Page 78 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

So now, I’m overwhelmed and out of my depth and my mouth is opening and closing like a fish that’s flopped its way onto dry land.

“Ma’am?” the woman says with a touch of concern.

“I… um… came to… shop,” I say awkwardly, mentally cringing at myself.

No shit, Sherlock. So did everyone else here. That’s why people go to stores.

“Of course, ma’am,” the saleswoman says, taking my pathetic answer in stride. She’s polite, but there’s nothing warm about her. “Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“Umm… I have a list,” I say, pulling out Artem’s list and looking through it.

I feel one of my guards step forward as I’m busy trying to read the first item on the piece of paper.

“Mr. Kovalyov sends his greetings,” Leo tells the gorgeous blonde.

Instantly, her perfectly arched eyebrows shoot to the top of her Botox’d forehead.

She turns to me with the brightest smile I’ve ever seen. “You’re a friend of Mr. Kovalyov’s? Well, we’re honored that you chose to visit our establishment. Please, ma’am, come this way. I’m Yvonne and I’ll be happy to assist you today.”

Suddenly, she is all warmth and radiance as she leads me through the massive store towards a private dressing room at the back.

My guards retreat back outside while I trail along after Yvonne, still feeling very much out of my element.

The dressing suite is a big circular space, complete with a silver-grey sofa and a coffee table bearing buckets of champagne on ice.

“Would you mind if I looked at the list?” Yvonne asks.

I hand it over with relief. She scans it quickly and nods.

“Wonderful,” she says, passing the note back to me. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable and I’ll be back with some options for you?”

I take a seat next to the champagne and marvel at how quickly things had changed once Artem’s name got dropped.

I’m willing to bet that’s going to happen in every store I visit today.

A few minutes later, Yvonne walks back in, followed by several men pushing garment racks.

I stare at the four separate garment racks in the dressing room with me. One rack holds evening gowns. Another has cocktail dresses. The third has simpler, day-to-day looks along with skirts and blouses.

“Once you’re done selecting your top choices from these options, we can bring in the rest,” Yvonne tells me enthusiastically.

I frown. “There’s more?”

“Oh, there’s so much more, ma’am,” Yvonne says with a grin.

* * *

She’s not kidding. I spend the next two hours trying on different clothes.

Most are mind-bogglingly beautiful. All are mind-bogglingly expensive.

I feel like I’m trapped in some perverse Cinderella story.

Except that in this version, Cinderella is being forced to marry the prince, who’s more brutal than charming and she also happens to be pregnant with his child, though she’s keeping that from him, even though they already had sex in a club bathroom months ago and then parted ways without exchanging names, and that would’ve been the end of it but then he came charging back into her life to murder her father and burn down the only home she’s ever known…

So, on second thought, maybe not so Cinderella-y after all.

“Ma’am, may I pour you a glass of champagne?” Yvonne asks, cutting through the dark bend my thoughts were taking.

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