Page 23 of My Russian Protector

Two well-dressed women approach us and my driver whispers something to them. They both size me up and nod. He hands them a credit card and turns back to me.

“I’ll be waiting outside,” he says and exits the shop.

“Hello, Anna. Come this way,” the older of the two women tells me.

I follow them to an adjacent room furnished with tiny white sofas and a small glass table. The walls are covered with mirrors, and there are two private dressing rooms on one side.

“Coffee, tea, or champagne?” the other woman asks me.

“Um, tea would be nice,” I reply, stunned that they offer beverage service in a dress shop.

“We’ll find a few items in your size and color and bring them in for you. Just relax. We’ll take care of everything,” the younger woman explains.

I sip my tea as I watch the two women bolt in and out of the room with gowns draped over their arms. I can see that they really love what they do. They’re practically giddy. When they’re satisfied with their chosen selection, I begin trying things on.

Each time, they have me stand in front of the mirrors so they can evaluate me. Six gowns later, I’m about to call it quits and just take anything. Nothing feels right until dress number seven.

I stand in front of the mirrors and gaze at the floor-length, white fitted gown. The cinched waist is adorned with a hint of rhinestones that trail down a slit on the left side. When I take a step, it exposes my leg all the way to my thigh. It’s asymmetric with a strap on the right shoulder but strapless on the left side.

“Is this the one?” the older woman asks me.

“I think so.”

“It fits like it was made for you,” the younger woman adds. “Excellent choice.”

They place the gown in a dress bag and charge Alex’s card. Then, the younger woman waves out the window to my driver. He returns and takes the gown to the car for me.

“There’s a hair salon just around the corner,” he tells me.

“I think I can do my own hair,” I reply.

“Sorry, boss’ orders,” he explains and drives me to the salon where I receive the star treatment.

By this time, I’m exhausted and starving. I return to the car and the driver tells me, “Change in plans. The boss wants to see you for a late lunch.”

He drives me to a café across the street from Alex’s office. Alex is waiting by the door when we pull up, and he comes to the car to open my door for me.

“Your hair looks beautiful,” he says and kisses me.

“Thank you for everything,” I reply.

“What did I tell you? Don’t thank me,” he squeezes my hand and escorts me into the café.

We’re seated and Alex says, “I couldn’t wait until seven to see you, and I wanted to make sure everything went well for you today.”

“It’s been quite an experience. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“I can’t wait to see the outcome. I have no doubt you’ll be the most beautiful woman at the gala,” he replies.

“Who is this VIP that goes to fancy galas?” I ask him.

“I’m not sure exactly. His name is Camyro Chekov. I’ve never heard of him but I did a quick background check on him. It seems that he’s a wealthy entrepreneur. Seems benign,” he replies.

“So he’s not affiliated with…”

Alex squeezes my thigh and says, “There’s no indication that he’s into anything illegal. I told you before that you have nothing to worry about. I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

The food arrives and Alex cuts into his steak. He picks a piece up on his fork and holds it out to me. I open my mouth and let him feed it to me. He does this every time we eat something new. It’s like he wants to make sure that I don’t miss out on any new experiences. He’s never mentioned why he does it, but I love it about him. It’s another silent way he demonstrates how much he cares.

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