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“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Burkhardt, but there’s a situation.” Her normally composed voice had an edge I rarely heard. “My mother’s in the hospital. They think it might be a stroke.”

“Shit, Erika.” My irritation with the boutique experience instantly evaporated. “Go. Now. Take whatever time you need.”

“But the Tokyo investors?—”

“I’ll handle them. Family comes first. Always.” I meant it. After growing up with a father who put business before everything, I’d sworn never to inflict that priority system on anyone else. “Which hospital?”

“Mount Sinai.”

“I’ll have my car take you and make sure she gets a private room. Do you need anything else? Someone to watch your cat? A place to stay near the hospital?”

“No, I—thank you, Mr. Burkhardt.” The relief in her voice was obvious. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“Don’t worry about work. Just take care of your mom.” I ended the call and turned to find Anica watching me.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“My assistant’s mother is in the hospital. Possible stroke.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She seemed genuinely concerned. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, but thank you for offering. Shall we finish up here? I need to make some calls to cover for Erika.”

She nodded, turning back to Anatoly, who had been hovering at a respectful distance. “We’ll take the midnight navy with the modifications I specified. Mr. Burkhardt will return for one fitting on Thursday, and the tuxedo must be ready by Saturday evening.”

“That’s... highly irregular,” Anatoly protested.

“So is a twenty percent premium above your standard rate,” I countered, “which I’m happy to pay for the expedited service.”

Anatoly’s expression shifted from resistant to accommodating. “We would be delighted to meet your timeline, Mr. Burkhardt.”

“Excellent.” I checked my watch. “Are we finished?”

“Almost,” Anatoly assured me. “Paul just needs a few more measurements, and then we should discuss accessories, cufflinks, studs, perhaps a custom pocket square...”

I suppressed a sigh. At this rate, we’d be here until dinner.

“Maybe we could continue this discussion after lunch?” Anica suggested, once again reading my mood perfectly. “I’m sure Mr. Roskov could prepare some sketches based on what we’ve discussed.”

“A splendid idea,” Anatoly agreed. “Paul, finish the measurements quickly, please.”

As Paul approached with his tape measure again, I noticed something through the archway on the other side of the boutique; a glimpse of white satin and lace. The bridal section. An idea formed in my mind, pushing aside my discomfort with a much more entertaining prospect.

“You know,” I said casually as Paul measured my inseam, “since we’re here, perhaps my fiancée should try on some wedding dresses.”

Anica, who had been texting something on her phone, looked up sharply. “What?”

“A wedding dress, darling. The thing women wear when they get married?” I gave her my most innocent smile. “You haven’t found yours yet, have you?”

Paul stared between us, a crease forming between his brows, mouth parting like a question was on the edge.

“Mr. Burkhardt has an unusual sense of humor,” Anica explained.

“I’m sure Lucas could help.” I nodded to the other assistant, who shrugged.

“Sure.”

“No,” Anica said, shaking her head. “It’s not important.”

“I disagree.” I was enjoying this far too much. “I’d say we’ve already waited too long, but I’m sure these fine gentlemen can help you find the perfect dress.”

“He makes an excellent point,” Anatoly interjected, suddenly reappearing. “And our bridal collection is truly exceptional. Perhaps just a quick viewing?”

Anica’s expression suggested she was mentally calculating how many years she’d serve for strangling me with Paul’s measuring tape. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Please?” I employed the puppy-dog eyes that had gotten me out of trouble since childhood. “Just one dress.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she repeated flatly.

“And you’re the best.”

“Damn straight,” she muttered, but her resolve weakened. “Fine. One dress. Then we’re discussing the next three candidates over lunch, which you’re paying for.”

“Deal.” I grinned, victorious. “And I promise to actually give them fair consideration this time.”

“As opposed to sabotaging them with inappropriate questions?” she asked, raising a brow.

“That was a legitimate test,” I protested.

Anatoly was already crossing to the other side of the store. “Christina!” he called. “We need you for a special bridal consultation!”

A stylish woman in her forties appeared almost instantly. “Yes, Mr. Roskov?”

“This is Ms. Marcel, Mr. Burkhardt’s fiancée. She requires a gown. Something spectacular.”

“Of course.” Christina assessed Anica. “You have a lovely figure, Ms. Marcel. Classic hourglass with exceptional posture.”

“Doesn’t she?” I beamed at Anica, who flipped me off behind her back.

“Are you thinking traditional, modern, or somewhere in between?” Christina asked.

“I’m thinking ‘let’s get this over with as quickly as possible,’” Anica replied with a tight smile. “One dress. Simple, elegant, nothing too fussy.”

“I have just the thing,” Christina assured her. “If you’ll follow me?”

As Anica was led away, looking like she was marching to her execution, I couldn’t help but feel smug. This was turning out to be far more entertaining than I’d anticipated. A little payback for all her rigid professionalism and boundary-setting.

“She’s quite something,” Anatoly commented as we watched them disappear into the bridal section. “Not your usual type.”

“And what would my usual type be?” I asked, curious despite myself.

“Models, actresses, socialites.” He shrugged. “Women who... complement your status rather than challenge it. The kind I’ve seen you with in the tabloids or on social media.”

Before I could respond to that loaded observation, Paul announced he’d finished the measurements. “Excellent work,” I said, grateful for the interruption. “Now, how long does it typically take to try on a wedding dress?”

“Depends on the woman,” Anatoly replied. “Some try twenty before finding the right one. Others know immediately.”

“Ms. Marcel strikes me as the efficient type,” Paul said, standing up.

“I agree. Though even the most practical women sometimes surprise themselves when they see their reflection in a wedding gown.” Anatoly gave me a knowing look. “It can be quite transformative.”

I rolled my eyes at the sentimentality. “It’s just a dress.”

“Just a dress?” Anatoly looked genuinely offended. “Mr. Burkhardt, a wedding gown is a statement of?—”

“Mr. Burkhardt?” Christina called from the archway. “We’re ready for your reaction.”

“My reaction?” I turned, confused.

“It’s tradition,” she explained. “Well, normally it’s friends and family of the bride, but since you’re here, and she said she didn’t mind if you saw, we’ll consider it the groom’s first glimpse.”

“Sure, I guess that sounds—” I began, but stopped mid-sentence as Anica stepped into view.

Holy. Shit.

The dress was simple. A sleek, off-shoulder design in ivory silk that followed the curves of her body before flaring subtly at the knees.

No excessive beading or lace, just perfect tailoring and a small train that pooled behind her.

Her hair was still in its ponytail, her makeup unchanged, but something about seeing Anica Marcel in a wedding dress had my knees forgetting that they were essential to remaining standing.

I nearly tripped off the pedestal, and didn’t face plant only because Anatoly caught me by the elbow.

She was stunning. Not in the obvious way of the models and actresses Anatoly had mentioned, but in a way that made it impossible to look anywhere else.

The professional armor was gone, replaced by something softer yet somehow more powerful.

The silk clung to the curve of her waist, highlighting the feminine figure I’d dreamt about almost every night since meeting her.

The neckline revealed collarbones delicate enough to make my fingers itch to trace them, followed by my tongue.

I realized I was staring. Worse, I realized I couldn’t stop.

“Well?” she prompted, a hint of vulnerability breaking through her composed expression. “Is it ridiculous enough for you? Can we move on to lunch now?”

Words failed me, which was not a common occurrence. I, who made my fortune with persuasive pitches and quick comebacks, stood there like an idiot, trying to remember how to form a coherent sentence.

“I think we’ve rendered Mr. Burkhardt speechless,” Christina said with obvious satisfaction. “I always love seeing couples have that reaction!”

Her comment broke the spell. “We’re not—” Anica started.

“It’s perfect,” I interrupted, finding my voice at last. “You look... incredible.”

A flush crept up her neck, and for once, she seemed at a loss for words too.

“The silhouette is perfect for her figure,” Christina continued, oblivious to the tension. “And the simplicity allows her natural beauty to shine through.”

“Yes,” I agreed, still unable to tear my gaze away from Anica. “Exactly that.”

“Perhaps we should discuss veil options?” Christina suggested. “I’m thinking something cathedral length to complement the train.”

“No veils,” Anica said firmly, recovering her composure. “No accessories. This was just for... demonstration purposes.”

“But surely for your actual wedding?—”

“We haven’t set a date yet,” I improvised. “Still in the early planning stages.”

“Ah, I see.” Christina nodded. “Well, let me get your information for our file. We can hold this gown for you. It’s from our new collection, not even on the floor yet.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Anica said, wrapping her arms around herself.

“But it’s perfect on you!” Christina protested. “And it requires minimal alterations.”

“We’re still exploring options, but we’ll definitely keep this one in mind,” I said.

“At least let me take your details,” Christina persisted. “When are you thinking of having the wedding?”

“Three months,” I replied at the exact moment Anica said, “Next year.”

We exchanged looks of mutual panic.

“What he means,” Anica recovered smoothly, “is that we need to decide within three months whether we’re doing a winter wedding next year or waiting for spring.”

“Exactly,” I agreed. “So many factors to consider. Venue availability, family schedules, whether her mother will be out of prison by then...”

“Callan!” Anica gasped.

“Kidding,” I grinned. “Her mother’s a lovely woman. Only served eight years.”

Christina’s eyes widened, but her professional smile never faltered. “Family dynamics can certainly be... complex. How did you two meet?”

“Through work.”

“At a charity gala.”

Another exchange of panicked looks.

“Both, actually,” I improvised. “We first saw each other at a charity gala but didn’t speak. Then fate brought us together when I needed her professional services for my grandmother’s birthday celebration.”

“So romantic,” Christina sighed. “And the proposal?”

“Empire State Building,” Anica said quickly, rehashing the story we’d told before.

“During a blizzard,” I added with a wink. “Her eyelashes froze. Actually,” I continued, warming to the story, “I had planned an elaborate proposal with skywriters and a flash mob, but when the moment came, it was just the two of us in the snow, and I realized I didn’t need all the theatrics.”

“That’s...” Anica looked at me strangely. “Not what happened.”

“You were there, darling.” I moved closer, placing my hand at the small of her back. The bare skin exposed by the dress was warm beneath my palm. “Don’t you remember what I said?”

She stiffened at my touch but didn’t pull away. “I remember you being very... persistent.”

“It’s my super power.” I wiggled my eyebrows at her. “Anyways, I said that from the moment we met, you challenged everything I thought I wanted. That you made me want to be better than I was.”

Something shifted in her expression. Surprise, maybe confusion. For a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the room. God, she really was breathtaking in that dress. Like it’d been made just for her.

“How long have you two been together?” Christina asked, breaking the strange spell.

“Two months.”

“Four weeks,” Anica said at the same time.

Christina looked between us, her professional composure finally cracking. “I... see.”

“Dating for two months,” Anica clarified, stepping away from my touch. “Engaged for four weeks.”

“Very whirlwind,” I added.

“Indeed,” Christina said, clearly not believing a word. “Well, I’ll just... give you a moment while I check on something in the back.”

As soon as she was gone, Anica turned to me, eyes flashing. “Was that really necessary?”

“What?” I asked innocently.

“The elaborations. The touching. The... whatever that was about challenging what you wanted.”

I shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with my own improvisation. “Maintaining our cover story. Making it believable.”

“And the comment about my mother in prison?”

“It adds color to our narrative.” I grinned, trying to recapture the lightness of the moment. “Besides, you have to admit, it was fun seeing her expression.”

“Fun is not the word I would use.” But there was a reluctant quirk to her lips that suggested she wasn’t as angry as she pretended.

“You do look amazing in that dress,” I said, stepping back to look her up and down again.

She glanced at it, as if suddenly remembering what she was wearing. “It’s just a dress.”

“Just a dress?” I echoed Anatoly’s earlier offense. “Ms. Marcel, a wedding gown is a statement of?—”

“Oh, shut up,” she said, but she was almost smiling now. “I’m going to change. Meet you out front in ten minutes.”

As she disappeared back into the fitting room, I replayed the moment she’d appeared in the dress. The strange breathless feeling that had overtaken me. The way time seemed to stop.

It was just the unexpectedness of it, I told myself. Seeing my uptight wedding planner in something so contrary to her usual presentation. Nothing more than a surprise.