Chapter 52 Episode 52
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As soon as the boxes are in my arms, she pulls a third notefrom her back pocket and hands it to me wordlessly.
“Of course,” I mutter. “Another note.”
The girl bows and pulls the suite doors closed.
Oookay then. Apparently, everyone is scared of Nikolai all thetime, whether or not he’s even in the same zip code. Iawkwardly slide the big packages onto the counter and thenunfold the latest note.
There will be a grand opening gala tonight for the hotel staffand investors. These are for you and Elise. I’ll meet you there.
The note is short and to the point, in typical Nikolai fashion.But something about it feels grand.
I turn to the first box and lift the lid. Inside is a delicatelyfolded ball gown in a beautiful shade of cerulean blue. It willlook perfect with Elise’s hair and skin tone. The neckline ismodest, but the skirt is short enough that she shouldn’tcomplain too much. A pair of nude high heels sit tucked intothe bottom corner of the box.
I set the box aside and open the next one. I’m expectingsomething similar—a nice dress for a nice party. I’ve neverbeen big into ball gowns or playing princess. Even businessformal felt out of my reach until I graduated college and gotmy first adult job.
But when I open the lid on the second box, my heart nearlystops.
I’ve never seen something so gorgeous in my entire life.
The bodice is gold with tiny beads stitched on in an intricatepattern, interspersed with gold embroidery that continuesdown into the deep maroon skirt. I pull the dress out of the boxand notice the train attached at the waist. It adds a bustlearound the hips and flows well past the dress. It’s nicer thanany wedding dress I’ve ever seen.
A quick, high-pitched whistle from the doorway pulls myattention.
Elise is standing there, her eyes wide. “Oh my—Who is thatfor?”
I blink at her and then back to the dress. “Me, I think.”
Elise snorts. “For your coronation? Are you and Nikolai aboutto become the King and Queen of Iceland?”
“I don’t think Iceland has a monarchy.”
She kicks the door closed with a mud-covered shoe and wipesher hands on the front of her jeans. “Who is the blue dressfor?”
“For you,” I tell her. “There’s a gala tonight, I think.”
“A ball,” I explain. “A party. I don’t know. Nikolai sent theseand told us to meet him there.”
The last few months have been a continuous string of teenageangst and snark. But suddenly, my sister’s face splits into awide smile. “We’re going to a party?” she squeals.
I can’t help grinning back. “It’s for the grand opening of thehotel. I don’t know who all is going to be there. It willprobably be a lot of older people. Boring music. Stuffyconversation. If you don’t want to go—”
“I want to go.” Elise reaches for the dress and then seems tothink better of it, pulling her hands back to eye her dirtyfingernails. “I should shower. And… can you do my hair?”
If my heart nearly stopped seeing the dress, it practicallyexplodes when Elise asks me to help her get ready.
“Will I—Yes!” I say a bit too enthusiastically. I try again, alittle more suave. “Of course. Yes. I’d love to.” Elise’seyebrow quirks up, and I shrug. “Sorry, but I’ve been dying toFrench braid your hair since I picked you up. It was so shortthe last time I saw you.”
When we were kids, hiding out in our room to avoid Mom, Iliked to braid Elise’s hair into intricate patterns. But a yearbefore I left, she cut it up above her ears.
“Mom was talking about selling it,” she says quietly.“Someone said they had a friend who made wigs. Shecould’ve gotten three hundred dollars for my hair.”
I clap a hand over my mouth. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not,” she says. “So I cut it myself at school so shecouldn’t.”
I have no idea why I am still able to be surprised about thelengths our mom would go to to get some extra cash. It puts afamiliar nauseating dread in the pit of my stomach.
But I refuse to let our mom ruin this night. She’s ruinedenough already.
I shake my head and give her a smile. “Well, I’d love to doyour hair tonight. It’s definitely long enough now. Go showerand then we can start getting ready.”
Elise can’t bite back her grin. She starts to head to her room,but turns back one last time. “For what it’s worth, Belle… Ithink Nikolai is nice.”
It’s not exactly effusive praise, but by Elise’s standards, shebasically erected a statue to Nikolai and had a national holidaynamed for him.
There’s so much I could say. So much I could tell her aboutwhat I know of him, what he’s done, what he might still do.
But in the face of this—giving my sister and me something tobond over, something to talk about—nothing else Nikolai hasdone seems to matter.
“We’re so happy to have you here with us, Mr. Zhukova,”Margrét says. “We didn’t know whether you’d be joining us ornot, so there is nothing planned, but if you’d like to make aspeech or—”
“No.” I gently wave away the hotel manager’s idea. “Don’tchange anything on my account. I just wanted an excuse todress up.”
Margrét smiles and looks over my attire, clearly appreciatingme in formal wear. Her face flushes and then she excusesherself to get a drink.
In another universe, I’d follow Margrét to the bar and startlaying the groundwork for what could be a pleasant mid-partyfuck.
But what I said was a lie. All I really wanted was an excuse todress Belle up. To let her and Elise put on nice clothes andescape into the fairytale they both seem to think is out ofreach.
Then I turn around just as Belle and Elise walk into theparty… and I realize my motivations aren’t nearly so selfless.
I shouldn’t be surprised. They never are.
Belle looks as good as I imagined. Better, in fact. She is agoddess in gold and maroon. The dress hugs her curves andthe long train trails behind her like she’s royalty. People haveto hustle to get out of her way, but only because they’re so
transfixed by the sight of her that they stop walking in the firstplace.
She spots me and smiles nervously. Her hair is pulled backinto a loose knot at the base of her neck, wavy tendrils hangingover her shoulder.
When I approach, I have to fight to keep my hands to myself.
“You both look incredible,” I say with a small bow.
Belle’s face flushes with pleasure, but she turns to her sister tofiddle with her hairpins. “Doesn’t she? She’s gorgeous.”
Elise swats her sister’s hand away, but she’s happy, too. She’sholding her chin a little higher today. As she should. Her bluedress offsets her pale skin and brings out the red undertones inher hair. She’s practically glowing.
Which is probably why the pastry chef’s teenaged son can’tkeep his eyes off of her.
“Excuse me,” Elise says. She turns and walks straight to theyoung man. His eyes bug out of his head when he realizesshe’s heading his way.
“Look at her. Going after what she wants. No shame, nodoubts. It’s… it’s incredible. Admirable. I could never.”
“Maybe you should try it. You could make men’s eyes pop outof their head like that, too. If you wanted.”
“That’s just it. I’m not sure if that’s what I want… well, notjust any man, anyway.”
“Did you have someone specific in mind?”
Belle’s lips pull into a wry smile. “Let’s see how the nightgoes. Then you can tell me if I’m more eye-popping in thisdress… or out of it.”
I feel my d**k strain against the zipper of my tuxedo. Maybe amid-party f**k isn’t completely off the table, after all.
I lean down and whisper in her ear, “Don’t tempt me, Belle, orI’ll drag you upstairs right now and f**k you until everyone inthe party hears you moan.”
“You wouldn’t be so tempted if you’d seen me two hoursago,” she says, her cheeks stoplight red. “The other gift youleft today had me a little distracted. I didn’t even shower untilthe dress showed up.”
“I take it you found the art supplies.”
“They were hard to miss. You must have spent a fortune.”
I wave a hand carelessly. “I was happy to do it.”
That much is true. I like making Belle smile. I enjoy givingher things that once seemed impossible to her. It feels likemagic, in the strangest way. Conjuring hope from thin air.
Belle shakes her head and looks around the room. “This is allso incredible. Unreal.”
- Writer
