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Kleinfeld’s is empty when we walk inside.
Okay, notempty, empty. There’s plenty of staff, salespeople and their helpers, not to mention Ana and Caterina, and the apparentarmyof security that was sent along with us. I hadn’t had any idea when I’d gotten into the car that once I got out, no less than a dozen armed bodyguards were coming with me. They’re scattered around the main sales floor now, looking tall, muscular and menacing in their black suits and earpieces, and I feel ridiculous. Everything about this is insane.
Including the fact that Kleinfeld’s has, apparently, been closed to the public while I’m here.
“Are we seriously the only ones shopping?” I hiss at Caterina, who seems most likely to know what the hell is going on. “How—why?”
“Safety,” she says simply. “If you asked Luca directly, he’d probably give you some trite answer about how he wanted you to have an uninterrupted shopping experience, or some made-up excuse like that. But the truth is that if there’s no one else allowed here, then it will be very obvious if someone is who is not supposed to be. And in the event that someone did try to harm you, the public wouldn’t be in danger.”
I stare at her. “Is this normal?” I manage. “Is Luca going to clear out a store every time I want to go shopping?”
“Once the Bratva threat is managed?” Caterina shrugs. “Probably not. But who knows?”
“Did they do this for you?” I wave a hand around the empty salon.
“I haven’t gone shopping for my dress yet. But when I do, no. I’ll have a private appointment at whichever designer I choose, but the shop won’t be closed.”
“Why not?” I look at her curiously. “You’re Rossi’s daughter.”
Caterina’s mouth twitches upwards into a small smirk. “My life isn’t in danger,” she says. “No one is trying to kill or kidnapme.I suppose it does come with certain—perks.”
Despite myself, a tiny squeak of laughter slips out. Caterina glances over at me, meeting my eyes, and I can see the humor in hers. For the first time, I feel myself starting to like her, just a tiny bit.
“Don’t go having hysterics on me,” she says with a small grin. “Your appointment is about to start.”
The woman who approaches us is dressed neatly in a black skirt suit, her slightly greying hair twisted up behind her head. “Good afternoon, Miss Ferretti,” she greets me, her voice formal and polite. “I’m Jennifer. Mr. Romano’s office called to tell us you’d be coming. We were told that there’s no budget, so I suppose we’ll simply start with what kind of dress you could see yourself wearing?”
No budget. Of course.Luca is clearly sparing no expense on this entire charade, and I can’t help but wonder what he would do for a woman he actually loved. Is all of this just to keep up appearances, a show of wealth that has nothing to do with me? Or is he, on some level, trying to make up for all of this by letting me blow as much money as I’d like on the trappings of a dream wedding?”
Not that anyone has consulted me about the wedding itself. But still—
You know better. This is all just to show the Russians how much power they have, how much money to burn, showing that they can throw it away on a wedding to a woman that Luca doesn’t even want.I can’t allow this to go to my head, no matter how dazzling it might get.
“Miss Ferretti?”
The woman is still waiting for me to give her an answer about the style of dress, and I quite frankly don’t have a single idea what to tell her. I know this salon is famous, but I’ve never watched the show about it, I’ve never Googled wedding dress designers or scrolled through pages of them on my phone, daydreaming about what I would pick one day. I’ve never made a wedding Pinterest board.
I, quite frankly, have never spared a thought for my theoretical wedding.
My post-graduation trip to Paris, on the other hand—
“Why don’t we start with a few different styles,” Caterina says quickly, stepping forward. “Maybe one of each silhouette?”
Ana shoots her a dirty look, but I feel relieved. “Thank you,” I say quietly when Jennifer steps away, leaving us alone with the champagne that another tall and elegant saleslady brings us, and Caterina gives me a small smile.
“I told you I wanted to help,” she says quietly, and then backs up, letting me have some space with Ana.
“I don’t know what to pick,” I whisper to Ana nervously. “I have no idea—am I supposed to pick whatIlike? What I think Luca would like? What I think his boss would like?”
“Well, you’re getting married in the cathedral, so we can start there,” Ana says calmly. “Nothing off the shoulder, nothing see through, nothing super low cut. And from there—” she shrugs.
“If you can’t find anything you like because all of this feels too awful and weird, then pick something you think Luca would like. Or, god forbid, ask Caterina what Don Rossi would approve of,” Ana adds, giving a faux shudder.
“If you do find something you like,” she continues, “then choose that. And fuck what Luca wants.”
I feel a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, despite my nerves. “Fuck what Luca wants,” I agree, and both of us start to giggle.
For a moment, I feel okay again, almost free. Despite the eerily empty salon and obnoxious amount of security and the impending need to choose a dress for my sham of a wedding, having Ana here with me, making me giggle over what feels like a tiny but necessary rebellion, makes me feel almost whole again for the first time in days.
