“What are you going to do?” Iva asked.
“I’m going to act like nothing is wrong,” he replied, shutting his computer down. “As far as I’m concerned, this marriage is going ahead.”
“Is it worth it, Dion? You clearly don’t know very much about this woman.” The concern in Iva’s voice was touching but misplaced. He didn’t need her concern. He didn’t need anyone’s concern. “Something is going on.”
“It doesn’t matter. I need her father’s company. End of story.”
“I don’t know where this is coming from. But do you really want—”
“You don’t know what I want,” he said calmly. Nobody knew.
“No, I clearly don’t. Because I saw the paperwork for her father’s company and I decided to do a little research. It’s riddled with debt. I know it’s not my place to question your business decisions, but—”
“This isn’t a business decision. Precision Investments isn’t buying this company, I am.”
“What is going on, Dion? This isn’t like you to be skulking around, spying on people.”
“It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
“But—”
“This isn’t your business,” he said firmly.
He valued Iva because she was by far one of the smartest, most hardworking assistants he’d ever come across. But his patience was hanging by a thread. Not because of Sophia’s games. Not because she was acting like someone else behind his back. It had nothing to do with her…and everything to do with Theo.
“I have to go. Please have the papers couriered to my home office.” He ended the call and pushed up from his leather office chair.
Right now, he had one thing—and one thing only—on his mind: making sure Sophia wasn’t going to ruin his plans.
An hour later, Dion was leading Sophia through the streets in Corfu’s city center. Her psychedelically colored dress swirled around her feet, and she had a huge floppy straw hat on her head—for sun protection, apparently.
“Where are we going?” she asked. Her dark eyes looked mysterious in the shadow of her hat—giving her an almost fifties-movie-starlet kind of vibe…if he didn’t look at her dress, that was.
Today she’d left her face bare, and Dion found his eyes wandering to her full lips. On most people, the eyes were the most expressive part. But Sophia’s lips could tell a story—they quirked whenever she was amused and flattened when she was annoyed and pouted ever so slightly when she was stuck in thought. They were beautiful lips, full and sensuous and so naturally pink one might think she was wearing lipstick.
She’s a liar. Sexy lips don’t change that.
“Don’t you know the meaning of surprise?” Dion asked with a smooth smile. Artificial, of course, but they were trending more that way of late.
“I’m not sure I like surprises.”
He chuckled. “You’re good at giving them. I figured you’d be open to receiving them as well.”
She pursed her lips but didn’t say anything in response. Had his comment stirred some worries that she might have been caught out? Good. Let her stew.
“This way.” He indicated for her to follow him down another street. They were almost there. When the opulent front of the luxury bridal store came into view, Sophia paled. “Surprise. We’re going wedding-dress shopping.”
“We haven’t even announced the engagement yet.” Her voice sounded a little off. Like something had constricted her lungs, giving her words a breathless quality. “Technically, you haven’t even proposed.”
“We can go ring shopping later.”
His assurance seemed to do little to put her at ease. “I thought the groom wasn’t supposed to see the dress. Isn’t that bad luck?”
“You’ll come to know this about me, Sophia.” He placed his hand softly against her arm. This game of cat and mouse was going to draw to a close, and he was determined to be on the feline side of that equation. “I don’t much care for tradition. We can make our own rules, don’t you agree? Now, come on. I’ve arranged a private session with the owner.”
He rang the doorbell, which was a fancy mother-of-pearl button laid into an ornate gold casing. No doubt that small detail was meant to reassure clients that every aspect of their experience would be carefully thought through, with no detail too small to warrant a luxurious touch.
A second later, while Sophia still eyed the shop with wariness, the owner, Annalisa, answered the door. As a former recipient of Precision Investments’ “Young People in Business” award, she’d been quick to agree to Dion’s request for a favor. As usual, her black hair was pulled up into a plump bun, and her signature red lipstick was artfully applied and matched the vibrant floral print on her black dress.
“Dion!” She leaned in and offered him a kiss on each cheek. Then she turned to Sophia. “And you must be Sophia. It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you. Please, come in.”
The inside of the bridal store was everything the doorbell promised—decadent, special. Rows and rows of frothy white gowns ringed the circular main room, broken only by a large section of mirrors surrounding a podium raised about a foot off the ground. Several cabinets dotted the space, filled with twinkling jewels and tiaras and gloves. He supposed many women wanted the true Disney Princess experience on their big day…some of them perhaps cared more about that element than what marriage actually meant.
“Now, Dion has given me lots of information about the kind of clothes you like.” Annalisa’s tone didn’t hint at any shenanigans. “I understand you’ve got a really unique, quirky style, and we can absolutely make sure that’s reflected in your wedding gown.”
Sophia’s face was as white as paper. “Really?”
“Of course. A woman’s big day needs to reflect who she truly is. We want you to be yourself.” Annalisa grinned. “Now, if you’ll follow me this way, we can get you into a changing room and start trying on some dresses. I understand you’re from America…”
Dion took a seat on one of the velvet couches facing the podium and leaned back against the plush material as he watched the two women disappear into the back of the boutique. He was going to get the truth out of Sophia, even if he had to make her try on every damn dress in this place. If something was up and she really didn’t want to marry him, this should be the right button to push.
…
Maybe she was dreaming. It seemed the only logical explanation for this crazy-ass Twilight Zone she’d landed in. One where she was trying on wedding dresses and constantly talking about her love of stuffed animals while everybody acted as though it was a perfectly normal thing to do.
“Now, I always say that a bride knows the dress is ‘the one’ in much the same way they knew their fiancé was ‘the one.’” Annalisa ran her hand over a small rack of gowns, pushing the hangers to one side as if looking for something. Each hanger made a slight sound as it was pushed aside. Clink, clink, clink. “You’ll get a flutter in your tummy. A special feeling that tells you something special is about to happen.”
Ugh, one ticket to vom town, please. Pass me a bucket.
This whole froufrou thing was so not Sophia’s jam. She’d always envisaged a simple wedding day—close friends and family only. A simple dress, maybe in white. Maybe in something softer, like cream or eggshell. Perhaps even a pale gold. Certainly no ball gowns and diamanté and tulle. She could see herself skipping a veil altogether, holding a handful of flowers picked from someone’s garden. Maybe she’d even stick one behind her ear.
But this…
Oh. Dear. Lord.
“Why don’t we start with this one?” Annalisa beamed as she held up what looked to be a wedding gown that had consumed several smaller wedding gowns like some kind of grotesque satin-and-sequin-encrusted monster. “What do you think?”
It looked exactly like the kind of thing “Fake Sophia” would enjoy.
“It’s very…artistic.” Her voice almost gave out on the last word.
“Let’s get you into it. There�
�s no way to know how it’s going to look until we put it on you.” Annalisa motioned for her assistant to come over and help.
Sophia stripped down and climbed into the dress. It took the other two women to lift it up and get it over the shoulders. That’s how much beading there was. A giant silk-and-organza flower sat on one shoulder, and another rested on her opposite hip. The enormous skirt was poufy and made of so many layers that Sophia had no idea how she wouldn’t melt in such a dress. Not to mention the fact that it was so tight she could barely breathe. As the assistant did the buttons up her back, Sophia wanted to cry.
This wasn’t a wedding dress. It was a torture device!
“How do you feel?” Annalisa beamed. “We chose this one for you to try on because Dion told us how you seem to love lots of details in your outfits.”
Translation: you dress like a freak.
“It’s a designer piece.” She rolled off the name of the designer, though Sophia didn’t recognize it. Why would she? Until two weeks ago, she had no idea she was supposed to be getting married. “Let’s put on the matching headpiece, too, so we can get the full effect.”
The assistant produced a large flower, which they clipped to the side of her head. It was so hideous that she was practically rendered speechless. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“It’s definitely a statement piece.”
Sophia was aware of that, but she was sure the statement it made to her wasn’t quite what Annalisa or the designer intended.
“And don’t worry,” Annalisa continued. “If you don’t completely love this one, I have fifteen more dresses picked out.”
Fifteen. More. Dresses.
Kill me now.
If she was forced to try on every one, then it might simply be easier to let herself be eaten by the tulle monster. She could go peacefully into the night, surrounded by white satin and billowing fabrics. It would be dramatic, sure, but she could pretend she was in an eighties-power-ballad film clip. Maybe David Bowie would be waiting for her at the pearly gates of heaven?
“Ready to show your man?” Annalisa clapped her hands together. “This is always my favorite bit.”
It was official. Sophia was going to die of mortification in the ugliest wedding dress in history. For some reason, the thought of Dion seeing her like this made her feel so much worse than all the outrageous outfits she’d picked for herself. At least those ones had come under her control. But the thought of having to go out in public looking like this…
Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. “I don’t have words.”
“That’s a good sign.” Annalisa clapped her hands together. “I always know my brides are falling in love when there’s tears. Come on, let’s show Dion.”
“Oh, I don’t think—”
“Don’t be silly. He wants to do this for you.” She laid a hand on Sophia’s arm. “So many women would kill to have a guy be involved like he is. Let’s not leave him out of the action.”
Without giving her a chance to respond, Annalisa grabbed Sophia’s hand and led her back out to the main area of the boutique. Her assistant followed behind, holding the train and making sure it didn’t catch on anything. Suddenly, Sophia felt hot all over…and not in a good way. The tight dress and intense lighting of the store were making her head swim. Maybe she should have had something for breakfast after all.
“Okay, dress number one!” Annalisa made a grand gesture to Sophia and helped her step up to the podium. All the while, she rattled off the details of the dress—hand-sewn Swarovski crystals, couture beading, specially designed boning in the bodice and the one-of-a-kind design.
No wonder it was one of a kind—finding one person who truly loved this monstrosity would be difficult enough.
“Wow.” Dion raked a hand through his hair. The silence was thick, like an oppressively muggy day.
“Wow, good or wow, bad?” Sophia asked. She pressed her hands to her stomach.
“It matters more what you think.” He offered her a smile, but it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “Do you love it?”
“I…” She swung her head to the bay of mirrors in front of the podium. It reflected the hideous design from almost every angle. She’d never, ever felt so…not like herself. “How much is it?”
“Twenty thousand euro.” Annalisa smiled as though she’d said a number that was vaguely normal.
Dion nodded. “The price doesn’t matter, Sophia. I want you to find a dress that makes you feel good.”
Twenty thousand euro. Her mind couldn’t compute the figure, and her breathing became shallower and shallower.
“It’s very tight.”
“Oh, that’s fine. We can get it adjusted, no problem.” Annalisa tapped a red lacquered finger to her chin. “I think maybe the flower headpiece is a bit much.”
No shit, Sherlock.
Annalisa unclipped it and placed it carefully onto one of the empty couches. She held up a finger, indicating for them to wait while she went to one of the cupboards and pulled out a tiara. And it wasn’t just any tiara. This one was made up of hearts studded with twinkling pink stones. It looked like the grown-up version of something a little girl might dig out of a cereal box.
In her real life, Sophia hated all this over-the-top wedding stuff. So much money for one day—like the total of a couple’s bill was an indication of how well the wedding would last. One of her friends who had gotten married had been forced to invite three hundred people on the day—half of whom she didn’t even know personally. But her parents were convinced that the wedding was a reflection of the family’s position. The next friend to get married had invited three-fifty.
Sophia had promised herself she would never engage in that kind of gross excess. Nor that icky “keeping up with the Joneses” that obsessed her father. And yet, she was standing in a twenty-thousand-euro wedding dress, feeling smaller than a dormouse and uglier than a cave troll.
When Annalisa placed the tiara on her head, she had to fight the urge to rip the damn thing off and hurl it across the room. This wasn’t her! Why was she finding this so tough now? She’d been playing this role since she arrived almost a week and a half ago.
She knew the reason.
It’s because her mother would see her like this. Dion had somehow—against all odds—accepted her quirks, manufactured as they were. Which meant that there was a strong chance she might not get out of this.
Yes, you will. You’ll find a way.
But her current plan wasn’t working, and Theo had refused to help her. Well, they’d refused each other, really. But she certainly wasn’t going to steal from Dion and blame his staff.
What if she had to walk down the aisle wearing this ugly dress, handing over her freedom and ensuring she was no better than her mother?
She glanced at Dion. Sure, he was handsome, and apparently he was generous enough to want to spend an inordinate amount of money on a dress he thought she’d like. But that was nothing more than him dressing up a doll. He didn’t know her…the real her.
But one thing was abundantly clear: the fake Sophia had failed. Her scratchy-cardigan-wearing, taxidermy-loving, classless persona had failed to repulse Dion. She’d lost. The game was over. And that meant it was time to get out of this damn dress.
“I hate it,” she said, and it was like a weight lifted off her shoulders. “This dress should be burned in a fire.”
Annalisa blinked at her, but Dion didn’t show an ounce of shock. The corner of his lip lifted a hair…but that was all Sophia needed to know that she’d walked straight into the spider’s web.
Chapter Eight
“I hate it.” She repeated the words while twisting on the spot, desperately trying to reach the buttons behind her. “I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.”
Dion watched for a moment, his eyes flicking to Annalisa in a silent request for her not to intervene. Did it make him cruel that he wanted to see Sophia squirm? It seemed only fair, given she’d been lying to him ever since she came to Cor
fu.
Huffing a piece of hair out of her eyes, Sophia continued to twist and turn to no avail. When she eventually stopped and looked at him for help, Dion rose off the couch. “Could you give us a minute?” he said to Annalisa, who nodded and motioned for her assistant to follow her out of the room.
There was a standoff between them. Sophia’s big, brown eyes were like lasers cutting away the layers of his skin, stripping him down to nothing. But Dion wasn’t the kind of guy who would shy away from confrontation. Sure, he was a lover. Sure, he could talk his way out of anything. But the fact was, if it came down to it, he had zero issue standing his ground. His “fiancée” was about to learn that.
“Do you want me to help you out of the dress?” he asked.
“Unless you want to pay twenty thousand euros to watch me rip this monstrosity off my body, yeah.” Her cheeks were scarlet, and her chest heaved against the confining dress. Each breath made her breasts push against the neckline.
Calmly, to show he was the one in control, he walked up to the podium. Even without stepping onto it, he matched her height. Sophia was petite all over, but the dress looked as though it had been made to fit the lanky, long-limbed frame of a runway model. It swamped her, drowned out the curves that suited her so well. His fingers started work on the fiddly buttons, popping each one through the fabric loop holding the dress securely shut. There was an angry red mark on her skin where the bodice had cut in.
He frowned. A deep urge made him want to kiss that line, to soothe the mark as he continued to undress her.
No way. You don’t know what you’re up against yet. Always know where you stand before you cross a line.
“Better?” he asked when he got to the last button.
“Yes.” She nodded. “I was feeling panicky.”
“No wonder. That thing had you like a vice.”
She cupped her hands over the bodice to keep the dress up. He could tell from her naked back that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Hanging on a hook nearby was a collection of silky pink robes. He handed her one and turned while she slipped it over her shoulders, then he helped her to step out of the dress. Even without a body to hold it upright, the dress didn’t completely fall down. The bodice sat up straight in a large pile of fabric, almost as if the person wearing it had melted away.
How to Lose a Fiance Page 8