Page 34 of Beautiful Cruelty

"We give them new identities, jobs, housing—whatever they need to start over. And for those that want it, we reunite them with their families." I meet her gaze directly. "Every collection we release funds another rescue operation. Every fashion show lets us reach victims where they’re held."

Her expression softens slightly. "How many have you helped?"

"Thousands." The weight of those we couldn't save settles on my shoulders. "But it's never enough. Kirsan has been expanding his operation. Specifically, he’s taking advantage of the factthat bespoke items selling for thousands are now a regular occurrence among the rich and powerful."

"Your suit jacket." She furrows her brows, and I can hear her mind turning as she takes in all of this information. "That piece of paper…"

"It's a list of fashion boutiques here in Seattle that are a part of Kirsan's network." I nod. "Each SKU is a victim they parade as models."

“You mean…” Her face pales. "All those insane numbers. They'reprices?"

“Yes. But not for clothes, Lacey. For people."

She sways on her feet. "Two years ago, when I first met Nathan, we bonded over fashion. He promised..." Her voice breaks. "He promised to help me start my own company. Said he just needed time to arrange the funding..."

"He was grooming you to be a part of Kirsan's operation," I say bitterly. "He didn't see you for your talent or your passion. He saw you as an opportunity to makemoney."

She lurches forward, and I catch her as her knees give out. Her entire body trembles against mine as the reality of her narrow escape sinks in.

With a practiced motion, I undo the restraints keeping her hands pinned against her back and release her hands.

Lacey stumbles slightly as she regains her balance, and I steady her with a gentle hand on her elbow.

"But why a marriage?" she asks, rubbing her wrists. "Why do you need to marry me?"

"Ten percent of Kirsan's trafficking proceeds are being funneled through a church in Paris, the Alexander Nevsky cathedral,” I explain. "And I have every reason to believe that the transaction records are kept in the Archbishop's bible."

“That’s not answering my question.” Her voice is insistent even as it betrays a hint of cracking. "If you need to get into a church, surely there are other women you could marry. Women who are actually in fashion. Women who know what they're doing. Whyme?"

"Because I know you'll fight and defend those who needs defending the most." The words come easily, just as they did at Mrs. Klossner's. "Because eleven hours and twenty-eight minutes after your engagement ended, you were fighting for a dry cleaner that you didn't need to fight for."

I hold up my right hand, showing her where her teeth marked me.

"When you were cornered, you didn't back down or beg for mercy. You fought even when you knew you couldn't win. That's why I need you, Lacey McKinney. That's why it can only be you."

"Can't you just break into the cathedral?" Lacey asks, her brows furrowing. "Wouldn't that be easier than... this?"

"The bible is usually kept on the Archbishop's person." I shake my head. "The only time it's brought out is during wedding ceremonies when the bride and groom are led through the Crowning ceremony."

She wraps her arms around herself, her eyes distant as she processes everything. "But how will we get the bible during the ceremony? Won't everyone be watching?"

For a moment, I consider warning Lacey about Sayanaa. About how I intend to use Sayanaa's obsession and jealousy to our advantage. And about the very real danger that we'll both be in as a result of that.

But the less she knows about that particular threat, the safer she'll be.

"Let me worry about the details," I say instead, keeping my voice steady.

"And is there a plan for how you intend on getting the bibleoutafter you take it?" A small laugh escapes her throat, though it holds more nervousness than humor. "Am I supposed to stuff it under my wedding dress?"

My hand freezes on its way to running through my hair. The image forms instantly in my mind. The voluminous skirts of a wedding dress, the way the fabric cascades in layers that could easily conceal...

Brilliant.

I keep my expression neutral, not wanting to give away how perfect her offhand suggestion truly is. Somehow, she keeps finding new ways to impress me.

"That's not a bad idea," I say.

The nervous smile on her face falters when she realizes that I'm taking her idea seriously.

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