Page 92 of Vendetta Vows

"This one," I say, surprising myself with how certain I sound. "I'd like to try this one."

Lauren smiles knowingly. "Excellent choice. It makes a bold statement but still holds many secrets."

Just like me.

* * *

Lauren snapsher fingers and her assistants move with practiced efficiency, setting up a portable changing area complete with multiple angled mirrors. I clutch the ivory dress to my chest and feel its weight in my arms, both literal and symbolic.

Ruslan leans against the wall, watching the transformation of the room with amused interest. His eyes never leave me, even as people bustle around us.

"You know," I say, finding my voice, "isn't it bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress before the wedding?"

A slow smile spreads across Ruslan's face, the kind that makes my insides feel like melting honey. "I always thought it was because if a man sees his fiancée in her wedding dress, he won't be able to keep himself from tearing it off her."

His words send a delicious shiver down my spine.

Lauren makes a tsking sound, though I catch the hint of amusement in her eyes. "And that's exactly what we're trying to avoid, Mr. Dragunov." She brushes imaginary lint from her sleeve. "Unless you plan on purchasing all these dresses after you've wrinkled them."

Ruslan's laugh is warm and rich. "Is that a challenge?"

"Jessica," Lauren calls to her assistant. "Set up the partition, please."

The assistant quickly unfolds a privacy screen, shielding the makeshift dressing area from view. I step behind it, still holding the dress like it might dissolve in my hands.

I carefully lay it across a chair and begin removing my clothes. The room is warm, but goosebumps rise on my skin anyway. As I stand there in just my underwear, I catch a flash of something in one of the mirrors.

A hairline crack where two panels don't quite meet.

And through this tiny opening, I see Ruslan.

He's still leaning against the wall, but his posture has changed. It's more alert and focused. As if sensing my gaze, he looks directly at the mirror and gives me a small, deliberate wave.

My heart stutters in my chest.

He can see me.

I should feel exposed and vulnerable. All the things that usually send me spiraling into panic. But strangely, what floods through me instead is a heady sense of power. There's something intoxicating about knowinghe'swatching, and about knowing that I'mchoosingto be seen.

By him. Only him.

I don't cover myself. I don't hide.

Instead, I stand a little straighter, feeling emboldened by his gaze.

I slip the ivory satin over my head, letting the smooth fabric slide down my body. Lauren's assistants move to help, but I wave them away with a small smile. I want to do this myself.

The weight of the dress settles around me, cool against my skin. I focus on Ruslan's eyes through that tiny crack in the mirror and hold his gaze as I adjust the sleeves, smoothing them over my arms.

His golden eyes darken as I run my hands over the fabric, pulling it into place across my chest. The high neckline hugs my throat, modest yet sensual in how it frames my collarbones. I turn slightly, watching how the light catches on the delicate appliqués.

Would he tear it off me on our wedding night? Or would he take his time, savoring each revealed inch of skin?

The thought sends heat rushing through me. I imagine his tattooed fingers slowly working the buttons at the back, his patience fraying with each one.

Maybe he'd start slow and reverent before he loses control halfway through.

My breath quickens as I recall the dining room table. The way his mouth felt between my thighs, his eyes locked on mine as he devoured me. How he commanded me to watch him as I came apart.

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