Page 22 of Filthy Little Regrets (Princes of NYC #2)

fourteen

CASSIA

Elliot drops me and Tony off at the front door of Mace’s mini-mansion. Tony says bye and heads to the guard station. I stare up at the obnoxious home, eyes narrowing. Tonight is my last night as Cassia Harris.

The front door opens. I expect to see a staff member, but Mace is leaning against the threshold, watching me. Those eyes are impossible to read.

“How was your day?”

I exhale and head up the steps. “Don’t do that.”

He takes up the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do what?”

“Pretend like this is normal.”

“Right, silly me. Get inside the house,” he barks.

I glare up at him.

He smirks. “That’s what I thought. So, how was your day?”

“Terrible, thanks to you.” I sidestep, looking for a way around him, but he simply shifts to the side. He’s so big. I hate being short. If I was tall and a little stronger, maybe I could knock him on his ass.

“You seemed happy when Rose was there.”

My focus zooms to his face. “Spying on people is creepy.” Doesn’t he have anything better to do?

“By most people’s standards,” he says with a shrug.

“Ah, right. I forgot you have your head up your ass.”

His nose wrinkles. “Is that what that smell is?”

I bite my cheek to keep from smiling, because while it’s funny, I refuse to find him funny. Shaking my head, I aim for the small gap to his left.

He blocks it.

My pulse flutters. Huffing, I scowl at him. “Do you want to get married or not?”

“Cassia, you could have just asked.”

“Jesus Christ. You’re not fucking cute,” I snap, my lips tugging into a grin that I quickly correct.

He pulls out his phone, presses something, and puts it to his ear.

“What are you doing?”

He holds up a finger. “Shh. Hi, Mom. Yeah, I have terrible news?—”

“Oh my god,” I say, deciding to push my way through before I lose it. My hands collide with his chest, shoving, but as expected, he’s immovable as a mountain. I growl and push harder.

Mace drops the phone and wraps his fingers around my wrist. The device cracks on the concrete step. He doesn’t even care. This man has a severe lack of respect for phones.

I try to yank my hands away, but his grip is tight. “Let me go.”

“Cassia.”

“What?” I snap, seething as I stare up at him .

“There are snacks in the kitchen.” With that, he drops my hands and walks away, leaving the phone and shoving his hands into his pockets. “Oh, and Vivian Carlisle will be here soon.”

My mouth drops open. The Vivian Carlisle?

The snacks Chef left are delicious. I didn’t realize how grumpy and hungry I was until Mace told me there was food. I finish eating and then hop into the shower, determined to garner at least some sense of dignity for Vivian.

She’s every bride’s dream designer.

Outside of wedding gowns, she has another, edgier, line that I love. Mace may not realize it, but she’s my favorite designer. She’ll be here soon. Nerves flutter in my chest. I could never afford one of her dresses, let alone personalized tailoring services.

The tightness in my lungs has my gaze shooting to the orange bottle of emergency anxiety medicine.

I could take some, but then I may not make it down the aisle, or whatever I’m walking down, and I’ve already suffered through enough anticipation.

I can’t go through another day of waiting to marry Mace.

Though I wish those were happy thoughts, they’re dripping with dread.

On the bright side, maybe with Mace’s money, I can buy Vivian’s entire line of dresses. We’ll see how much he likes that bill.

The doorbell rings, and my breath catches in my throat. Oh my god. She’s here. I hope she’s not a bitch. Shit, what if she is? What if she’s terrible? I’ll never be able to look at her dresses the same, and that would suck because I love them.

Please let her be nice .

When a soft knock sounds on the door, my anxiety spikes for an entirely different reason. I hope I don’t say anything stupid. Breathing in, I smooth my freshly blow-dried hair and check that the robe I borrowed from Mace is covering everything before opening the door.

Vivian fucking Carlisle is everything I anticipated and more.

With graying brunette hair that’s elegantly wrapped in a casual chignon and two strands at the front pulled out to frame her angular face, she’s poised.

She’s lithe, beautiful, and probably should have been on the runway herself.

She’s wearing an understated burgundy sheath dress that manages to look every bit as fabulous as the woman who designed it. Her makeup is perfect. She’s perfect.

Am I drooling? I lift my fingers to the corner of my mouth. Nope, all good.

Vivian’s bright green eyes trace down the lines of my body. “Well, he wasn’t wrong. You are exquisite.”

Heat crawls up my neck. Thank god she’s not an asshole. “Um, hi. I’m Cassia. I love the Peril line.”

She blinks, as if she’s surprised I would know that line, and then beams. “Ah, a true fan, then. Most people only know me for the wedding gowns.”

I shake my head. “They’re missing out. The Mod Number 9 is my favorite,” I confess with a wistful sigh.

“I love that one too,” she says, glancing around me. “May I come in?”

I take two big steps back. “Oh my god, yes, please.”

She comes in, eyeing the room.

“I’m so sorry. I think I’m fangirling? I don’t know if I’ve ever fangirled in my life, but I really love your work. Seriously. I swear, I look at the Peril line daily, dreaming about owning one, but I—” I cut off before I say something insulting .

Her dresses are one of a kind. Beautiful. High quality, made by staff she pays well. Of course they’re expensive.

Turning, she appraises me with a thoughtful look.

I swallow the rock that’s suddenly appeared in my throat.

“Interesting,” is all she says before walking into the closet.

Fuck. Did I say too much? My heart is beating a mile a minute, almost as fast as the night I saw a man die, all because my fashion hero is here in the room with me. I don’t know if I should kiss Mace or kill him for not giving me more warning.

Vivian appears with an ivory number that’s less gown and more punk princess. “Here we are,” she announces, glancing at me to gauge my reaction.

I shuffle closer and touch the edge of it, chewing on my cheek to keep my jaw from dropping.

The material is so smooth and silky. Real silk.

Nice. Expensive. Beautiful . The corset bodice has intricately laid lace, hand-stitched, and the bottom of the dress is short, probably hitting just below mid-thigh in a bastardized rendition of a traditional tulle gown, but I love it.

The sweetheart neckline is going to show so much tit, and the lace, off-the-shoulder sleeves aren’t going to offer much support.

“The corset will keep everything in place,” she assures me, reading my mind. “Well, do you like it?”

I shake my head. She frowns, misunderstanding me, but I quickly say, “I fucking love this dress.”

Her grin is slow and self-satisfied, but I can’t begrudge her that cockiness. She deserves every bit of it. “He sent me some pictures of you.”

Mace has pictures of me?

Vivian continues. “The ivory will look good with your hair and complexion, and I was hoping you’d like the style I picked. It’s more Peril leaning.”

“I love it, seriously. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Thank your future husband. He’s paying for it.” Her smile falls as she switches into designer mode. “Take your clothes off.”

Two seconds later, the robe is on the floor and I’m nearly naked in front of her.

It might be the fastest I’ve ever disrobed, but she’s a professional.

One doesn’t just tell Vivian Carlisle no.

She helps me into the dress, humming in approval as it glides over my thick thighs.

“Perfect. He did good with the measurements,” she murmurs to herself.

I hold the corset to my chest as she guides me to the threshold of the closet. “Is this going to hurt?”

“Not much. I’ll make sure you can breathe, but it’ll have to be tight enough to contain those boobs, which are fabulous, by the way. I wish I had more.”

I laugh. “Trust me, you’re better off.”

She releases a sad sigh. “If I could go back in time, I would have bought boobs like yours. Trust me, us ladies on the itty-bitty-titty committee are jealous as hell.”

Vivian Carlisle, the goddess of fashion, is jealous of me? I think I’m going to faint, but then she tugs on the strings hard enough to startle a grunt out of me.

“Fuck.”

She chuckles. “You’ll be okay.” And then she tugs on them again as I cling to the threshold. My entire body jerks back, but I let out a delighted giggle as she works. I can’t believe Vivian Carlisle made me a dress.

Rose shows up right as Vivian is leaving, doing a double take as the woman exits the bedroom with promises to be in touch. My best friend’s eyes are as wide as saucers when she looks at me. “Was that...?”

The grin on my face is so big, it hurts. “Yup.”

“Ugh, I hate you. Mace is such an asshole,” she says, having a moment of self-pity, then checking me out. “Hooooooly shit, Cassia.” She whistles and walks around me, barely touching the dress, like she’s terrified to ruin it.

I get that reaction.

“Jesus.”

“Yeah?” I ask, twisting this way and that, peering at myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the wall. Being married to a billionaire might have its perks.

“You’re gorgeous,” Rose says, appearing beside me and looking me over in the mirror. Her gaze snags on the ample cleavage showing. The corset made my already big boobies appear even fuller, but in a way that makes me feel sexy. Empowered. Like I was made for this world I’ve been thrown into.

Rose drags her attention from my chest to look me in the eye. “He’s going to shit himself.”

My nose wrinkles. “I hope not.”

She smirks. “Ah, so we’ve moved on to acceptance, have we?”

“No,” I counter. “I’m still firmly in the anger phase.”

“Uh-huh. Is that what the pretty blush is for?” She tickles my neck.

I swat her hand. “I’m hot.”

She rolls her eyes. “What do we have left? Makeup? Do you need help?”

Before I can respond, a woman bustles into the room with a full cart of makeup. My eyebrows rise, and Rose and I share a look. Is this real life?

“Well, I didn’t expect Mace to go all out, but I’m proud of him,” she says.

“Don’t be,” I tell her, focusing on the woman rather than the man who’s responsible for this mess. “Hi. I’m Cassia.”

“Hey, I’m Jennifer. Perfect, you’re in your gown. Your hair looks great, which is good because Maddie is sick, and I’m not as good with the hot tools.” Her gaze turns expectant. “What would you like to see?”

“Uh...” Truth be told, I hadn’t thought about it.

“What about something sweet, like a fresh face?”

Rose scoffs. “Can you do something that says I still think about killing you? ”

Jennifer laughs, realizes neither of us is joining in, then clears her throat. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“Fresh face is too sweet,” I admit. “Something a little more violent will do.”

“Right, of course.” She glances nervously between the two of us. “Should I be worried?”

“Oh, we won’t kill you,” Rose clarifies.

Jennifer smiles, but she’s obviously not sure what to think and also professional enough not to ask if we’re actually planning to kill Mace.

“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “No one is dying today.”

“That’s all I need to know.” She grabs a brush and palette. “Let me work my magic.”