Page 90 of Savage Union
The admission hangs between us, unexpectedly honest. I should insist he leave, assert this small bit of independence. Instead, I find myself asking, "Why?"
"Because I want to see you." His gaze holds mine, intense in a way that makes my pulse quicken. "In all those white dresses, looking like what you are—mine."
The possessiveness in his tone should offend me. It doesn't. Instead, it sends a shiver of something that isn't entirely unpleasant down my spine.
Before I can respond, Vivienne returns with two assistants, each carrying several garment bags. "I've selected a variety of silhouettes to start with," she explains, unzipping the first bag to reveal a cascade of ivory satin and lace. "Shall we begin?"
I nod, momentarily speechless at the sheer beauty of the gown—a fitted mermaid style with an intricate lace bodice and a dramatic train. Despite everything, despite the circumstances that brought me here, I find myself reaching out to touch the delicate fabric with something close to reverence.
"You can try it on in here," Vivienne gestures to the private fitting room. "My assistants will help you."
I glance at Vito, who watches me with undisguised interest. "Fine," I say finally. "You can stay. But no comments until I'm ready."
A hint of a smile touches his lips. "As you wish."
The fitting room is a luxurious space with plush carpet, another three-way mirror, and hooks laden with tools of the bridal trade—clips, measuring tapes, veils of various lengths. The assistants help me undress, their movements efficient andprofessional as they ease the first gown over my head, carefully arranging the fabric around my body.
The weight of it surprises me—layers of satin and tulle creating a substantial presence. As they secure the back and arrange the train, I catch sight of myself in the mirror and barely recognize the woman staring back at me.
She looks like a bride. Not a prisoner, not a reluctant fiancée, but a woman preparing for her wedding day.
"You look stunning," one of the assistants murmurs, making final adjustments. "Are you ready to show your fiancé?"
Am I? This feels like crossing another line, playing further into the fantasy that this is a normal engagement, a wedding born of love rather than political necessity.
But I nod anyway, allowing them to guide me out to the viewing platform before the three-way mirror where Vito waits.
His reaction is immediate and unmistakable. He stands as I enter, his eyes darkening as they travel the length of my body in the gown. There's naked appreciation in his gaze, but something else too—a possessive hunger that makes my skin heat despite myself.
"Well?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious under his intense scrutiny. "What do you think?"
"Beautiful," he says simply, the single word carrying weight far beyond its syllables.
Vivienne and her assistants busy themselves with adjusting the train, discussing potential alterations, but I barely hear them. Vito's gaze holds mine, creating a private bubble in the midst of their professional chatter.
"Try another," he suggests, his voice lower than usual.
And so begins a parade of bridal couture—each gown more exquisite than the last. A ballgown with a sweetheart neckline and crystal beading. A sleek sheath of creamy silk that clings toevery curve. An ethereal A-line with delicate cap sleeves and a cathedral train.
With each new dress, the tension between Vito and me grows thicker, charged with something neither of us acknowledges directly. His eyes follow my every movement, his approval evident in his expression, though he offers few words beyond simple appreciation.
By the fifth gown—a fitted lace creation with an open back and long sleeves—the air in the room feels electric. I turn slowly before the mirror, watching Vito's reflection as he watches me. His control is slipping; I can see it in the tension of his shoulders, the slight clenching of his jaw.
"This is the one," I say, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice.
Vivienne beams. "It's absolutely perfect on you. The lace complements your skin tone beautifully, and the silhouette is divine."
I'm not looking at her, though. I'm watching Vito, whose eyes meet mine in the mirror with such intensity it steals my breath.
"Yes," he agrees, his voice rough. "This is the one."
Vivienne discusses alterations, delivery timelines, accessory options—all the practical details that suddenly seem incredibly distant and unimportant compared to the crackling energy between Vito and me.
"I'll give you a moment to discuss any final details," she says finally, professional enough to recognize the tension in the room. "Take your time. When you're ready, Jenna will help you change."
She and her assistants withdraw discreetly, leaving us alone in the VIP suite. Vito rises from his seat, approaching me slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving mine as I stand on the viewing platform in the wedding gown.
"You're breathtaking," he says quietly. "Every man at the ceremony will envy me."
