The Gift I Bought Him Had Another Woman’s Name

Serena pretended to defend me, her voice dipped in honey and rehearsed concern. "Oh, come on, that's not nice. Girls' hearts are delicate. Even the simplest thing could make them upset. You should've said that to your promised bride."

"You're a girl. But you don't get upset so easily. What was the deal?" Dominic replied, his tone carrying the faint amusement of a man who had never once worried about the damage his words left behind.

Serena covered her mouth, laughing quietly. Her eyes gleamed with a smug satisfaction as she glanced at me, savoring her small victory. One crimson nail tapped three quiet beats against the clasp of her handbag before that smile settled into place, the kind of smile that could cut without ever breaking skin.

I let it go, not wanting to bother exposing her. I didn't even feel the need. This alliance ceremony, this whole thing, was just to fulfill my father's last wish—to see me settled, happy. As for Dominic and whoever he wanted to keep close? I couldn't bring myself to care anymore. My thumb drifted toward the inside of my ring finger, pressing once against the bare skin where the betrothal band sat, then falling away. There was nothing left there worth steadying myself for.

The old-money bridal atelier was nearly empty when we walked in, the scent of garment-steamed silk and white peonies thick in the air. A pair of Dominic's soldiers had swept the entrance minutes before we arrived—standard protocol whenever a Bellandi heir moved through territory businesses—and now stood like marble pillars flanking the glass doors. The assistant rushed over to greet us immediately. But instead of me, the promised bride, she focused on Dominic and Serena, reading the body language the way anyone in the Bellandi orbit learned to read it: whoever stood closest to the heir mattered most.

"What kind of gown would you like, miss?" the assistant asked eagerly.

Serena burst out laughing. "Oh, no, you've got the wrong person. I'm not the bride; I'm his best friend. She's the one he's marrying." She pointed back at me, a few steps behind them, standing alone in the pale light that fell through the atelier's arched windows.

The assistant's expression turned awkward, as if trying to make sense of why Serena was attached to Dominic's arm while I lingered in the background. Dominic cleared his throat, sensing the awkwardness. He tried to gesture for me to join him, but I subtly stepped aside, evading his hand that hovered mid-air, uncertain.

"I'll go look around," I said, shrugging casually.

Dominic looked a little caught off guard, like he was about to say something, but then Serena took his arm and led him to sit down on the velvet settee near the fitting mirrors, settling beside him with the ease of someone who had always belonged there.

I picked a dress quickly. Whatever the associate said was popular among the old-Family brides this season, I chose without a second thought.

As soon as I got into the fitting room, I could hear movement from the stall next to mine. I took a deep breath, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and unease. It was a little silly, really, to feel nervous over this moment after four years together. Dominic and I had passed by this bridal atelier so many times, back when the Bellandi compound still felt like a place I might one day call home. He used to say that when he finally saw me in a wedding dress, he'd be so moved that he might cry.

But now, as I stepped out in a diamond-studded gown, the fabric catching the chandelier light and throwing small bright fragments across the atelier's marble floor, he only gave me a quick glance, his expression unchanging. "So tacky," he muttered. "You're not a teenager anymore. Why would you pick something so gaudy?"

I didn't bother arguing, already reaching for my phone to get a picture taken.