Page 18 of Darkest Game

“I know nothing of wedding dresses. I don’t know what she’ll look good in.”

Jack narrows his eyes and approaches me. The room goes quiet. The other men know not to piss him off. Why couldn’t I get that memo? “It doesn’t matter what she looks good in. All that matters is that she’s in a wedding dress. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for more. Fuck him.

“Yes, sir,” I grumble.

“Good. Now get to it. I want this wedding to happen the day after tomorrow. That will give me enough time to book a venue. I want everyone to see this wedding happen. To see Irina Petrov become one of the Irish. To see her become mine.”

To become mine, I want to correct him, but I keep my lips clamped shut.

With Jack, I have to be smart about this. My best bet is to just not care about Irina. If I don’t care, then I won’t care when Jack takes her on our wedding night.

Or I can kill him.

But that’s just a thought I let linger in my mind for only a few seconds before I push it away.

Buying a wedding dress is fucking hard. I know next to shit about dresses and what looks good on a woman. Despite what Jack said, I do want Irina to look good in the dress. I’m not even sure why. I just do.

“How can I help you?” a sales woman asks. Sarah, her name tag reads.

“I’m looking to buy a wedding dress. For my fiancée.”

“Ok. And where is she?”

“She’s not here. It’s a… surprise.”

“Most women like to surprise the groom with their wedding dresses. Not the other way around.”

I shrug. “We’re unconventional.”

“Ok then.” Sarah isn’t going to make me feel bad for my request. A sale is a sale. “What does she look like?”

“Pretty.”

“No. I meant her body type.”

“Oh.” I scratch the back of my neck. This is all so fucking stupid. Hate Jack even more for making me do this. “She’s petite. Slim. On the shorter side. Don’t know her exact height though.”

“All right then. We can make the most out of it.”

Sarah is kind enough to show me a large selection of dresses that would look good on a woman of Irina’s body type. I eventually settle on a dress that is supposed to hug the body with off shoulder straps. I can see Irina in it.

I bring it back to the house but on my way up the driveway, I’m stopped by a woman. She’s middle aged, probably in her fifties, with dark brown hair and stern eyes.

“Are you lost?” I ask her.

“I’m Jack’s wife. I’m Elaine.”

Shit. I knew Jack was married but to see his wife is another thing all together.

Her eyes flick down to the wedding dress in my arms. “I heard you were getting married. To some harlot Russian.”

“She’s Russian but not a harlot. She’s a virgin.”

“Of course she is,” she mutters. “All mafia girls are expected to wait for their wedding nights. So, you’re the one marrying the girl. Jack can’t stop talking about it.”