Page 49 of Misconducts & Temptation

"Relax," he said, glancing over at me with those piercing blue eyes. "I know what I'm doing."

I wanted to argue but found myself loosening my grip on the dashboard instead. Maybe it was the adrenaline or maybe it was something about that laugh that made me believe him, even just for a moment.

We pulled up to a boutique calledNancy's, its exterior a delicate blend of vintage charm and modern elegance. The window displays showcased dresses that looked like they belonged in fairy tales, each more beautiful than the last. A brass bell tinkled softly as we stepped inside, announcing our arrival.

"Pick out a dress," Keaton said, handing me his credit card—a sleek, black card that felt almost too heavy in my hand.

"But I…" My voice trailed off as I stared at the card. It felt foreign, like something from another world.

"Come on, babes," he urged, impatience creeping into his voice. "We haven't got time to stand around. We have a wedding to go to."

I blinked and nodded, swallowing hard. Taking a deep breath, I stepped further into the store. The interior was just as enchanting as the outside—rows of gowns in every conceivable shade and style lined the walls, their fabrics shimmering under the soft lighting. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting gentle glows that added to the boutique's magical ambiance.

A kindly redhead emerged from the back, her eyes crinkling with warmth as she approached me. "Can I help you, dear?"

"Uh, I'm looking for a dress," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "A wedding dress."

The woman nodded without missing a beat and directed me to a section of the store where ivory and white gowns hung like dreams waiting to be worn. "Let me know if you need any help or if you'd like to try on any," she said before disappearing back into the rear of the boutique.

I half-expected her to return with someone who would see through me and tell me to leave—that I didn't belong here. But she didn't. Instead, I found myself standing among rows of exquisite dresses, feeling more out of place than ever but also oddly hopeful.

Gingerly, I ran my fingers over the delicate lace of one gown, marveling at its intricate details. Each dress seemed more beautiful than the last, making it hard to choose where to start.

Keaton leaned against a wall nearby, arms crossed and eyes scanning the room with his usual air of control. Despite his impatience earlier, he gave me space now—space to make this decision for myself.

I picked up a dress that caught my eye—simple yet elegant with just enough sparkle to make it special.

I found three more dresses that I was intrigued by. Each one had a different charm, a different story to tell. One was an off-the-shoulder gown with delicate lace sleeves that whispered of old-world romance. Another was a sleek satin number, simple yet elegant, its smooth lines and subtle shimmer promising sophistication. The third was a whimsical tulle creation, its layers cascading like soft clouds, perfect for someone who still believed in fairy tales.

With the four dresses draped over my arm, I headed to the dressing room. The kindly redhead from earlier pointed me to an open stall and wished me luck with a knowing smile. I slipped inside, pulling the heavy curtain closed behind me. The small space felt like a sanctuary, away from the whirlwind outside.

I hung the dresses on the hooks provided and took a deep breath before starting with the first one—the off-the-shoulder lace gown. As I slid into it, I admired the way it hugged my figure, the lace delicate against my skin. It was beautiful, but something felt off. It didn't quite feel like me.

Next came the satin dress. Its sleekness was undeniable, and it made me feel elegant in a way I hadn't expected. But again, it didn't seem right. There was a formality to it that felt distant from who I was.

The tulle dress was enchanting as I pulled it over my head, its layers swishing around me like a dream. It was playful and lovely, but maybe too much so—too whimsical for what this moment needed to be.

Finally, I turned to the last dress—the one that had first caught my attention. It was simple yet elegant, with just enough sparkle to make it special without being overwhelming. As I slipped into it and adjusted the fabric around me, something clicked.

The bodice was fitted with delicate beading that caught the light in soft glimmers. The skirt flowed gracefully to the floor in gentle waves of chiffon that moved with every step I took. It felt light and airy, like wearing a piece of magic spun into fabric.

I looked at myself in the mirror and saw not just a girl trying on a dress but someone stepping into a new chapter of her life—a chapter where she made her own choices.

This was it. This was the dress.

As I stared at my reflection in the mirror, it hit me with the force of a tidal wave—I was getting married. The enormity of the situation pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe. My mother should have been here, standing by my side, offering me her gentle advice and warm smile. Her absence was a gaping wound that never fully healed, and in this moment, it felt more acute than ever.

I thought of my father, too. Despite his emotional distance and constant absence when he was alive, a part of me longed for him to be here to walk me down the aisle. I imagined his hand on my arm, his presence lending some semblance of normalcy to this impulsive decision. But that was just a fantasy—one that would never come true.

Because if they were alive, I wouldn't be forced to marry Keaton in order to escape William—and my stepfamily.

Tears filled my eyes before I could stop them, blurring my vision and making the room shimmer like a mirage. I cried for a moment, allowing myself that brief release. The weight of everything—the past, the present, the unknown future—pressed down on me until I felt like I might collapse under it all.

But then I took a deep breath and steadied myself. This was my decision—my first real decision in what felt like forever. No stepmother’s demands or stepsisters’ cruelty dictating my actions. No father’s absence making me feel small and insignificant.

Wiping away the tears with the back of my hand, I took one last look at myself in the dress. It was perfect, but more importantly, it was mine.

I carefully slipped out of the gown and hung it back on its hanger with reverence. This dress would be part of a new beginning—a chapter where I made choices for myself.

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