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I shake my head as I exit the bathroom, decided. I’ve let the pleasure he’s given me influence me.
But I came from a line of people who really abused me. Belittled me. Made me feel so unworthy of human affection, I sought to avoid all contact with humans, or as little as I could.
But Kazimir… he’s not like they are.
My thoughts are interrupted when Nikita arrives. I’m getting used to this routine. But this time, she’s holding a long dress covered in a bag. That’s when my nerves begin to fray.
“What’s in the bag?” I ask her, backpedaling toward the bathroom. Kazimir is dressed in slacks and a white t-shirt, his belt already fastened at his waist when he looks at me.
“Your wedding dress,” he says. “Remember?”
“But I—I thought it would just be a simple dress,” I stammer, confusing even myself as to why I’m so uncomfortable with the thought of wearing a wedding gown at all. “We’re not what you’d call a traditional couple,” I tell him. “Why do I have to wear the traditional dress?” I groan when Nikita ignores my protest and pulls a puffy, exotic, sequined-covered gown out of a bag.
“Because tonight is about appearances,” he tells me. “And you need to look the part of the Russian princess bride. If you don’t, we could arouse suspicion.”
His phone rings, and he answers it with his jaw tight, his eyes piercing mine. He responds in Russian, and this time I hate that I don’t know what he’s saying, especially when Nikita draws her lips in a thin line.
“What’s he saying?” I hiss to her. I watch her eyes dart to him before she whispers back.
“He says you’re ready and you won’t cause any trouble.”
I’m ready? How can I be ready? My belly churns with nerves and I feel like I’m going to be sick.
“No more time to discuss this, Sadie,” Kazimir says. “Allow her to dress you and get you ready without any more talking back.” He snaps his fingers at Nikita. “Go!”
“It would be better if you would give us some space, sir,” she says. “And meet us downstairs. After all, it isn’t customary for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.”
Pursing his lips, he steps out of the room and shuts the door with a firm click behind him.
“Come,” Nikita says.
I let myself go numb when she slides on my undergarments and fastens the garters. I don’t even look in the mirror when she pulls the dress over my head and fastens the pearl buttons up my back. Somehow, standing in this beautiful gown, I realize it’s likely worth more than I’m worth. I let Nikita primp and preen me until an impatient knock sounds at the door. Kazimir wants me out.
“Go down, sir!” she shouts. “There’s no reason for you to be up here any longer.”
The door opens and Kazimir says something in rapid-fire Russian to Nikita, likely correcting her for trying to tell him what to do, but he silences mid-sentence when his gaze comes to me.
I have a vague awareness of Nikita giggling behind me, but my focus is on Kazimir. He looks at me as if I hold magic, his eyes wide with wonder and lips slightly parted.
“Go,” he says to Nikita in English. “Prepare for the ceremony.”
While she leaves, he takes a step toward me. “You look beautiful.”
I don’t care. It’s all pretend, and there’s no real point to this. I don’t care if he wants to doll me up and pretend I’m something I’m not. It doesn’t change the reality of who I am or what I’m going to do.
“Thank you,” I say, because I have nothing else to say.
“Have you even seen yourself?” he asks. It isn’t until he asks the question that I realize there are no mirrors in his room, probably so his victims don’t know what he’s doing before he does it.
“No,” I say.
“Come.” He takes my hand and drags me to the bathroom. I go reluctantly, because I don’t really want to see myself as a princess. It doesn’t matter to me. It’s all smoke and mirrors anyway, like falling in love with a mirage. A gust of wind, and the house of cards he’s built will come toppling down.
When he pushes the bathroom door fully open, I see the outline of my reflection. He flicks the switch, and light floods the room. Now I can see myself fully in the mirror. I blink in surprise. I didn’t quite expect to look like this.
My mousy-brown hair is tucked and pinned with loops and swirls. If I ever tried to do something like this myself, I’d end up looking like Medusa, but the way Nikita has arranged my hair, it’s… stunning. The gleaming loops are dotted with luminescent pearls, swept up from my face so that my brow is pronounced, giving me an air of royalty. My eyebrows arch gracefully over dramatic eyes, enhanced with charcoal liner and thick, black eyelashes. I never knew my cheekbones were high and aristocratic, but whatever magic she’s dusted over them makes them appear so. Full lips enhanced with a light pink gloss. I look beautiful. But the dress… the sweetheart neckline dramatizes my shoulder and slender neck, dipping low in the front to reveal full cleavage enhanced with a push-up bra. The waist, bedecked with sequins and pearls, cinches then flares into swaths of silk, taffeta, and satin. I turn to the side and feel the full skirts swish. Kazimir’s laugh surprises me.
