Page 12 of Broken Arranged Mate (Badlands Wolves #4)

I was never the kind of little girl who liked to play dress-up. In fact, the idea of doing that was strange to me—all the effort of putting on clothes, taking them off again, for fun ? Like brushing your teeth over and over and calling it a good time.

“I can tell you’re thinking negative thoughts,” Kira says, glancing at me as she steps into the boutique. “You’d better stop.”

When I laugh, she shakes her head and steps up to the front desk, checking us in for our appointment time. We are here to look at wedding dresses, which I am not looking forward to.

Getting dressed in the morning is, for me, a question of accuracy and speed.

I think of the weather and the task at hand, throw something on, and go.

Like last week, when I knew I’d be working in the old watchtower—hot, but I’d need to get down on my knees, so a pair of overalls with a nice, casual bra underneath.

I could tell Oren didn’t think much of my style, but if he’s looking for a fashion-oriented wife, he should have known better.

“She’s not thinking negative thoughts,” Veva says, grinning. “She’s thinking about Oren.”

“I hate being around psychics,” I mutter, which makes Emaline gasp.

“So it’s true,” she insists, “you’re thinking about Oren!”

I roll my eyes at the three of them, desperately trying to remain nonchalant. To not think about the way he’d stripped his shirt off in the watchtower, helping me to scrub the floors and rip out the old wood paneling.

“Yes, believe it or not, I am thinking about my arranged marriage while picking out a dress for the occasion.”

That quiets them—even saying arranged marriage seems to have that effect on people.

The attendants are all smiles, ushering us into the dressing room, and we follow.

When I move to settle onto the couches with everyone else, it sends a ripple of laughing through the room, and then I’m shuffled to the back, where there’s already a line of dresses to try.

The woman helping me claps her hands together—she’s older, hair graying around her temples, and it makes me think of what it might have been like to have my mother here, or even my grandmother.

I push the thought away. It won’t do any good for me to get worked up over it now, while this woman is trying to tell me about the dresses.

“Alright, we have a variety of styles here for you to try, just to get a feeling of what you like, okay? So we can narrow it down into shape, feeling, color—does that make sense?”

I nod, and another attendant steps forward, helping me into the first dress. It’s large, with a corset top and a huge train, which makes me feel like I’m going to be involved in a royal wedding.

Which, I guess, in some ways, I am.

When it’s on, I turn to walk back out to the sitting room, but they catch me by the arm, laughing as they tug on the accompanying gloves. Everything about it feels wrong, but part of the fun is supposed to be playing dress up, so I turn and walk out into the room.

Veva bursts into laughter the moment she sees me, while Kira shushes her, saying something under her breath like she couldn't like it!

I don’t. But I’m not going to say that in front of the woman who picked out the dress.

“It’s so…Victorian,” Emaline says, looking genuinely like she enjoys it. If she and Aidan had gone for a big wedding, I could have seen her wearing something like this.

Weddings aren’t as common in our pack. When they happen, it’s usually for high-profile couples, a function to bring many people together.

“I love the gloves,” Veva says, barely managing to get the words out before another peel of laughter bursts through her lips.

“I’m not sure it’s for me,” I say, trying to be diplomatic. Before I can turn and head back to the dressing room, the door to the shop opens and two people come in—one a familiar face, and the other recognizable in a different kind of way.

Beth grins at me, then turns and pulls a handkerchief from her bag, revealing the woman behind her.

Her hair is lighter, but I see the resemblance straight away.

She has the same straight nose and serious dark eyes, her almost yellow-blonde hair short under a dark green beanie.

With straight-legged pants, a pair of combat boots, and what looks like an older man’s loose, button-up shirt, she looks like the person who’s too cool to be friends with me.

Just behind her is a tall Grayhide alpha with a mop of golden-blonde hair and a pair of deep brown eyes. His gaze sweeps the room, then he steps inside with her, still glancing around like there might be a threat inside the boutique.

It must be the protection Oren sent her with. A bodyguard to make sure his only sister would be safe in Ambersky territory.

When Raegan sees me, she smiles, stepping forward past Beth and sticking her hand out. I look down at it, and she laughs.

“Hi—sorry, is it awkward to shake hands?”

Her easy laugh makes me relax. “No, it’s okay—this is weird. And I’m in a wedding dress.”

She looks me up and down, either unable or unwilling to hide the frown that pulls at the corners of her mouth. “I know we just met, but I don’t think that’s the one.”

“I hate it,” I admit, shoulders falling more, the strange sense that we’re going to be easy friends settling over me. “I have more to try on.”

“Well, I’ll get out of your way,” Raegan slides to the side, her bodyguard following along with her. I catch the annoyed look she tosses at him over her shoulder, but then Beth is stepping forward, resting both of her hands light on my shoulders.

Her eyes sparkle behind her large, round glasses.

“Oh, dear,” she breathes, and my heart twists at the sight of her, the smell of her floral perfume, the familiar weight of her hands on my shoulders. “You look wonderful. And you will, no matter what you choose to wear—I hope you know that.”

When the hot, scratchy feeling of tears pushes at the back of my throat, I bite my tongue, willing it to recede.

“Thank you, Beth.”

After that, I go through a slew of dresses.

And even though I know I shouldn’t, and that he won’t notice anyway, I can’t help but wonder what Oren would think about each.

Even when we’re together, it’s not like it really allows his gaze to linger on me.

He’s always looking away, redirecting his attention.

I don’t know why I think the dress would be any different, but I think of him each time I step out in a new one.

A tight, body-forming dress that’s so tight around my ankles I practically have to shuffle forward in it, and that makes Veva laugh so hard she nearly spits out her champagne.

One that’s adorned with millions of little gems, intricate detailing, so much piled on top of the fabric that it weighs me down, hurting my knees after just five minutes, and clinking audibly when I move.

Then a cream white dress that’s so simple it cuts in a straight line, right past my hips, making me look like a rectangle. Though it does have a slit up the leg that makes Beth let out a low whistle when she sees it.

So far, none of the dresses feels like me, and I think the other girls know it. I smile through it, figuring none of them will—I’ve just never really been much of a dress person, period.

When we’re done, Kira stands, whispers something into the shop attendant’s ear, then heads outside.

“What was that about?” Veva asks, watching Kira as she goes.

“I think I have an idea,” Beth says, wheezing out another laugh at the look on Veva’s face. I try not to feel dejected as I step out of the last dress and back into my regular clothes—a soft, flowing jumpsuit with wide straps and a muted color.

When we head out onto the sidewalk, Kira is just finishing up her phone call.

“You don’t have to worry about the dress, Ash,” she says, her smile lighting up her face.

“Uh,” I glance at her phone, trying to figure out what that could mean. “Why? Did you find another boutique?”

“No,” she says, smile growing even wider. “ I am going to make your dress.”