7
“Hmmm, I think it’s a little too … revealing.” Her mother frowned. Claire walked a wide circle around Christiana who fidgeted like she’d rather be anywhere else than standing on a podium before a three-way mirror in Sarah’s styling studio. Her mother, as usual, was oblivious to her pending daughter-in-law’s discomfort.
Sarah shot Yvette a silent appeal. The coward shook her head slightly and mouthed, “You’re on your own.” When Sarah arrived, her mother was already there bossing her assistant around like she owned the place. Yvette arrived shortly after, so her conversation about Steffan would have to wait until the coast was clear.
Christiana pulled on the bodice of the wedding dress. “Why is everything so form-fitting these days?”
“It’s beautiful on you.” Sarah straightened the train. She was right. The dress would have Jonathan’s eyes popping from his head, but the elegance of the sleek mermaid-style gown would be lost if Christiana didn’t stop fussing.
The young girl sighed heavily and then frowned. “See? I can’t breathe in this thing. I mean, Sarah …” Christiana gave Sarah a withering look.
She had never met a woman so in love yet so uninterested in a march down a wedding aisle as Christiana Snow. Well, except for her own disinterest in marriage and family.
“I can’t. I’m sorry——”
“You don’t apologize, Christiana. This is going to be your day.” She turned the young girl toward the mirror and eased the zipper down. “I have many more for you to consider.”
“Thank god for that,” her mother said in her most theatrical voice. “We’re down to the wire. Three months. I don’t know how this is going to get pulled off.”
“Oh, you know your daughter has all the dressmakers from here to London willing to drop everything for her.” Yvette drew back the train that cascaded down the three steps of the podium to help get it out of the way. “And for this beautiful bride.”
Christiana smiled down at Yvette warmly. “Not if I pass out first. Oh, God, it feels good to be out of that.” She took an exaggerated deep breath.
Her mother sighed deeply and returned to the long garment rack to seek out her version of wedding dress perfection.
“How about this one?” Claire pulled a puffy-sleeved gown reminiscent of Princess Diana’s dress.
“It’s fine.” Christiana hadn’t looked at the totally-wrong-for-her option, which was all Sarah needed to know. Something was very wrong. Perhaps Jonathan’s instincts were dead on, which unnerved her.
“Mother, do you think you could find Madeline for me? She’s in the back. Tell her I’ll need the new shipment of Vera Wang’s.”
Her assistant would occupy them long enough for Sarah to get to the bottom of Christiana’s mood.
“Oh, yes, a Vera Wang,” her mother said. “There has to be something here. And, where are the other bridesmaids? I know I wouldn’t miss this day given this is likely the only wedding I’m getting out of my children.”
That last dig made just as her mother swiped back the curtain to the storeroom was for Sarah. Her only daughter failed to snag a wealthy husband by the time she was twenty-five, so in her mother’s eyes, she was a dismal failure at womanhood.
Once she was sure her mother was out of earshot, she turned to Christiana. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, really?”
“It’s not polite to complain about your mother,” Christiana offered. “But I swear we’re going to elope before this is all over.” She kicked the fabric at her feet.
“Easy there. That’s a Mori Lee dress,” Yvette said.
“Sorry. You’re both being so nice and, well, do you know she wants to change the colors again? She says everyone is doing blue these days, and”—she adopted a snooty tone—"God forbid that Marla Clampton wedding one-up you. Like I could give a crap.”
“I’ll handle my mother. Don’t you worry. What do you want?”
“I just want to be with Jonathan.” She blinked with that wide-eyed innocence that had lured her step-brother as sure as sugar water did a hummingbird. Her guilelessness was no act. The young woman was no ingenue, either. She couldn’t be and be involved with Jonathan—the man could be quite hardcore, especially in the bedroom. Yet somehow, she maintained a freshness, a vitality, that Sarah envied. She’d once had that feeling, where the world was new and offered so much she’d yet to experience. She could mark the day she’d lost her naivete around how the world worked. She shoved the memory back as she had for the last twenty years.
“I swear, Jonathan’s being such a girl about the whole thing.”
Yvette chuckled at how the young girl had hit that nail head with a sledgehammer.
“Don’t tell him I said that,” Christiana added quickly. “I know I shouldn’t complain. He sacrificed a lot to be with me.”
“Stop that.” Sarah gripped Christiana’s shoulders. “You love him. He loves you. There’s no sacrifice in that. That’s choosing. Now, dress shopping over. Go and find Jonathan. Talk to him. Tell him what’s bothering you.”
“I don’t want to worry him.”
“Trust me, he already is.”
“Okay. Since I’m about to be super honest, you know what I want in a dress? Plain white silk—no frills, no blingy stuff. Something cut like this …” She gestured around her hips and waist.
Sarah could see it—Christiana in nothing but one, perfectly cut silhouette with a gossamer veil a mile long, perhaps with tiny embedded crystals, the only embellishments and leaving a trail of sparkle behind her.
“I have just the thing.” Sarah pulled out her cell phone, dialed Madeline in the back and told her assistant to hold all the Justin Alexander gowns they had. Something simple would drive her mother crazy—she who wanted enough fabric to cover the Capitol Building. However, the new dress would suit Christiana, and nothing would compete with her natural beauty. With that boost of energy, which always came after a styling conundrum had been handled, she turned to find the young girl stomping her foot into her practical black flats.
“Thanks, Sarah.” Christiana threw her arms around her. Sarah squeezed her back with no hesitation. It would take an ice queen not to accept the young girl’s guileless warmth. Laurent was very similar to her, she mused.
“You’ll tell your mother I had to go back to work?” Christiana asked.
“We’ve got this. You go on,” Yvette answered.
After hugging Yvette good-bye, Christiana was out the door in a flash.
Sarah picked up an abandoned petticoat and began to gather the measuring tapes and pin cushions littering the tall pedestal before the three-way mirror.
“Don’t worry, Sarah,” Yvette said.
“Oh, I’m not.”
“Oh, yes, you are. I can see it in your eyes. And you start to pace when things aren’t sitting well with you.”
Sarah took in her reflection. Good lord. She had concealer in her purse, didn’t she? Those dark, under-eye circles matched her purple dress. “You’re just seeing insomnia.”
“Still?”
“Afraid so. Well, anyway, Christiana’s just got cold feet. She’s young.”
“I can’t imagine getting married at twenty-two. Oh, wait, I did, and see how that worked out. Divorced and scandalized.”
“Ah, but we’re talking Jonathan who will move the stars for her. Like your new love, Ryan will for you.”
Yvette murmured at the sound of her second husband’s name, and her eyes misted over as if in a far-off dream.
Sarah had witnessed the presence of true love many times, but it wasn’t until this second that she realized how, one by one, the most important people in her life, all the Tribunal Council members, had committed to a whole new phase of their lives—first Jonathan with Christiana, then Yvette with Ryan.
Their mutual friend Carson had taken them all by surprise by falling harder than she thought possible for the equally formidable London. Then, another Council member, Mark, finally g
ot his chance with Isabella, his brother’s widow. However, the biggest surprise in the last few years was Derek. The resolute bachelor had finally met his match in Samantha, and they’d just welcomed their second child. Soon, from of the circle of her closest friends, she and Alexander would be the only single people left.
Her mother appeared behind her cradling a gown fit for a Quinceañera. “Where’s Christiana?”
“Work,” Yvette and Sarah said in unison.
“Work? Oh, for heaven’s sake. That girl is going to be the death of me yet.” Claire turned to return her armful of tulle and lace to the stockroom.
Yvette chuckled and ran her finger over a metal hanger that clanked in movement.
“So, tell me all about Steffan Vidar while helping me find a dress for tonight. His voice sounds handsome. Is he?” Yvette pulled out a hunter green dress that would make her look like death.
“That color will not do you justice, Yvette. Try this.” Sarah pulled out a mint green cocktail dress with silver threads stitched at the neckline. She held it up. “Not bold, but no one else will be wearing it, and in a sea of DC black and blue, you’ll stand out. To answer your question, yes, I’d describe Steffan as … empirically quite handsome.”
Her friend snatched the dress from her. “I knew you’d find me the perfect thing.”
“Here, let me,” Sarah saved Yvette’s zipper by lowering it slowly.
“So, how do you know Steffan?” she asked.
“I met him at Club 501 in London two years ago.” She’d stick with the facts for now.
“I love that club. So … classy medieval.”
“Perfect description.” Sarah laughed despite memories of all that red light sharpening the angles of Steffan’s features making him appear like a marauding Viking—or what she thought one might look like.
“I understand Steffan has a delicious Spanish stud with him.”
“Ah, so you’ve met Laurent Chacon.” Just saying his name gave Sarah a jolt of positivity.
“No, I got a glance at him in the hallway outside Alexander’s office before coming over today. Ryan filled me in on who he was.” Yvette’s eyes darted up to Sarah too quickly. “I heard he’s with Steffan, but they aren’t lovers. They’re friends, so that means—”
“Wait, Laurent was alone?”
“No, he was with Carrie. They seemed quite friendly.” Yvette turned to look at herself in the mirror. “Yes, this will do. And, you should wear red tonight. Steffan won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”
She laughed and waved her hand dismissively. People in love were always trying to get their friends to couple up.
She lowered her voice just in case her mother reappeared. “I’m sure Steffan merely wants to continue our conversation about his membership to Accendos. You know I vet the new members.”
Yvette leaned closer. “Steffan sounds quite accomplished. I googled him. His water philanthropy has a 98% rating on Charity Navigator, has the backing of every major foundation in Europe, and rumor has it he’s on track for a Nobel Prize.”
Now that was a surprise. Then again, Steffan was full of surprises, and she despised being caught off guard. “Well, good for him.”
Yvette grasped her arm gently. “He sounds like quite a catch.”
“I know where you’re going, and please don’t.”
“You know I just want you to be happy, Sarah, and I sense …” Yvette chewed her lip.
“I’m fine, Yvette. Really.”
“Well, what about a little harmless flirting?” She stepped up to the closest garment rack and pulled out the first red dress her hand landed on. “In this?”
It was the Theia red cocktail dress, and it was perfect. Lucky pick.
“When was the last time you drove a man to his knees?” she asked. “Wait, don’t answer that; it was probably last night.”
No, it had been a while. A mental image of a nude Laurent before her made her thighs tingle—and her mind spin with unwise ideas. Or, were they unwise? She did have a thought in the car ride over …
“Okay.” She took the dress from her friend. “Call up Steffan. Tell him he has to bring Laurent. Then, put me next to him instead of Steffan, and I’ll wear the red.”
Yvette smiled. “Consider it done.”
Sarah didn’t often take advice, but her friendship with Yvette was not in competition with her dominance. Her friend was a hard-core submissive and making demands wasn’t her modus operandi, but this mission would fulfill her hopeless romantic notions. If Steffan and Laurent were going to be at tonight’s dinner, she wouldn’t mind being a distraction for a certain male sub who’d offered himself to her. It also would put into place some order, starting with who was calling the shots.
As if divine timing, her mother swiped the curtain between the main room and the storeroom. “Well, I’m off. Let me know when we’re doing this again.”
“We won’t be,” Sarah said. “You’re off the hook, Mother. I have the dress for Christiana.”
Her mother’s face hardened for a second but then thawed when she caught Yvette watching her. “Well, then I guess there’s nothing for me to do here.”
“That’s right. I’ve got it,” Sarah said and smiled at herself in the mirror. Maybe she’d get her nails done in a matching red.
8
The small private dining room of The Oak Room was ridiculously warm, and Steffan’s patience had thinned in the oppressive air.
“Can’t we just use desalinated ocean water?” The man took a large gulp of his drink.
“If you’d like to hurry our environmental and biological destruction, starting with turning off the Gulf Stream,” Steffan said. “Within two decades, half of the world's population will be facing water shortages in one form or another. That includes the United States.”
“Oh, it can’t be that bad. We’ll figure something out. The U.S. always does.”
From the bored expression on the man’s face, Steffan was having little impact on this man’s conscience, but he never missed an opportunity to give the uninformed some sense of the approaching crisis.
He patted the man on the arm with a friendly smile. “Excuse me, I see someone I should speak to.” Jonathan Brond had been eyeing him from his place before an unlit fireplace across the room for the last twenty minutes. Steffan held out his hand. “Jonathan.”
The man pulled his hand from his pocket and met his handshake. “I see you’re making the rounds, though I wouldn’t count on Miles. He has money but no vision.”
“Yes, I failed to convince him of much.”
“There are plenty more deep pockets in this town. How is DC treating you otherwise?”
“Everyone has been quite welcoming.”
“And Laurent? He settling in?” Jonathan inclined his head toward Laurent who was chatting with two young girls. Steffan chuckled at their coquettish hair touching and head-tilting actions. Laurent had that effect on both genders, but the men admirers were subtler.
“Let me introduce you to him” Steffan raised his hand, catching Laurent’s eye. Laurent nodded and extricated himself gracefully from the two girls.
“How long are you in town?” Jonathan swirled the ice in his glass.
“At least a year.” He met the man’s eyes directly, knowing he was being assessed—had been since he and Laurent had walked in.
“Ah, Laurent. I want you to meet someone. Jonathan Brond, this is my dear friend, Laurent Chacon, Jonathan is one of Alexander’s friends and Sarah’s brother.”
“A pleasure, sir.”
Laurent and Jonathan exchanged hearty handshakes, and then Laurent lowered his gaze. Most vanilla people wouldn’t catch his friend’s subtle, automatic reaction when surrounded by established dominance. By the smug appreciation filling his eyes, Jonathan had.
“Laurent, do you mind?” Steffan handed him his empty glass.
Laurent immediately took the tumbler from his fingers and spun on his heel.
“I didn’t realize Laure
nt was your slave,” Jonathan said.
“He’s not. He enjoys being useful.”
At a slap on his shoulder, he turned to find Derek had joined them. “Steffan, you’ve got no drink, man. You won’t last long here sober.”
“It’s coming. Good to see you again, Derek.”
“I understand you two have met,” Jonathan said.
“Yes. The Dragon Club in Copenhagen. Amazing place.” Derek waggled his eyebrows.
“Not as amazing as Alexander’s,” Steffan noted.
A quick glance around showed no one had paid much attention to them, but he found it curious that Derek and Jonathan would say anything at all about their mutual recreation in vanilla company.
“You’re right there. You should come by Frost, my new club. Not much to do there but drink and dance and admire gorgeous women, but sometimes that’s all that’s needed.”
“You’d be right at home,” a loud male voice said behind him. “Frost is Scandinavian-themed. Ryan Knightbridge, Yvette’s other half.” The large man thrust out his hand, which Steffan took. He recognized Ryan from his initial tour of Accendos, where Ryan had a particularly sultry brunette, whom he now knew was Yvette, tied to a spanking bench in The Library.
“Laurent and I will have to stop by,” Steffan said.
“I hear you like the club scene. Been to quite a few?” Jonathan asked. Ryan and Derek held his gaze as if the answer to that question was going to be the most interesting thing they heard that night.
“Well, as often as time permits.” He no longer had any doubts about tonight’s real purpose. They wanted to see how he handled himself in public. He wondered how many other Accendos members attended tonight given the presence of half the governing Tribunal. So long as their judgements didn’t hinder his and Laurent’s ability to join Accendos, he didn’t care what conclusions they drew.
A flash of red in the doorway caught his attention and Jonathan’s face softened. Sarah. She had paused and casually scanned from one end of the room to the other as if she hadn’t made up her mind which way to head. Her eyes landed on Laurent, and she strode toward him, drink in hand. Even from this distance, Steffan could see her reaction to Laurent. The slight lift of her lips, the tenderness filling her eyes were all signs that Laurent’s effect on her was the same as most people he encountered. Captivated. She also had a similar, bewitching effect on people, albeit for different reasons. Her power caused people to straighten in their seats. Laurent’s made them melt their pants. What a combination they would be.
Fearless (Elite Doms of Washington Book 5) Page 5