Vicious Promise by M. James
Sofia
Kleinfeld’s is empty when we walk inside.
Okay, not empty, empty. There’s plenty of staff, salespeople and their helpers, not to mention Ana and Caterina, and the apparent army of security that was sent along with us. I hadn’t had any idea when I’d gotten into the car that once I got out, no less than a dozen armed bodyguards were coming with me. They’re scattered around the main sales floor now, looking tall, muscular and menacing in their black suits and earpieces, and I feel ridiculous. Everything about this is insane.
Including the fact that Kleinfeld’s has, apparently, been closed to the public while I’m here.
“Are we seriously the only ones shopping?” I hiss at Caterina, who seems most likely to know what the hell is going on. “How—why?”
“Safety,” she says simply. “If you asked Luca directly, he’d probably give you some trite answer about how he wanted you to have an uninterrupted shopping experience, or some made-up excuse like that. But the truth is that if there’s no one else allowed here, then it will be very obvious if someone is who is not supposed to be. And in the event that someone did try to harm you, the public wouldn’t be in danger.”
I stare at her. “Is this normal?” I manage. “Is Luca going to clear out a store every time I want to go shopping?”
“Once the Bratva threat is managed?” Caterina shrugs. “Probably not. But who knows?”
“Did they do this for you?” I wave a hand around the empty salon.
“I haven’t gone shopping for my dress yet. But when I do, no. I’ll have a private appointment at whichever designer I choose, but the shop won’t be closed.”
“Why not?” I look at her curiously. “You’re Rossi’s daughter.”
Caterina’s mouth twitches upwards into a small smirk. “My life isn’t in danger,” she says. “No one is trying to kill or kidnap me. I suppose it does come with certain—perks.”
Despite myself, a tiny squeak of laughter slips out. Caterina glances over at me, meeting my eyes, and I can see the humor in hers. For the first time, I feel myself starting to like her, just a tiny bit.
“Don’t go having hysterics on me,” she says with a small grin. “Your appointment is about to start.”
The woman who approaches us is dressed neatly in a black skirt suit, her slightly greying hair twisted up behind her head. “Good afternoon, Miss Ferretti,” she greets me, her voice formal and polite. “I’m Jennifer. Mr. Romano’s office called to tell us you’d be coming. We were told that there’s no budget, so I suppose we’ll simply start with what kind of dress you could see yourself wearing?”
No budget. Of course.Luca is clearly sparing no expense on this entire charade, and I can’t help but wonder what he would do for a woman he actually loved. Is all of this just to keep up appearances, a show of wealth that has nothing to do with me? Or is he, on some level, trying to make up for all of this by letting me blow as much money as I’d like on the trappings of a dream wedding?”
Not that anyone has consulted me about the wedding itself. But still—
You know better. This is all just to show the Russians how much power they have, how much money to burn, showing that they can throw it away on a wedding to a woman that Luca doesn’t even want. I can’t allow this to go to my head, no matter how dazzling it might get.
“Miss Ferretti?”
The woman is still waiting for me to give her an answer about the style of dress, and I quite frankly don’t have a single idea what to tell her. I know this salon is famous, but I’ve never watched the show about it, I’ve never Googled wedding dress designers or scrolled through pages of them on my phone, daydreaming about what I would pick one day. I’ve never made a wedding Pinterest board.
I, quite frankly, have never spared a thought for my theoretical wedding.
My post-graduation trip to Paris, on the other hand—
“Why don’t we start with a few different styles,” Caterina says quickly, stepping forward. “Maybe one of each silhouette?”
Ana shoots her a dirty look, but I feel relieved. “Thank you,” I say quietly when Jennifer steps away, leaving us alone with the champagne that another tall and elegant saleslady brings us, and Caterina gives me a small smile.
“I told you I wanted to help,” she says quietly, and then backs up, letting me have some space with Ana.
“I don’t know what to pick,” I whisper to Ana nervously. “I have no idea—am I supposed to pick what I like? What I think Luca would like? What I think his boss would like?”
“Well, you’re getting married in the cathedral, so we can start there,” Ana says calmly. “Nothing off the shoulder, nothing see through, nothing super low cut. And from there—” she shrugs.
“If you can’t find anything you like because all of this feels too awful and weird, then pick something you think Luca would like. Or, god forbid, ask Caterina what Don Rossi would approve of,” Ana adds, giving a faux shudder.
“If you do find something you like,” she continues, “then choose that. And fuck what Luca wants.”
I feel a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, despite my nerves. “Fuck what Luca wants,” I agree, and both of us start to giggle.
For a moment, I feel okay again, almost free. Despite the eerily empty salon and obnoxious amount of security and the impending need to choose a dress for my sham of a wedding, having Ana here with me, making me giggle over what feels like a tiny but necessary rebellion, makes me feel almost whole again for the first time in days.
Jennifer appears again a moment later, motioning for me to follow her back to the dressing room, and I cast a nervous glance in Ana’s direction.
“It’s fine,” she says reassuringly. “I’ll wait out here with Caterina, and I promise I’ll be nice.”
I can feel the nerves fluttering through me all over again, twisting my stomach in knots until I feel like I might be sick, but I follow Jennifer back anyway, all the way to the spacious dressing room that is already half full of lace and silk and puffy skirts.
“I’m getting married at St. Patrick’s,” I tell her quickly, remembering what Ana said. “So it has to be appropriate for that.”
“Ah.” Jennifer quickly sweeps away two of the dresses. “These won’t work then. I’ll be right back.”
I look at myself in the mirror as I wait for her. I almost don’t recognize myself. It’s not just the designer clothes, or the new hairstyle and color, but something else. My face looks drawn and pale, my entire body somehow more fragile, as if the stress of all of this is already wearing me down. I look like a frightened child, and I hate it. I don’t want to be a shrinking violet. But I also don’t want to be a part of this world that I’ve been thrust into.
Is there something in between? How do I play this game without losing myself in it?
The door opens, and Jennifer walks back in with two new dresses. “Alright, let’s get you into the first one,” she says cheerily, pulling a frothy confection of a dress off of a hanger.
I feel more vulnerable than ever as I strip out of my jeans and top, laying them neatly on a chair and leaving me in just the bra and panties that were part of what I’d chosen from the mountains of clothing brought to the penthouse yesterday. Like the designer outfit I’d worn today, my underwear is staggeringly different from the usual simple cotton bra and panties I typically wear—there was nothing like that in the options I’d been given. Instead I’m wearing light pink lace, and the effect is startling when I look in the mirror. I’m reasonably fit, slender with what I think are nice curves, but I never pay much attention to them. In the gilded mirror of the dressing room, lit up and wrapped in lace, I look—sexy.
I wonder what Luca would think, if he saw me like this.
The thought horrifies me. I shouldn’t even consider it, shouldn’t wonder for even a second what the man who is practically my jailer would think of me in lace underwear. But the curiosity lingers as I step into the first dress, no matter how hard I try to push it away.
Jennifer zips up the back, deftly hooking the first few faux buttons as she pins the back of it to fit me. “You look lovely,” she declares, but I’m not so sure.
I look like a cupcake, frankly. The dress is completely lace from the waist up with a satin lining beneath it, long-sleeved with a sweetheart neckline. The waist has a grosgrain ribbon bow, and from there the skirt froths out in layers and layers of tulle, until I look like nothing so much as the topper on a music box.
“I—don’t think this is it.”
“Well, show the others, at least,” Jennifer says enthusiastically, and I wince.
“Alright,” I agree weakly.
Ana’s face confirms what I’m feeling as I walk out—she looks as if she’s trying desperately not to laugh. Caterina’s expression is more demure, but even her mouth is twitching as I walk up onto the platform and turn to face them.
“Well, what do you think?”
“I hate it,” Ana says decisively.
“It’s—not that flattering,” Caterina adds hesitantly. “Maybe try the next one?”
“Yes,” I agree fervently.
The next dress isn’t much better, though. This one is strapless—Jennifer assures me that there are capelets and toppers that can cover up my sleeves so I don’t scandalize the priest—and the skirt reminds me of a prom gown, with tiered pickups and tiny rhinestones. Even Caterina has to clap her hand over her mouth to hide her reaction when I walk out, and Ana shakes her head violently.
“It’s hideous,” she says, looking at Jennifer. “Don’t you have anything that won’t make her look like a Barbie doll?”
“Maybe something classic,” Caterina adds. “Elegant.”
The next dress is better. It’s a plain white gown in a heavy satin, with floaty cap sleeves and a fitted bodice that flares out into a trumpet skirt. Caterina beams when I walk out, and even Ana grudgingly admits that it’s beautiful.
“It might be a little plain,” I say hesitantly, turning this way and that in the mirror. I feel guilty even suggesting that I might have opinion on a dress that I shouldn’t even want to wear, but looking at myself in this one, I feel the first glimmer of what it might be like to be a bride. To want to look beautiful on my wedding day.
“Maybe something with a little lace?” Ana suggests. “Nothing over the top, but something to make it a little more interesting.”
The next dress Jennifer pulls out has lace, but it’s a ballgown, with a lace half-sleeved bodice and a full satin skirt big enough to hide another person in. I’m on the verge of just picking the one that was alright, when she brings out one last dress.
Like the ring on my finger, I hate to admit how much I love it once it’s on me. It’s spaghetti straps, with a sweetheart neckline that dips a little deeper than some, but not so much as to be dramatic. But the part I love the most is the fabric.
It’s a soft, off-white chiffon, lined so that my skin doesn’t show through the lace and applique, but the lining is a soft champagne color that makes you wonder, just a little. The entire dress is covered in a bold leaf and floral applique, covering the bust entirely and feathering out from the waist down into large leaves that scatter over the loose, flowing skirt.
It’s soft and ethereal and beautiful, and I feel like a princess.
I feel perfect.
Caterina audibly gasps when I walk out. Ana’s eyes go round, and she gets up to stand next to me as I step up onto the little platform. “It’s beautiful,” she says softly. “You look beautiful, Sofia.”
“We can add soft chiffon sleeves for the ceremony,” Jennifer adds, “and they can be removed after for the reception.” She disappears for a moment and then comes back, slipping a comb into my hair with a long, floor-length veil attached. “There. Now you look like a bride.”
I can feel my throat tightening as I look in the mirror, a dozen emotions flooding me at once. I’m both happy and sad that my mother isn’t here—happy because she would be horrified at the entire situation, sad because I would give anything for her to be able to see me in what I’m certain will be my wedding dress. I think of my father, who I won’t ever be able to have walk me down the aisle—but if he were here, I wouldn’t be walking down any aisle. He wouldn’t give me away to a man like Luca if he were alive.
I’m only standing here in this beautiful dress because my parents are dead. Because no one can protect me anymore except for a heartless, mercurial criminal who is poised to run the very same organization that took my parents away from me. And as I look in the mirror, I’m horrified that I can find any joy at all in the dress that I’m going to wear to marry that man.
And yet—I can’t help but think that I do look beautiful. That if I’d chosen to get married, this is the dress I would pick.
I turn around and see Caterina watching me, and to my surprise, I can tell that her eyes are a little misty. Why? I can’t help but wonder. Why does Rossi’s daughter care anything about me? “You are going to make the most lovely bride,” she says, smiling at me. “Even lovelier than me.”
“I don’t know about that,” I say wryly, glancing back in the mirror. I can’t imagine ever being as polished or glamorous as Caterina is, or Ana. Even now, standing next to me, Ana looks graceful and rosy, pale and pink as a porcelain doll in the skinny jeans and cropped tank that she’s wearing, her nearly concave stomach on display, her silky blonde hair cascading everywhere. She’s the perfect picture of a ballerina, elegant in her every movement, and I’ve always felt slightly clumsy and graceless next to her.
But now, in this dress, I look like a princess. I look like a girl who could marry someone like Luca Romano.
And I don’t know why that sends a flicker of excitement across my skin.
“This is the one,” I tell Jennifer quickly, stepping down off the platform. “I’ll take the veil, too.”
“Very good,” she says, her face glowing, and I’m sure that she’s already calculating her commission off of whatever ridiculous price tag is on this gown.
When I’m safely out of it, pulling my jeans back on as I look at it hanging in the clear garment bag, waiting to be taken to the alterations department for the quickest work they’ve probably ever done, I feel that knotting in my stomach again.
Four days.
Four days until I’m Luca Romano’s wife.
