"Oh, dear Fates!"
Ruvon's hands stilled on her back. "What's wrong?"
She held the front edge of the skirt up to the light from the bedside lamp to show him. "My beautiful dress is ruined!"
"It's all right, sweetheart. We will have it dry-cleaned. It will come back looking like new."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm positive."
She let the skirt fall.
"I want to save it. Perhaps one of my sisters will want to wear it for her wedding. Someday. Or maybe our daughter," she added in a whisper. "This is no ordinary dress. This is an heirloom."
"We will have it preserved properly, and if need be, I'm sure the designer can redo the bottom layer."
He was right, of course, and his calm reassurance settled her sudden panic attack.
He had reached the last of the buttons, and she felt the bodice go fully slack. The dress sagged forward, the weight of the skirt pulling it down, but the lace sleeves were tight and prevented it from sliding off.
"Hold still," he said.
Gently, he pulled on one sleeve, and then the other, and the dress slid down.
He held the waist as she stepped out of the puddle of tulle, and then he gathered the dress up in his arms with care, treating it like the heirloom it was. He laid it across the armchair in the corner of the room, smoothing the skirt out so that it would not crumple.
Arezoo stood in front of Ruvon in her white bridal bra and her white bridal panties, crossed her arms over her stomach, and looked at the floor.
When she'd imagined this moment, she had been bold. She had stood up in front of Ruvon, with pride and desire in her eyes. In her imagination, she had been brave, but in reality she was scared.
She heard him swallow, and that small, audible sound was somehow more affecting than any compliment he could have delivered.
"You are beautiful," he said.
She lifted her eyes to his face.
He was looking at her the way he had looked at her at the foot of the dais, and at the lookout point under the stars, and across the table in the café with the poetry book between them, and at the front door of his house when she had shown up unannouncedwith food as an excuse. It was a look that had not changed from the first time he had directed it at her.
It was the way he saw her.
She uncrossed her arms and let them come down to her sides.
He looked.
After a moment, he cleared his throat.
"Would you like me to draw you a bath?" he asked.
"Yes. Please. I need to wash my face and take this makeup off."
He did not move immediately.
He stood there for another beat, just looking at her, and then he seemed to remember that he had offered to do something, turned, and walked toward the bathroom door.
15
RUVON
