He Fell for the Wrong Bride

Chapter 10 Matching Dresses

At precisely six in the evening, three sleek black luxury cars pulled up in front of my residence.

Kevin was leaning casually against the middle one, smoking.

He wore a dark red velvet tuxedo, the double-breasted jacket with peak lapels perfectly accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow waist.

His hair was swept back in a deliberately tousled style, as if trying to project a carefree, devil-may-care attitude.

He looked stunning, of course, but something about the look felt... off. Maybe it was his innate air of authority clashing with the playboy persona he was attempting to channel. It was like a straight-A student trying to play a street punk.

And then there was the color of his suit. I couldn't help but feel an odd suspicion...

The moment he saw me step outside, Kevin stubbed out his cigarette in a portable ashtray.

"Your ankle's healed?" he asked, a hint of reproach in his tone as his gaze flicked to my towering heels.

His words said one thing, but the unmistakable flash of admiration in his eyes said another.

"Dr. Karl is quite the miracle worker," I said playfully, deciding to swallow my doubts for now.

I gave him a cheeky wink and added, "If you must smoke, I suggest switching to cigars. Less harm to your health, and much more suave."

Kevin chuckled and nodded. He then extended his hand toward me. At first, I thought he was going to ruffle my hair again, but instead, he took my hand in his.

"Let's get going," he said, giving my palm a gentle squeeze. "Errol will never let me hear the end of it if we're late." He flashed a disarming smile as he added, "Our outfits tonight match perfectly. It's almost like fate dressed us in matching attire."

His words and easy smile managed to quell some of my earlier doubts.

Besides, I had bigger things to focus on. Tonight's "show" was just getting started.

Duke Errol's estate was grand and opulent. After driving through the outer gate, it took several more minutes to reach the main residence.

The house was ablaze with lights, and laughter and chatter spilled from within. It was clear that most of the guests had already arrived.

Standing at the entrance were two impeccably dressed figures: a portly man with a mischievous glint in his boyish blue eyes and a tall, elegant blonde woman.

Kevin got out first and placed a hand over the car's doorframe to ensure I didn't bump my head as I exited.

I instinctively stepped back to walk slightly behind him, as protocol dictated, but Kevin pulled me forward, clasping my hand firmly in his.

Walking side by side with him felt... nerve-wracking.

Would he still treat me with this much respect after the "show" tonight? Would he think me petty, vindictive, or worse—tactless?

"Good heavens, my boring little brother managed to land such a stunning beauty," the portly man said as he approached us. "Being king does have its perks."

Before Kevin could introduce us, the man bent down, took my hand, and kissed it lightly.

"You must be Princess Daisy," he said, his tone jovial. "I'm Kevin's brother, Duke Errol. As you can see, we don't share the same mother—I was spared the curse of his ridiculous cleft chin."

Duke Errol's blunt humor left me momentarily speechless.

Not giving me time to dwell on it, he handed me off to the blonde woman beside him.

"This is my delightful wife, Helena," he said with a grin.

"Lovely to meet you, dear," Helena said, brushing her cheeks against mine in greeting. "How brave of you to marry Kevin. Aren't you afraid he'll chop you into pieces and pickle you in formaldehyde?"

"You two keep talking like that in front of my fiancée, and I'll cut your allowances," Kevin said, scowling at the pair even as he pulled them into an embrace.

I couldn't help but laugh, clutching Kevin's arm dramatically as I looked up at him with mock despair.

"Kevin, don't use formaldehyde," I pleaded. "At least let me float down the moat. That way, I can have a free spirit."

"Stop it," he scolded, though his tone was amused.

He pinched my nose lightly, and just like that, my nerves dissolved.

Kevin wasn't a petty man, and with hosts like Errol and Helena, I doubted the evening could spiral out of control.

As the royal herald announced our arrival, we stepped into the grand hall. The room instantly fell silent, and all eyes turned toward us. The guests bowed or curtsied in unison.

Everyone, that was, except for one "radiant red rose" who remained standing.

It was Natasha. She was wearing a striking crimson gown with a daring thigh-high slit and a plunging neckline that barely contained her ample cleavage. The shoulders and hemline were adorned with dramatic ruffles, making the dress both ostentatious and overly elaborate.

Emma's intel had been spot on—it was the exact gown from the photos.

It truly was a beautiful dress, bold and attention-grabbing. It should have been the centerpiece of the evening.

However, Natasha's jaw hung open as she stared at me in disbelief. I was wearing almost the same gown.

The only difference? While hers had a plunging neckline, mine featured a sophisticated off-shoulder design.

This was the show I had meticulously orchestrated for Natasha.

In social circles, few things were as mortifying as wearing the same outfit as someone else.

At a banquet held in my honor, wearing the same dress as the guest of honor wasn't just a faux pas—it was a direct affront.

Natasha, as someone responsible for managing my wardrobe and household, had no excuse for such an oversight.

What could have been dismissed as an accident was now unmistakably an act of provocation.

And by doing so, she wasn't just challenging me—she was undermining the king's dignity.

I wouldn't say I'd set her up. But if she had any sense of occasion—if she knew how to dress with a little more class, instead of parading around like some attention-hungry nouveau riche—she wouldn't have found herself in this humiliating position.

Guests had already begun whispering among themselves.

Natasha, realizing the gravity of the situation, set her glass down and looked ready to flee.

I couldn't let her off that easily. I quickly closed the distance between us, leaning in to greet her cheek-to-cheek.

"Duchess Natasha!" I exclaimed loudly, ensuring every guest could hear. "Oh my goodness, we're wearing the same dress! We look like twins!"

My exaggerated enthusiasm drew all eyes to us.

Despite Natasha's platform heels, I towered over her.

Matching dresses weren't the problem. The question was, who wore it better?