Page 12 of Twisted Fate

I don't correct her use of my alias. I’ve been careful to use it whenever there’s been a chance that Konstantin might check up on the trail that I leave behind me. Something as simple as a bridal appointment could blow my cover if Konstantin were to do some digging, and uncover that Valentina Kane used his funds for a gown, instead of Sophia Moretti.

Anyway, it’s better to sink as deeply into my new persona as I can. The more I inhabit it, the more convincing I’ll be when I play the part around Konstantin.

And, now that he’s agreed to the marriage, I’ll have to. For a few weeks, at least.

His agreement, received in the form of a call formally telling me that he’s agreed to his father’s pronouncement, was more of a relief than I realized it would be. Once I’d started the mission, I didn’t want to fail. And I didn’t want to face another year—or more—of working for Kane without what I’ve been promised.

"It's perfect," I agree, running my hands over the bodice. I didn’t particularly care what the dress looked like—I’ve never dreamed about my eventual wedding gown, or had preferences on the matter. I wasn’t shopping for myself when I chose it—I was shopping with Konstantin in mind. What might draw him in, what he might find alluring. A man who is brutal but reserved, bound by duty, who has power but doesn’t allow himself to use it to take things for himself alone.

I picked up enough about Konstantin in our brief meeting at the dinner party to have some idea of who he is. He wanted me—I could feel it radiating off of him like heat coming off a flame. But he wouldn’t allow himself to give in to it. I’d hazard a guess that if I’d tried to touch him or kiss him, he would have pulled away.

His walls are high and thick, and I’ll need to get past them in order to get close enough to go in for the kill.Or maybe not, I consider as I look at myself in the mirror. There’s every possibility that once we’re married, he’ll fuck himself into a satisfied stupor on our honeymoon, and I’ll be able to kill him easily.

The dress is tasteful but seductive, with a plunging neckline that shows just enough cleavage to be enticing without being vulgar, a fitted waist that accentuates my curves, and a flowingskirt with a slit up one side that will give tantalizing glimpses of my leg. The kind of dress designed to make a man want what's beneath it without giving too much away—sensual but restrained. The kind of dress that I think will appeal to a man like Konstantin.

It’s just silk, no lace or embellishments. I want him to desireme, not the wrapping. I want the dress to accentuate what will be his for the taking, after our vows are said.

Or so he’ll think, anyway.

Anna beams at me. "You'll take his breath away."

And then I’ll take his life.

A kill like any other, just markedly more complex. The last kill, and then I’ll never have to do this again—wrap myself up in pretty packaging while I wind a web of deceit around a man before I put poison in his drink, or slit his throat, or put a bullet through his head.

This is a game, nothing more. One that Konstantin will lose, in the end.

“I’ll take it,” I tell Anna, who smiles that much wider. Her commission for this sale will be generous. I can’t imagine spending this much on a wedding gown with my own money. I’m more than well-off, from my years of payments from Kane and wise investing, but the five-figure price tag on the gown took my breath away.

Fortunately, it’s Konstantin paying for it, not me.

Anna claps her hands together with delight. “We should look at veils,” she declares. “Are you thinking a full veil with a blusher, or maybe a Juliet cap? A chapel-length would be just right for this dress?—”

I let her guide me, wholly uninterested in the process. I feign it remarkably well, if I do say so myself, finally settling on a simple chapel-length veil with pearl trim, and a short blusher in the front. I’m not averse to having my face covered during part ofthe ceremony—it’ll make it all the easier to ensure no one reads anything they shouldn’t on my face.

Konstantin sent over the funds for my shopping excursion a few days ago—far more than I probably need, but I don’t mind spending it. It’s a dead man’s money, anyway, and he won’t be able to spend it himself once he’s gone.

I glance back at the dress and veil as I sign the receipt, hanging on the door of the dressing room where I tried them on. I’ve worn plenty of disguises over the years, infiltrating compounds and clubs and businesses. This is just a different disguise, I tell myself, resolutely refusing to allow my reservations about going as far asmarriageto resurface. One more part to play, so that I can get the information I need.

When this is done, I’ll have everything I require for my revenge. And all I have to do for it is marry—and kill—Konstantin Abramov.

—

Kane isin his study when I return from the boutique, the windows open despite the heat of the afternoon. He's scanning a file, a glass with two fingers of whiskey at his elbow, looking every inch the respectable businessman he pretends to be.

"There she is," he murmurs, setting down the file as I enter. "The beautiful bride-to-be. Did you find a suitable dress?"

"I did." I set my purse down and sink into one of the chairs near the window. My forehead instantly prickles with sweat. It’s far too hot in this room. "I have everything I need. A dress, a veil, the perfect pair of shoes.”

He studies me for a moment, his gaze sharp and assessing. "You sound perturbed, Valentina. Second thoughts?"

“No.” I shake my head. “I just didn’t relish shopping for a wedding dress, that’s all.”

Kane’s eyes narrow slightly. “Most women can’t wait for that day to come.”

I snort. “I’m not most women. You made sure of that.”

He turns to face me then, his expression softening in a way that I’ve only ever seen a few times over the years, in brief moments where he’s tried to be fatherly. Kane doesn’t do emotions, but on rare occasions, he’s tried.

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