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I laughed—nervous and light—the sound bubbling out of me before I could help it. “Honestly? No.”

Riley grabbed a hanger off the first rack and held up a fitted satin number with a plunging neckline and feathers. “Okay, but imagine his face if you walked down the aisle inthis.”

Amy made a noise of protest. “We’re not going full burlesque, Riley.”

“I’m just saying, Sloane is the one girl who could pull it off.”

I grinned and shook my head, already easing into the chaos. They were opposites: Amy elegant and refined, Riley bright and impulsive. Somehow, they worked together as a team, and for the first time since I’d agreed to marry one of the most dangerous men in Boston, I didn’t feel alone.

Delphine returned with a tray of champagne and sparkling water, and we got to work. I tried on dress after dress: silk, tulle, lace, and beading so fine it shimmered under the lights like dew. The mirror became a blur of white and motion. I turned, posed, let them ooh and ahh and giggle about how Nikolai would lose his mind the second I walked down the aisle.

But it wasn’t until I was alone in the fitting room, standing in front of the three-panel mirror entirely bare, that the buzz dulled for a moment and something sharper settled in my chest.

I turned slowly to the side, and there they were.

Several faint marks from the belt, right at the curve of my ass. Red, fading, but still clearly visible.

The memory flashed so vividly I swore I felt it again. The way his voice had sounded, deep and commanding, the way his hand had held me down, and how the strap had stung each time it hadwhipped my backside. Most of all, the way my tears had dried while he held me in his lap and told me he was proud of me.

I slipped back into my robe and stepped out, blinking against the light. Amy and Riley were waiting on the velvet sofa, sipping water and talking low. They both looked up when I entered.

“Okay,” Riley said. “You’ve tried on seven dresses. Spill. How are you feeling?”

I paused and smiled. “Honestly? Kind of… shocked.”

Amy tilted her head. “At what? The price tags or the fact that you’re about to become a Morozov?”

“Both,” I admitted, laughing. “Mostly thatthisis happening. I didn’t think I’d ever get married.”

“Neither of us did either,” Amy said, folding one leg over the other. “But here we are. I mean, you know Aleksei. He was like artsy boy Casanova and then boom: engaged. Now he reads art history books in bed with me and argues about postmodern sculpture while rubbing my feet.”

“That’s… kind of adorable.”

“It’s deeply confusing,” she replied with a smile. “But also? Really, really good.”

Riley nodded. “And Maxim? He’s mostly silent in public, but behind the scenes? Total domestic tyrant: breakfast made every morning, my favorite wine stocked. Every bill paid, every shoe fixed, every dinner handled. It’s like he’s running a small country, and I’m the only citizen.”

Amy leaned in with a little smile. “They’re strong men. Not easy in any way, but they take care of their women. Some might even say they spoil us,” she added with a wink.

My chest warmed and I swallowed around the tight feeling in my throat.

They didn’t say kept. They didn’t say controlled. They said taken care of.

And they meant it.

“I hope I get that too, but I don’t think I’ve foundthedress just yet. I want to try on just a few more,” I ventured.

I tried on one more dress.

Delphine brought it out like she already knew it was the one. She whispered something in French before hanging it carefully on the gold hook, and Amy and Riley fell quiet when they saw it.

There wasn’t any beading or glitter or feathers. No corset or lace.

Just pure, elegant silk.

It was ivory—soft and warm—not the icy white that screamed tradition. The fabric shimmered faintly under the light like it had been kissed with moonlight. Strapless, it hugged the waist, curved over the hips, then fell in a long, clean line to the floor. The train was short. Intentional. Confident.

There was nothing to hide behind. No sparkle to distract from anything else.