Page 1 of His Forced Bride
1
INESSA
The ivory silk feels cold against my skin as I slip into my hand-sewn wedding dress one final time.
The showroom around me glows under the warm track lighting.
My collection is displayed on mannequins that stand at attention throughout the space, all staring at me like I'm the star this time.
Each piece represents months of work, countless nights bent over my drafting table, fingers stained with charcoal until the perfect lines were accomplished.
Tomorrow morning, this empire becomes part of a larger machine built on blood and bullets rather than thread and fabric the way I wished.
But my father knows what he's doing.
If he thinks this arrangement is what is necessary to take my designs to the next level, then I will choose to trust him.
Besides, Dominic isn't that bad.
"You look absolutely stunning," Alina says from her perch on the red velvet stool near the fitting platform.
Her dark curls catch the light as she tilts her head, studying me with those expressive brown eyes that have seen me through every triumph and disaster since we were teenagers.
"Dominic won't know what hit him." Her eyebrows dance up and down suggestively, but I'm tired of her teasing.
I turn toward the three-way mirror, watching the dress move with me.
The bodice hugs my torso before flowing into a cathedral train that pools around my feet.
Every stitch is perfect, every seam aligned to create the illusion of effortless elegance.
It should make me feel beautiful, even powerful.
But it feels like a costume I'm donning for a play I scored the lead role in.
My eyes sweep toward my best friend who must sense my frustration.
"He's handsome enough to make the whole arrangement bearable," Alina continues, but the pinched way she looks up at me shows me she's only trying to help. "Those pale blue eyes, that strong jaw. At least your children will be gorgeous."
The word "children" makes me tense.
I haven't allowed myself to think that far ahead.
I try not to think about what comes after the vows and the signatures and the binding of two families through matrimony.
The Gravitch name is synonymous with power in St. Petersburg.
My father made that clear when he first proposed this alliance six months ago.
"Beauty doesn't matter when there's no choice involved," I murmur, adjusting the neckline with hands that refuse to stay steady.
They slide over the bodice and down across my hips, flattening the material. "This isn't about love or attraction or any of the things normal brides dream about."
Alina slides off the stool and approaches me, her reflection joining mine in the mirror.
She's petite next to my height on this pedestal, barely reaching my shoulder even in her heels.
Her loyalty has never wavered, not even when I dropped out of university to focus on design.
