Page 56 of Vicious Betrayal

Our child. The thought makes my throat tighten.

Caroline takes down the first dress, a traditional A-line gown with a sweetheart neckline, delicate lace sleeves, and a long train. It's beautiful and timeless, exactly the kind of dress a young bride should wear.

I hate it. But I step into it anyway, letting Caroline zip me up, and then I walk out onto the platform to show my mother and sister.

"Oh, Oksana," my mother breathes, her hand pressed to her chest. "You look like a princess."

I can't help but think that I look like a liar. A traitor. I should be wearing red, not white. But I turn slowly, watching my reflection shift in the mirrors. The dress fits perfectly, hugging my waist and flaring out over my hips, the lace sleeves delicate and feminine. I look young and beautiful, like a girl still innocent enough to believe that this is a fairy tale that could all work out. That we'll be saved somehow.

"It's nice," I say, my voice flat.

"Nice?" My mother frowns. "Oksana, it's stunning."

"It's fine, Mama." I turn back to the mirror, avoiding her gaze. "Let me try another one."

Caroline brings out three more dresses—a mermaid silhouette with intricate beading, a ball gown with layers of tulle that I think makes me look like a cake topper, and a sleek column dress with a high neck and open back. I try them all on, standing on the platform while my mother critiques the fit, the style, the way the fabric drapes, the shades of white against my skin, how much lace each has versus silk or satin. Katya says nothing, just sits on the sofa with her arms crossed, staring at the floor. She can't even bring herself to look at me for long.

I feel hollow and numb for the entire parade, until the fifth dress that Caroline brings out.

It's very simple, just a silk sheath gown in a shade of white that complements my skin perfectly, bringing out the pink in it so that I look like I'm glowing. It has a V-neckline that dips just a little low, with illusion lace filling it in, thin straps, and pearl buttons going all the way down the spine. The fabric is heavy and luxurious, clinging to my skin and showing off my slender curves, making me look sensual while still feeling bridal.

It's absolutely gorgeous.

I stare at my reflection, and for a moment, I let myself imagine that this is real. That I'm marrying Cormac only because I love him, not because I'm being forced to. That the vows I'm about to make mean something, and that the future stretching out in front of me is full of possibility instead of betrayal.

And then I see Katya's reflection in the mirror behind me, and the fantasy shatters.

She's looking at me now, her blue eyes filled with guilt. Her lips are pressed together, and she looks like she wants to cry.

Anger churns in my stomach, and a horrible sense of loss. My family is torn apart, whether or not I succeed. I'm going to lose Cormac, who I know I'm falling in love with. Even if I confessed now and stopped all of this, he'd never trust me again. All I will have is my baby, who will never know their father.

"That's the one," my mother says, her voice soft. "Oksana, you look absolutely beautiful."

"Do I?" I turn to face Katya directly, ignoring my mother. "What do you think, Katya? Do I look like a bride?"

Katya's jaw tightens. She doesn't answer.

"Oksana," my mother says sharply. "Don't."

"Don't what, Mama?" I step down from the platform, the silk dress whispering around my legs. "Don't ask my sister's opinion? Maybe she has some thoughts about what I should wear for my wedding."

"This is not the time," my mother hisses, glancing toward Caroline, who has tactfully retreated to the other side of the boutique.

"When is the time?" I demand, my voice a sharp, hushed whisper. "When are we going to talk about what she did? About why we're all here, playing dress-up and pretending this is a normal wedding?"

"Oksana, please⁠—"

"It's okay, Mama," Katya says quietly. She stands, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jeans, her shoulders hunched. "She's right. We should talk."

My mother looks between us, her expression torn, and then she sighs. "I'll give you a moment," she says, her voice tight. "But keep your voices down. We don't need to make a scene."

She walks toward the front of the boutique, leaving Katya and me alone in the fitting area.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. I stand there in my wedding dress, my arms wrapped around myself, staring at the sister I used to share everything with. The sister who used to braid my hair and sneak me chocolates and make up stories with me in blanket forts in one of our rooms, who handed me down her romance novels that she snuck before I was old enough to be reading them.

And now, my sister, who destroyed everything.

"You look beautiful," Katya says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.