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“You don’t think it’s a bit…” I look down at the understated fabric. There’s no tulle on this one. No diamonds. No fishtail or embroidered design. There’s no color. No lace. “Is it boring?”
“It’s elegant,” Fifi sighs. “Classic and sophisticated. Very sexy. That gown isn’t about the gown at all. It wasn’t designed to steal the show. It was made to highlight the woman wearing it. To gift a bride all the attention she deserves on her big day.”
“It’s perfect,” Raquel inserts. “It’s veryyou.”
“Now try on the princess one you think Archer would like. Mary?” Aubree orders. “Can you see that A-Line one hanging over by the mirror?”
Mary steps away from me, leaving me to study the gown I’m already in.
“Yeah,” Raquel agrees. “That one. It’s got the sweetheart neckline and big ol’ push-up for the boobs. It’ll make your tits look twice as big as usual and draw your groom’s eyes exactly where you want them.”
“Archer would totally get off on that one,” Aubree inserts. “It’s very whimsical and pretty. Gown A is about class. Gown B is about romance and magic. Try that one on so we can decide which is better.”
“But she’s trying them all on,” Fifi presses. “Right? We can’t make a final decision until we see them all.”
Like with the first dress, Mary sets the second down and creates a gap for me to step in. Then coming to my back, she begins untying what she’s already tied.
“I wanna see the mermaid gown next,” Raquel announces. “It’s cute and will make your stomach look tiny.”
A phone trills on their side of the line. A ringtone I long ago grew accustomed to hearing.
“Hang on,” Aubs rumbles, audibly tearing my desk drawer open and freeing the device. She takes a moment, to read the screen, presumably, then she exhales. “Get changed,” she instructs me. “I wanna see every gown. But I’ve also gotta take this.” The ringing ends, but then Aubree’s voice grows a little more professional. “Hey, Fletch. I was about to call you.”
ARCHER
Iwalk the halls of our boat, passing Felix’s suite time and time again, knowing Minka is inside and being fitted for a wedding dress.
It’s dumb, really, that a guy like me should care so much about someone else’s outfit. That I should pin all my romantic notions on a bunch of fabric and a dress that’ll be worn for an hour.
Two, tops.
I’m Archer fucking Malone. Son of a murderous bastard and brother to New York’s second most powerful mafioso. I’m a homicide cop, married to a woman who sometimes murders people, and that same woman has a bleeding disorder that could spell her demise if she so much as steps off the curb a second too soon and falls to the ground. If she hits her head, she’s dead. If she steps in front of a bike, she’s dead. If she fails to kill a man she’s deemed an enemy to society, and instead, he rears up and fights back, she’s dead.
There are so many other, more pressing matters resting on my shoulders day in, day out.
And yet, I walk this hall now and lean a little closer to the door as I pass, in hopes I’ll hear something. A gasp of happiness. A swish of fabric. Maybe a girly squeal—which, admittedly, issonot Minka Mayet. But this boat was built with quality, which means doors and walls remain sturdy. Strong. There’s no sound leaking from one room to the next.
My phone bleats in my pocket, a loud burring that has my eyes flicking wide and my hand swinging around to silence the device before my wife hears. I grab the phone and mash my thumb on the screen even before I read the contact flashing for attention. But somewhere in the back of my consciousness, I spy Fletch’s name.
Turning on my heels and charging away from the bedrooms, I bring the phone up to my ear as I emerge into the ballroom, a grand piano bolted to the floor in the middle and draping curtains hung around to create whimsy.
No one ever said Malones avoid grand gestures.
I stroll to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows and look at the sea gently bobbing outside this space. And finally, I speak. “Hey.” Movement passes behind me, servers hustling around to prepare our lunch. They know where Mayet is right now, just as they’re keenly aware that when she’s done, she’s likely to come out irritated. And hungry. “What’s up?”
“We have a problem, Arch.” Fletch’s feet move fast, his racing breath enough to put me at full alert.
I turn from the windows and look back toward the hall I escaped from. “What’s wrong?”
“Aubs has figured out something I never considered on the Savese case. There are more of them.”
“More of what?” Hesitantly, I head to the piano and lower to sit at the stool. “Why are you running?”
“Because I think this was mass murder.” His shoes squeak as he runs through the halls of the police precinct. Phonesring throughout the building, and cops chatter about whatever they’re working on. “Aubs got a wild hair to check for similar deaths in the last week.”
“Similar?”
“Poison! We kept coming up against a brick wall about Savese. Apart from the fact he considered himself internet-important, he was otherwiseunimportant. Veronica Cain said the same. The dude was unremarkable. He didn’t make a fuss at the convention. He was quiet. No one on his route home had anything to say about him. Not the cab driver. Not the flight attendant. He was just a quiet guy who went about his business, albeit, with his phone in his hand. He’s just… ya know? A nobody.”
