Page 91 of Vendetta Vows

Just then, the doors of the mansion swing open and we break apart.

Lauren Brooks strides in with the confidence of someone who knows her worth down to the penny. Her dark hair is pulled back in a severe bun that accentuates her sharp cheekbones and watchful eyes.

Despite her age, she carries herself with the posture of a much younger woman, movements precise and deliberate. She's dressed in an understated black pantsuit with a measuring tape draped around her neck.

Ruslan's hand slips from mine as we both transition seamlessly into our roles.

The intimate moment between us dissolves into the air like morning mist.

But not forgotten.

"Ms. Brooks." Ruslan's voice shifts to that charming, public-facing tone I first heard at the launch party. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

I pull my shoulders back and arrange my face into what I hope passes for bridal excitement. "It's wonderful to meet you."

Lauren's dark eyes assess me with clinical precision. I feel like she's already taking measurements just by looking at me.

"Mr. Dragunov." She gives a respectful nod to Ruslan before turning to me. "And the future Mrs. Dragunov. The pleasure is mine."

Her handshake is firm and businesslike.

"Well then." Lauren claps her hands together. "Shall we begin? Do you have any preferences for your dress, Ms. Castellanos?"

I hesitate, my mind suddenly blank. What would Aurora Castellanos want? What would Jamie Fields have dreamed of wearing on her wedding day? The two identities blur in my mind, and I'm not sure which one should answer.

When Lauren notices my hesitation, she waves it off with practiced ease.

"Not to worry, dear. Most brides need visual inspiration." She steps toward the door and gestures sharply. "That's why I've brought options."

Two assistants wheel in multiple racks of wedding dresses, each covered in protective plastic that rustles as they arrange them in a semicircle around us. I stare at the sea of white with a mixture of intimidation and wonder.

"Go on," Lauren encourages. "Walk around. Touch the fabrics. See what calls to you."

I glance at Ruslan, suddenly uncertain. This feels impossibly real now that I'm choosing the dress I'll wear when I marry him.

He steps closer, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "This is your moment,zarechka. Choose whichever one speaks to you."

His golden eyes hold such genuine warmth that my chest tightens. I nod and begin browsing through the racks.

The first dress that catches my eye is a showstopper. Strapless with a dramatic mermaid silhouette and intricate crystal beadwork that manages to catch every point of light in the room.

It's the kind of dress that demands attention, that sayslook at me. I run my fingers over the beading, imagining how it would feel to be that bold, that visible.

But visible is the last thing I want to be.

Even if Ruslan is standing next to me.

The second dress is the opposite. It's a simple, flowing A-line with a boho feel. Delicate lace adorns the deep V-neckline and open back. It's dreamy and ethereal, something you'd wear for a barefoot beach wedding.

For a girl who never has to hide.

I sigh and move to the next rack.

That's when I see it. An elegant high-necked gown with three-quarter sleeves in soft ivory. The bodice is covered with delicate appliqués that continue partway down the skirt before giving way to smooth satin that pools slightly at the bottom. It's classic without being old-fashioned—beautiful without being ostentatious.

Most importantly, it calls for attention but doesn't demand it.

And whenever I look away from it, I can't help but turn my eyes back towards it.

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