Chapter 1 - The Dress She Was Never Supposed to Wear
Red wine struck the silk before anyone could catch the tray. It spread down Gemma Rizzo’s bodice in a dark, uneven sheet, soaking the embroidery her father had paid a small fortune to copy. I dropped my appointment book and reached for a towel.
“Don’t touch me,” Gemma snapped.
I stopped. The young server stood beside her with an empty tray, his face so pale that the freckles across his nose looked painted on. Behind us, Mrs. Bellini put one hand over her mouth.
The fitting room smelled of steam, roses, and the sharp sweetness of spilled wine. It was almost midnight. Six hours earlier, I had promised myself I would leave on time for once.
Gemma looked at her reflection. “Fix it.”
Mrs. Bellini shook her head. “Not by tomorrow evening.”
“Then you’d better learn.” Gemma stepped off the pedestal, gathering the stained skirt. “My father isn’t paying for excuses.”
She looked at me as though the accident had become my responsibility simply because I remained available. “Find another gown, Nadia. That’s what assistants do.”
The door slammed after her. The server whispered an apology.
“Go,” I told him. “You’ve been here since lunch.”
When he left, Mrs. Bellini sat down heavily. She had been responsible for Leone family clothes longer than I had been alive. I had never seen her afraid of fabric before.
“We have to use the original,” she said.
I looked toward the cabinet at the far end of the room. Behind its glass hung Victoria Leone’s wedding gown, antique ivory silk with a deep, warm sheen. The portrait above it showed a broad-shouldered woman wearing the same dress, one hand resting on a chair, her gaze level with the painter’s.
Forty years dead, and still people lowered their voices beneath her face.
Every woman presented as a possible Leone bride was supposed to wear the gown unaltered. Most had worn copies instead, adjusted in secret and offered as though a familiar silhouette could replace an honest answer. Casius Leone had rejected twenty candidates in two years.
People called him impossible. Nobody asked whether he disliked being lied to.
“The cabinet key is in his office,” I said.
“He authorized me to use it if necessary.” Mrs. Bellini stood. “I need to examine the fall against a body. Something to work from while I finish the repairs to the presentation clothes.”
“Gemma has gone.”
Her eyes came to me. “You haven’t.”
I laughed once, uncertainly. “Mrs. Bellini.”
“Just stand still. Nobody’s asking you to become a bride.”
That was supposed to reassure me. Instead, I looked at the cardigan stretched over my shoulders, the sensible trousers, the place where my appointment book lay open on the floor. I was thirty, and I still dressed as though the safest version of my body was one nobody could see clearly.
“It won’t close,” I said.
“Then it won’t close.”
She opened the cabinet. The silk whispered as she lifted it from the hanger. I removed my cardigan behind the screen, wishing I had gone home when the clock first said six.
When I stepped into the gown, I braced for the familiar apology: sorry about my waist, sorry about my arms, sorry the person inside the dress had arrived in the wrong proportions.
Mrs. Bellini reached for the first hook.
Then the second.
Then all the rest.
Neither of us spoke.
The silk settled against my body without pulling or gaping. I could breathe. The hem skimmed the floor at exactly the place my flat shoes ended.
Mrs. Bellini stepped back. Her eyes filled.
“Don’t move,” she whispered.
Footsteps approached outside. I reached behind me, fumbling for the hooks.
The door opened.
Casius Leone looked at me, then at the portrait above the empty cabinet.
And whatever he had come to say disappeared from his face.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Casius was not a man who needed to raise his voice to dominate a room. He simply entered it and made every conversation smaller.
At thirty-nine, he wore power like another layer of clothing. Black suit. White shirt. No tie. Dark hair pushed back from a face the tabloids had made unnecessarily beautiful because they could never print the worse truth: that men who crossed Casius Leone rarely got second chances.
His eyes stayed on me.
I lowered mine.
“I'm sorry,” I said.
He didn't answer.
Mrs. Bellini stepped between us.
“Mr. Leone, this was an emergency. Gemma's gown was ruined.”
“I can see that.”
His gaze returned to me.
“Who told you to put it on?”
“No one.”
The answer seemed to surprise him.
“I was helping Mrs. Bellini.”
“That wasn't my question.”
I swallowed.
“I put it on because she needed someone to stand still while she checked the measurements.”
Casius looked at the gown.
Then at the portrait.
The room seemed suddenly colder.
“You knew what that dress was?”
“Your mother's.”
“And you wore it anyway.”
“I didn't realize I was breaking a rule.”
His jaw tightened.
“My mother wore that dress once.”
“I know.”
“She died wearing the necklace that belonged with it.”
I glanced at the empty space above the cabinet.
“I didn't know about the necklace.”
“No.”
There was something strange in his voice.
Not anger.
Recognition.
That frightened me more.
Mrs. Bellini cleared her throat.
“Mr. Leone, she is not trying to make a statement.”
“I know.”
He came a step closer.
I instinctively stepped back.
His eyes dropped to my hand.
There was a faint scar across my knuckle.
“Where did you get that?”
I looked at my hand.
“Cooking.”
He almost smiled.
“You're a terrible liar.”
“I don't cook.”
This time, he did smile.
Only for a second.
It disappeared so quickly that I wondered whether I'd imagined it.
Then the door opened again.
Gemma stormed in.
“Casius.”
She stopped.
Her eyes went from him to me.
Then to the dress.
“What is she doing in that?”
Mrs. Bellini started explaining.
Gemma cut her off.
“That is my wedding dress.”
Casius turned toward her.
“No.”
The room froze.
Gemma blinked.
“What?”
“That is my mother's dress.”
“And I'm supposed to wear it tomorrow.”
“You were.”
Her face changed.
“Casius…”
“The wedding is not tomorrow.”
She stared at him.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“My father has invited two hundred people.”
“Then your father can invite them somewhere else.”
Gemma's face reddened.
“You promised my family.”
“I promised to consider the arrangement.”
“You promised me.”
Casius looked at her without emotion.
“I promised nothing.”
Gemma turned to me.
“You.”
I stiffened.
“You're the reason.”
“No,” Casius said.
She stared at him.
“What?”
He looked at me again.
“She is not the reason.”
There was something in his expression that made my heartbeat race.
Gemma's voice cracked.
“I have spent six months preparing for this.”
“I know.”
“And now you're ending it?”
“Yes.”
“Because your assistant put on your dead mother's dress?”
Casius was silent.
That silence was the answer.
Gemma slapped the door open and walked away.
I stood there, horrified.
“Mr. Leone, I swear I didn't—”
“Go home.”
“What?”
“Go home, Nadia.”
“I have work.”
“Not tonight.”
He turned.
Then stopped.
Without looking back, he said, “And don't wear that dress again.”
The door closed behind him.
I exhaled.
Mrs. Bellini touched my arm.
“You don't understand what just happened.”
“I ended his wedding.”
“You didn't.”
She glanced toward the portrait.
“He did.”
I changed out of the gown.
As I returned it to the cabinet, something fell from the lining.
A tiny folded note.
I picked it up.
It was yellow with age.
There was no envelope.
Only one sentence.
Nadia.
My blood stopped.
Nobody called me that at work except Mrs. Bellini.
I unfolded the paper further.
If he ever sees you wearing this, tell him the truth before they do.
I stared at the words.
Mrs. Bellini took the note from me.
Her hands shook.
“Where did you get this?”
“It fell from the dress.”
She read it.
Then she looked at me.
“Nadia…”
“What?”
She didn't answer.
Instead, she walked to the portrait.
She studied Victoria Leone's painted face.
Then she whispered, “She knew.”
“Knew what?”
Mrs. Bellini turned toward me.
“That you would come.”
The next morning, I arrived at the Leone estate expecting to be fired.
Instead, Casius had summoned me.
His office was on the top floor, behind two security doors and a private elevator.
He stood at the window.
“You found the note.”
It wasn't a question.
“Yes.”
“Give it to me.”
I handed it over.
He read it once.
Then again.
“What does Nadia mean to you?” I asked.
His eyes lifted.
“What?”
“My name.”
“It means you're not the person they thought you were.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who is they?”
He placed the note on his desk.
“Everyone who has been trying to put a woman beside me for the last two years.”
“I don't understand.”
“I rejected twenty-one women.”
“I know.”
“No. You don't.”
He walked toward me.
“Twenty-one women were presented as suitable wives. Every family wanted my name. Every father wanted my protection. Every brother wanted access to Leone territory.”
He stopped several feet away.
“And every one of them lied.”
“About what?”
“Their intentions.”
I swallowed.
“Then why me?”
His eyes moved to my face.
“I don't know yet.”
That answer should have reassured me.
It didn't.
May you like
Because Casius Leone was looking at me as if I were a question he had been waiting years to ask.
And somewhere beneath the fear, I had the terrible feeling that I already knew the answer.
