Page 70 of Arrow

His eyes never left mine as I was ushered behind a silk screen.

Two assistants helped me undress, their fingers hovering over the collar with uncertainty.

“Should we . . .” one began.

“Leave it,” I snapped, and they exchanged glances but said nothing more.

The first dress they brought was a strapless Valentino ivory gown with a sweetheart neckline and a skirt like a deadly flower around my feet. The bodice was fitted with intricate beadwork that caught the light and scattered like broken glass.

It was beautiful in the way funeral lilies are beautiful—elegant and cold.

Mrs. Montalto ushered me out from behind the silk screen and onto the circular platform to parade me in front of Arrow, who was now joined by Yuri, sitting in a chair on his right.

Arrow’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight of me in the wedding gown, his gaze trailing from the obsidian collar at my throat down to where the beadwork hugged my curves. The juxtaposition of his collar against the virginal white fabric seemed to please him in some primitive way.

“This one is exquisite,” Mrs. Montalto gushed as the assistants fastened me into it. “This silhouette is classic, but the details are modern. Perfect for a bride who wants to make a statement. Turn,” Mrs. Montalto instructed, her voice breathless with excitement.

I rotated slowly on the platform, feeling Arrow’s gaze burning into my back. When I completed the turn, facing him again, his expression had shifted into something more possessive, more hungry.

“What do you think, Mr. Romanov?” Mrs. Montalto asked, hovering nervously at the edge of the platform. “The beading can be adjusted if you prefer something more elaborate. And we can add a longer train if⁠—”

“I hate it,” I said flatly.

At the same time, Arrow interrupted with, “It’s not right.”

Mrs. Montalto’s face fell. “Oh! Well, we have several other options. Perhaps something less traditional?”

“Bring the next one,” he commanded, not taking his eyes off me.

I was whisked back behind the screen, where the assistants peeled the first dress from my body with trembling fingers. The second dress was darker—not quite ivory but not quite champagne either. It had long sleeves of delicate lace that would cover the bruises on my arms, and a high neckline that framed the collar without hiding it.

“This is a Vera Wang,” Mrs. Montalto whispered, her voice reverent as she smoothed the fabric over my hips. “One of her more avant-garde pieces. The silhouette is fitted through the bodice and flares just below the knee. Very dramatic.”

Staring at my reflection, I hardly recognized myself in this expensive shroud. The dress hugged my curves like a lover, the fabric whispering against my skin with every breath. I traced the collar with my fingertips, feeling its weight against my throat.

When they led me back to the platform, Arrow’s expression shifted. His eyes darkened, pupils dilating as he took me in. Hunger flashed across his face.

“Better,” he said, the single word falling like a stone into still water.

Mrs. Montalto beamed. “The color is stunning against her skin tone, and the cut is absolutely⁠—”

“I don’t want it,” I interrupted, meeting Arrow’s gaze in the mirror. “It’s too restrictive. I can barely breathe.”

His mouth curved into that not-quite-smile. “That’s the point of marriage, isn’t it? Learning to breathe through confinement.”

I clenched my jaw.

Yuri snorted, but Arrow’s expression remained unchanged. “Let’s see the next one,” he ordered.

Smug motherfucker.

By the time I was shown the fifth dress, I was ready to rip the silk from my body and set the entire atelier on fire. Each gown was more exquisite than the last, and each fabric more expensive.

Arrow watched me in each one with the same patient intensity he did everything—always seeing far beyond what was immediately in front of him.

The fifth dress was ivory and lace, the back plunged dangerously low. My bare skin was covered by an intricate lace pattern that emphasized my spine. The bodice hugged my curves, with the same lace pattern climbing up my torso and wrapping around my neck like ivy. The skirt flowed outward like smoke, ethereal, with a glittery hue that caught the light as I moved.

Delicate as spider silk, it felt like it might disintegrate if I breathed too hard.