Page 83 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim

Framed photos of trumpet players and French Quarter landmarks hang from the walls. And near the register, there’s a predictable assortment of trinkets including bracelets, packaged candies, even inspirational cards.

Frowning, I look at Dorian. This is where he brought me for “suitable underthings”? I’d expected something much more exclusive.

“Trust me,” Dorian murmurs, his voice low and close, brushing against my ear like a secret. His hand lingers at the small of my back, and I stiffen, resisting the urge to pull away.

Trust him? After everything?

A young man greets us from behind the counter, his smile polite but sharp edged, like he’s sizing us up. “Can I help you?”

Brennan raps his knuckles on a glass case. “Dorian Vale and Brennan West. Mademoiselle’s expecting us.”

“You’re welcome to go on back.” He gestures to a threshold I hadn’t noticed—a cascade of silver circles dangling like a shimmering curtain, catching the light in a hypnotic dance.

Once more, Brennan leads the way and holds the strands aside for me.

My breath catching from sudden nerves, I step through into another world.

Mirrors line the walls—some tall and framed, others tilted at odd angles—reflecting fragments of me back in a dizzying kaleidoscope. A three-tiered chandelier drips crystals overhead, scattering prisms across the wooden floor,where white hexagonal tiles form an owl with piercing green eyes that seem to follow me.

Of course, Athena’s owl.

Have the symbols always been all around me without me realizing it?

In the middle of the space, I freeze.

Back here, there are expensive display cases. Polished wood gleams, and glass sparkles.

Lingerie spills from open drawers in waves of red, black, and soft pastels. There are racks of expensive designer dresses, along with a display case showcasing all kinds of different collars and toys that I can barely name, let alone imagine using.

Above it all are gilt-framed portraits of a ballerina, tracing a life through decades. She’s young in some, older in others, her poses laced with subtle hints of restraint—blindfolds, tied ankles, a collar glinting at her throat. My cheeks burn. Who is this woman?

My pulse flutters. The place is unsettling, making me feel as if I’ve stepped into a world I didn’t ask for and don’t want.

“Ah! Dorian!” A voice, rich and lilting with a French accent, cuts through my spiraling thoughts.

I turn as a woman emerges from a side door like a vision from another era.

She’s petite, almost fragile looking, but there’s a strength in her posture that belies her size. Her silver hair cascades past her waist, secured at the nape with a jeweled clip.

Her dress is a long, flowing gown of deep sapphire, shot through with threads of silver that catch the light, the fabric clinging to her tiny waist before flaring out in delicate pleats.

Her dark eyes twinkle with something knowing, and her smile is warm, genuine, pulling me in despite myself.

And suddenly my brain makes a connection. The ballerina in the gilt frames, poised in blindfolds and delicaterestraints, is her. The intensity, the graceful curve of her neck—it’s unmistakable.

As she sweeps her hand wide, taking in me and Brennan, the woman’s bracelets chime. “Dorian,mon cher,always a delight to see you play the devil’s hand.”

“Mademoiselle,” Dorian says, offering a slight bow before kissing her cheeks. “You’re as stunning as ever.”

“Rogue charmer.” Her tone is teasing and fond.

Her gaze slides to Brennan, and her smile softens with equal warmth. “And Brennan,mon doux,you bring such quiet strength to this storm.” Her bracelets jangle as she pats his arm. “Always a pleasure to see you balance his fire.”

After he nods, she directs her intense attention to me, making me feel pinned, exposed. “You must be the new bride.” Her eyes narrow slightly, and a shadow of interest passes through them before she angles her head toward Dorian. “Though not the one you planned for,oui?”

I frown.Not the one he planned for?

My gaze darts to Dorian, but his face is a mask, giving nothing away.“Very intuitive, Mademoiselle.” He nods. “I’d like to introduce our wife, Isla.”