don’t think I need athirddress.” Truthfully, I’m not even sure what part of the festivities I would wear a third dress for. But the idea of two is tempting, and I can’t turn down the opportunity to try on as many of these as possible.

“Alright,” Bryce says, waving us over. “Let’s get started.”

Despite my assurances to her that I didn’t want anything simple, she did bring a few plain white satin gowns. They’re not exactly simple—all of them are designed in some way that they look almost architectural, with sharp lines and stiff sleeves or other elements that do make them stand out. But I want detail, lace, something softer and more beautiful, and I tell her that as she pulls out the next dress, just as Dahlia comes out of her dressing room.

“This is stunning.” She’s wearing a strapless gold column dress with sheer gold tulle over it, draping like a veil over the gown all the way to the floor. “It reminds me of the one you made for me, Evie.”

“I can’t believe you just put me in the same sentence as an Oscar de la Renta gown.” I look at her as she shrugs, turning this way and that. “That’s quite a compliment.”

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