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“I know.” I don’t have to see him blanch to know my smile is chilling. “That’s not what I’m after.”
And with that, I slice my blade across his throat. His warm blood bathes my fingers, and the stench of evacuating bowels fills the air. I watch the life fade from his mud-brown eyes, and then I say softly, “Monica sends her regards.”
Letting his body drop to the pavement, I wipe my hand and my blade on the cleanest part of his shirt, extract his wallet from his pocket, and step out of the alley, heading back to where Danny is waiting.
We’ll have to stop by a motel on the way back.
I need a shower before returning home.
54
Sara
I’m still not ready to openly wear my ring in the office, but at lunchtime, when the dress people—two stylish women about my age—show up, I lead them through the main lobby, ignoring the receptionist’s curious stare. We go into one of the exam rooms, and they measure me from head to toe—a process that takes mere minutes with their skilled hands.
“You’re very slender, which is great,” a tall, dark-haired woman who introduced herself as Suzie says. “We have a gorgeous Monique Lhuillier that will fit you with minimal alterations. Pam, do you have a picture?”
Pam, a short, curly-haired blonde, pulls out her phone and shows me a sleek, mermaid-style dress hanging on a mannequin. Covered with delicate lace, it’s strapless with a square neckline and a row of pearl buttons in the back—simple yet so perfect that I can only stare and drool.
“We have many other styles as well,” Suzie says, incorrectly interpreting my speechlessness. “Is there anything specific that you’d—”
“No, this is great.” I tear my gaze away from the phone screen. “How much is it?”
Suzie blinks and glances at Pam.
“Mr. Garin told us there’s no set budget,” Pam says carefully. “Is that not the case?”
“Oh, um… sure. I’m just asking out of curiosity.” Finances is yet another thing I haven’t discussed with Peter, so I do my best to hide my discomfort behind a brighter smile.
“Oh, I see.” Pam beams back at me. “Well, rest assured that your fiancé is a very generous man. This dress is a one-of-a-kind runway edition with handmade lace, and it retails for thirty-three thousand plus tax. We’re throwing in the alterations for free, though.”
“That’s… very nice of you.” My voice sounds choked, but I can’t help it. I’m no Cinderella—even after the pay cut at my new job, my salary is solidly in the six figures—but thirty-three thousand is still an eye-popping sum for a dress I’ll wear exactly once.
I thought the twelve-hundred-dollar dress at my first wedding was expensive.
“You’ll need shoes and accessories as well,” Suzie says, pulling a shiny catalog out of her oversized handbag. “Do you want to flip through this”—she holds up the catalog—“or would you rather we recommended something?”
“I’d appreciate a recommendation,” I say, and they swiftly find me a pair of white Louboutin pumps with delicate straps around the ankles, and a pearl necklace to go along with two pearl-and-diamond studs for my hair.
“You’re going to want an updo, of course,” Pam says, flipping through the catalog to point at a few intricate hairstyles on the models. “It’s going to really bring it all together.”
“Thank you. I’ll be sure to do that,” I say as they pack up and head out. True to their word, the whole process took just under thirty minutes—a fraction of the time I spent shopping for a dress and accessories for my first wedding.
Maybe there’s some benefit to Peter railroading me like this, I think wryly as I step out to grab a quick lunch in the half hour I have left before my next patient. My first wedding was a big production, with George inviting everyone we knew and spending money we didn’t really have. We had two hundred people at the reception, and it took a year to plan—and I, swamped with residency at the time, hated every minute of that planning.
A small wedding where all I have to do is show up might be exactly up my alley.
“Who were those people?” the office receptionist, Annabelle, asks when I return from lunch, and I take a breath, realizing I do have one important task on my plate.
I have to invite my friends and colleagues, enduring their surprised questions in the process.
“They were here to measure me for a dress,” I say, deciding there’s no time like the present. Slipping my left hand into my bag, I surreptitiously put on my ring and take my hand out, displaying the large diamond to Annabelle. “You see, I’m engaged, and the wedding is—”
An excited squeal drowns out my words before I can say “this Saturday.” Annabelle, a no-nonsense woman in her late fifties who handles insurance companies and difficult patients with equal aplomb, jumps to her feet as spryly as a teen and grabs my hand to gape at the ring, chattering the whole time.
