Page 30 of King’s Promise

“Great, let’s go,” Nikolay announces, taking command of the situation. I follow beside him as we walk out the door without so much as a cup of coffee for breakfast.

I have no right to complain about being followed by personal guards. Obviously, Nikolay is the real target but they will target me to get to him. If I’m dead, it would leave the Petrov organization vulnerable. I’m smart enough to put that much together. So, someone in my father’s organization is trying to overthrow Nikolay before he comes into more power when we marry.

I’m out of words as we’re driven to the upscale side of London. I assume today will be spent without my sister’s company.

“There will be no more talk about the wedding unless it’s with family. Besides the few trusted guests we invited, it will be a surprise to the outside world. My brothers are flying in to help beforehand.”

“Dmitry and Roman?”

“Yes, you’ll like them, and if not, I suggest you learn how to get along without a fuss. A Bratva wife must obey.”

“I understand,” I murmur as Pavel opens the door and Nikolay takes my hand to help me down from the high vehicle. His hand is warm, firm. To my dismay, he lets go of me as soon as I’m on the sidewalk safely. I look up to see the name of a famed designer on the storefront, a designer who only takes appointments he says.

“Your wedding dress is here, you’ll be fitted.” His cold delivery bruises my weakening heart. I’ve never felt so alone.

“You can’t see it, it’s bad luck,” I blurt out, and immediately regret telling him what he already knows.

“We’ll wait in another room where we’ll drink champagne. Afterwards, we’ll go to stores where you will buy everything from thong underwear to stilettos. The last stop will be a salon to have your hair done; you have an appointment this afternoon.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

He opens the door of the dressmaker’s shop and I enter. I’m overwhelmed by the sheer number of beautiful dresses in front of me.

“Clearly, it’s been a while since you had it trimmed and it needs work. A Bratva bride has to look her best.” He sighs as if I’m an inconvenience, and I suppose he has more important things to do than coddle me for the day.

If I thought he was controlling before, I’m learning what it’s like to eat humble pie and submission is the theme for the day.

“No wonder your father met an untimely death if this is how he conducted business.” He drops that bomb before they are escorted to a different room, and I am left with my jaw dropping.

Did he have the nerve to diss my father as he lies in the ground? How rude! Granted, Papa wasn’t my favorite person, but he was my father and as such, I respected his place in my life.

A woman appears and introduces herself as Angela; she’s British and is dressed in a pale pink business suit, with pumps to match. I can only imagine walking around all day waiting on Bridezillias.

“Anya.” I take her small hand in mine. “I have no idea what to wear.”

“Oh, the big day is coming soon, we have to get to work. Don’t worry, you look like a size six and I have many dresses for you to choose from. I can have alterations made so you’ll look beautiful on your big day.” She bubbles with more excitement than I can muster.

I run my hand over the silky fabric of the dress closest to me.

“Do you like this one?” she inquires.

“I like them all.” I smile and try to snap out of the mood I carried in with me. I find myself in a paradox marrying a man I resent for controlling me on one hand and saving my life on the other. Not wanting to think about it for one more minute, I decide to forget it and enjoy the day.

The dresses are astonishing and there are so many styles to choose from. They come fitted or flared, sleeved or sleeveless, beaded with pearls and crystals or trimmed in lace. You name it and they have it.

“You would look beautiful in any of these, but I think you’ll like something one of a kind. I have some couture made by a top designer, follow me.” She leads me to another room with only one dress on display.

“It’s so pretty,” I murmur.

“It’s couture, no one has it. Mr. Volkov requested it for you.”

Of course he did. Mr. Control Freak with his impeccable taste. How did he know I’d love this dress?

I follow Angela to a large fitting room where she helps me slip on the wedding gown, and it’s no surprise the dress fits perfectly. I stare in the full-length mirror, and I don’t recognize myself. It’s true, I have let my hair go; it’s unbecoming. I look at Angela and her hair is perfectly coiffed into a chic bun. I need to look like her to be accepted into this new affluent world. Sure, I have a few clothes to get me started but I need more to complete the look—hair, nails, shoes and purse. All those things dictate how others will view and judge me and ultimately reflect upon my husband who is… impeccable in every way.

Nikolay is not so subtly pointing out how inexperienced I am in life and as much as I love the fashion magazines and study them, it takes work and money to pull it all together. Stars have glam squads for their hair and makeup and stylists for their wardrobe. It takes a village.

“Come, walk in it.” Angela’s voice brings me back to earth. I walk around the room; every wall has a mirror and my reflection sparkles under the warm lighting. I feel like a princess floating on air. The bodice is a deep V cut, with a nude mesh showing skin without showing skin. I can’t have every man in the room staring at my boobs. The waist is tapered. I run my hands down the sides to smooth the fabric, but it hangs perfectly without me needing to touch it.

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