Chapter 263
Raven
The first dress Vivienne brought out was a classic ball gown—layers of ivory silk and tulle that made me look like I'd stepped out of a fairytale. The bodice was encrusted with tiny crystals that caught the light with every breath.
I stepped out of the fitting room, and Maya gasped.
"Raven! You look like a princess!"
I turned to face the three-way mirror. The girl staring back looked soft, delicate—everything I'd never been. But more than that, she looked trapped. Like the dress was wearing her instead of the other way around.
"Too heavy," I said, tugging at the skirt. "I can barely move. If I needed to run—"
"You're not going to need to run at your own wedding," Maya protested.
"The fabric's also too delicate," Scarlet added, circling me. "One good yank and the whole thing falls apart. Pretty, though."
"Next one," I decided.
Vivienne's smile tightened slightly, but she nodded and disappeared into the back.
---
Three dresses later, Maya was starting to look frazzled.
"Raven, that one was Vera Wang!"
"Too much lace. It caught on my bracelet when I tried to lift my arm."
"And the one before that?"
"The train was a death trap. I almost tripped just walking to the mirror."
"And the Monique Lhuillier?"
"Too tight in the shoulders. Couldn't reach behind my back."
Maya pressed both hands to her face. "You've rejected twelve dresses. Twelve! Do you know how many brides would kill for just one of these?"
"I'm not most brides," I muttered, staring at my reflection in the latest reject—a sleek, modern sheath that would've looked stunning on someone who wasn't constantly calculating escape routes.
Scarlet lounged on one of the velvet couches, sipping champagne. "She's got a point, Raven. These are all gorgeous."
"Gorgeous isn't enough." I yanked at the dress's restrictive neckline. "These are dresses for people like Marianne Goodman. Trophy wives who stand around looking pretty. Not for—" I gestured vaguely at myself. "—whatever I am."
"A deadly assassin with commitment issues?" Scarlet suggested helpfully.
"I don't have commitment issues. I'm literally getting married in three days."
"You have wedding dress commitment issues."
Maya made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "I give up. I officially give up. You're going to walk down the aisle in your leather jacket and jeans, aren't you?"
Before I could respond—because honestly, that didn't sound like the worst idea—my phone buzzed.
I pulled it out, frowning at the caller ID. "It's Ahab."
Scarlet sat up, suddenly alert. "Everything okay?"
"Should be. He knew we were dress shopping tonight." I answered. "Hey, old man. What's up?"
"Raven!" Ahab's voice boomed through the speaker, warm and slightly buzzed. In the background, I heard the distinct pop of a beer bottle opening. "How's the hunt for the perfect dress going?"
"Terrible," I said flatly. "I'm about to commit arson."
He laughed—that deep, genuine sound that always made something in my chest warm. "That bad, huh?"
"These dresses are garbage. Expensive, beautiful garbage, but garbage nonetheless."
"Well, that's why I'm calling." He paused, and I heard him take a swig of beer. "I've got my suit all pressed and ready. Just wondering when exactly I get to drink that toast I've been planning."
Despite my frustration, I felt myself smile. "Soon. I promise."
"You better not keep me waiting too long. I've got a bottle of thirty-year-old whiskey with your name on it, and my self-control isn't what it used to be."
I laughed. "I'll try not to— wait, thirty years?"
"Had it saved for a special occasion. Figured my—" He caught himself, voice softening. "Figured watching you get married qualified."
Something tightened in my throat. "Ahab—"
"Listen." His tone shifted, becoming almost hesitant. "I know you're probably drowning in designer options over there, but... if you're interested, I've got something here. At the house."
I straightened. "What kind of something?"
"A dress. My wife's." He cleared his throat. "She always said that if our daughter ever got married, she'd wear it. Had it custom made, actually. Spent a year working with some seamstress she found in—hell, I don't even remember where. But Claire was adamant. Said it had to be perfect."
My pulse kicked up. Maya and Scarlet were both watching me now, sensing the shift in atmosphere.
"Ahab, I couldn't—"
"You haven't even seen it yet," he interrupted gently. "No pressure, kid. But if you want to come by, take a look... well, I think Claire would've wanted that."
I looked at my reflection in the boutique mirror—at the expensive dress that felt like a costume, at the girl underneath who still wasn't sure she deserved any of this.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes," I said.