Page 24 of Revenge (Warriors of the Drexian Academy #6)

Chapter

Twenty-Four

Sasha

" T here you are!" Serge burst through the coffee shop doors and bustled over to our table with manic urgency that suggested the fate of the galaxy hung in the balance. "We can't be dawdling over beverages when we have the wedding of the century to plan!"

I suspected soon it would become the wedding of the millennia.

Before I could protest, he was hauling me up from my chair, his surprisingly powerful hand wrapped around my wrist as he tugged me toward the door. Behind him, Reina followed with an apologetic expression that suggested she'd tried and failed to slow him down.

"I should probably..." Deklyn started, but Serge was already dragging me toward the exit.

"I'll catch up with you later!"

I glimpsed relief in his eyes as he settled back into his chair. "I promised Captain Kalex I'd meet him at the officers' lounge anyway. I’ll see you after that.”

Then Serge had me out the door and on the cobblestone path, his yellow platform boots clicking against the stones with each hurried step.

"Now," Serge chattered as he led me past shop windows displaying everything from jewelry to lingerie, "we have so much to accomplish and so little time! The dress is obviously the most important element. Everything else flows from that central vision."

We stopped in front of a glass-fronted boutique with flowers etched around the doorframe. The windows were filled with wedding dresses clinging to suspended black velvet mannequins. Some were puffs of tulle, others were sleek silk columns, and other were lace ballgowns.

The thought of picking a dress and getting it fitted to me made me feel sick. I was wasting everyone’s time and energy for the sake of my revenge. The thought made my stomach churn with guilt even as I reminded myself why it was necessary.

"Sasha?" Serge's voice held a note of concern. "Are you all right? You look a touch pale."

I forced a smile, pushing down the guilt that threatened to overwhelm me. "Just a little overwhelmed by all the choices. Everything is so beautiful."

"That's the spirit!" he exclaimed, his worries apparently forgotten as he pushed open the boutique door.

"Wait," I said, thinking of a reason to stall as he pulled me inside behind him. "Shouldn't we wait for the TV crew to arrive before I start try on dresses?"

Serge looked stricken, his purple hair seeming to deflate slightly.

"Oh, you're absolutely right!" Then his expression brightened.

"But they should arrive tomorrow, and there will still be plenty for them to film.

Right now we're just narrowing down options, doing the preliminary work that any sensible bride would do. "

Before I could ask more questions, he was plucking gowns off the racks that lined the salon, dropping them into my arms and steering me toward a luxurious dressing room at the back of the shop.

"I'm going to get us some bubbly," he announced, practically bouncing on his toes with excitement. "Because I, for one, need some fortification before we begin!"

The dressing room door closed behind me with a soft click, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a mountain of tulle, silk, and lace that probably cost more than most people on Earth made in a year.

I draped the gowns carefully over the velvet-upholstered bench and stared at my reflection in the three-way mirror that dominated the space.

The woman looking back at me appeared calm and composed, but I could see the guilt and uncertainty in my own eyes.

The sound of Serge's return interrupted my brooding. I could hear him chattering to someone about color schemes and floral arrangements, his enthusiasm impressive considering how many brides he’d probably taken gown shopping.

I needed to be convincing if this plan was going to work, I told myself with a fierce stare.

I needed to throw myself into the role of blushing bride-to-be and make everyone believe I was genuinely excited about marrying Deklyn.

The thought of him sent an unwelcome flutter through my chest, and I stifled a giggle at the memory of his horrified expression at tasting coffee. There were worse fake fiancés.

I picked up the top gown, which was all ivory silk and pearl-encrusted embroidery, and I ran my fingers across the textured bodice. Trying on dresses wasn’t so bad. I could do this. I'd survived months in a Kronock prison. I could survive a few days of wedding planning.

“Show and tell time, sweetie,” Serge called from outside the dressing room. “Let’s see if you’re a ballgown bride or a mermaid girlie.”

I fought back a groan. Then again, this might be the most sophisticated torture ever.