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Anton barely spares her a glance before turning back to stare out the shop windows. “Celia.”
The woman, Celia, sneers at his dismissal but quickly masks it with a professional smile.
“Celia,” Svetlana stands from the couch and approaches the woman. “Adrian didn’t tell us you were coming.” Brr did someone ask for ice because Adrian’s mother’s voice is nearly frozen as she addresses the newcomer.
The woman’s smile is brittle as she faces Svetlana. Where have I seen her before? She looks eerily familiar and yet, I can’t seem to place her.
“Adrian called this morning,” she says, setting her briefcase down on one of the tables that are dotted around the room. “Said he wants the very best for his new acquisition.” Ouch. Adrian told her I am an acquisition? Then again, he did call me his possession this morning. Acquisition isn’t far off from that.
“I’m not sure how he thinks the outfits’ whore can help.” Celia’s already bitter smile slips at Svetlana’s words. “The only thing my son has ever said you were good for was being on your knees for his men.”
Snap! That’s where I’ve seen her before. The day I was shot she was the one getting railed by one of the guards while she sucked Adrian… now I’m queasy. Celia must see something in my face because she smirks at me. It’s probably because of how green I suddenly look. As far as I know, there hasn’t been another party like the one I witnessed when I first arrived at Adrian’s doorstep. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t gone to other ones like it.
With her.
It shouldn’t bother me that he has gone off to have his dick sucked, but it does. True, he just decided we would marry last night, a night he was in his bed with me, but for some reason, the thought of him spending all those nights before with her or someone like her turns my stomach.
Unaware of the tension between us, Junie comes up and asks me if there is anything else I would like to look at before she takes everything up to the checkout.
“Miss Castellanos already has a dress waiting for her here,” Celia tells Junie who looks confused.
“I’m sorry?” Junie looks between us. “I don’t have an order for Miss Castellanos in the back.”
Celia sneers at the woman. “It’s under Adrian Volkov,” she informs the assistant. “The one who owns the store? He called early this morning to purchase the Valentino.”
Junie’s mouth gapes open and her cheeks flush red. “I’m sorry,” she stammers. “I wasn’t aware that dress was intended for this party.”
“Apparently.” Celia narrows her eyes at Junie when the woman doesn’t move. “Go and get it. I don’t have all day.” The assistant startles before scurrying off to grab whatever heinous dress the lord of the manor picked out for me.
“I’ve already picked a dress,” I tell her.
Celia’s gaze zeroes in on me, her face turned up in distaste. “I don’t care what you picked out, Miss Castellanos,” she hisses. “You’ll wear what’s expected of you.”
This bitch.
“Here it is,” Junie pants as she comes to a stop in front of us, a large garish ballroom dress in her arms.
Oh hell no.
Hideous doesn’t even begin to describe the monstrosity in Junie’s arms. It’s large with enough tulle to decorate a barge. The entire bodice is lined with enough Swarovski crystals that it could be seen from the international space station.
“Yeah,” I sigh with a shake of my head. “I won’t be wearing that.”
Celia takes a threatening step forward. “This is what Adrian wants his little princess to wear,” she growls. “So, you’ll wear it with a smile, or you won’t like the consequences.”
Who is she to think she can threaten me? She’s nothing but a pawn on a chessboard.
And I’m the motherfucking queen.
I look to Junie. “Is this the only one in the store in my size?” I ask her. Confused, Junie nods. “And it’s already bought and paid for?” Another nod.
Good.
“Sorry about this,” I tell Junie before I dump the contents of my wine glass down the front of the dress and watch as the red soaks into the white fabric. Like blood on virgin snow. Somehow it fits.
“You little bitch,” Celia growls as she lunges for me. I see the sloppy move coming from a mile ahead. Reaching my hand out, I snatch the pair of scissors Junie has in her small apron around her waist. My free hand grips the wrist of Celia’s outstretched hand and twists hard to the side. She’s bent down at an awkward angle. Just enough so that I can easily slide the blade of the scissors against her neck.
“Wanna say that again?” I question her, teeth bared.
