The day before the wedding.
Monte City. The second-floor dressing room at the Grant estate.
I stood in front of a full-length mirror. Three seamstresses were adjusting the waistline of my wedding gown. The haute couture dress had been rushed from a Parisian atelier over two weeks. The skirt was embedded with fine diamonds. The weight of it pressed down on me — a grounding, real sensation.
A double knock at the door. Ethan walked in.
He was wearing a simple white shirt, holding a deep blue velvet box. The seamstresses bowed and retreated, closing the door behind them.
"Does the dress fit okay?" Ethan came up beside me, watching me in the mirror.
"Perfectly." I looked at my own reflection.
He opened the velvet box. Inside lay an antique sapphire necklace. He walked behind me, lifted m
