Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,431

off a dress like this, the silk clinging to every curve. But Brooklyn can.

“Like a princess,” she murmurs, meeting my eyes in the full-length mirror.

“Then I think we’ve found the dress.” Judy beams as she approaches her. Gathering the loose fabric, she clips it to give her a sense of how the dress will look once it’s ordered in her size and fitted to her body type.

“Are you certain this was one of the dresses Mrs. Bradford approved?” Brooklyn chews on her lower lip.

Judy opens her mouth, catching my gaze out of the corner of her eye. I subtly shake my head, hoping she’s smart enough to pick up on what I’m trying to tell her. I don’t want Brooklyn to know I’m paying. She’ll never accept. It’s inevitable she’ll eventually learn the truth, especially once she tells Mrs. Bradford about the dress. I need her to believe otherwise for a little while, hopefully until it’s too late to get a refund.

“Of course,” Judy responds with a bright voice. “Why don’t we get your measurements and I’ll place the order for it right away. If we put a rush on it, we can get it in time.” She peers into the mirror as she continues adjusting the fabric around Brooklyn’s frame, meeting my eyes once more. “Of course, there’s a fee for the rush.”

“There is?” Brooklyn asks as I subtly nod at Judy, indicating it’s okay. I don’t care what it costs. Brooklyn deserves this. She’s worked hard her entire life, making sacrifices most other people her age wouldn’t. It’s time she’s rewarded for it.

“Yes, but don’t worry. Mrs. Bradford agreed to pay the rush fee, as well.”

A moment of hesitation passes. I sense the wheels turning in Brooklyn’s head. She looks away from Judy and catches my gaze. “How very generous of Mrs. Bradford.”

“She’s a peach,” I add.

She squints at me, her lips formed in a tight line. “She certainly is.”

I hold my breath, waiting for her to refuse the dress. When she refocuses her attention on the mirror, her expression brightens. Now that Judy has clipped the dress in a way that’s closer to how it will fit once it’s been altered, Brooklyn’s even more stunning. Wes is one lucky bastard. If nothing else, I’ll make it my mission for the rest of my life to ensure he knows this.

“Okay.” She nods, her smile growing wider. “This is the one. Let’s do it.”

“Perfect!” Judy steps back, clasping her hands together. “I’ll send one of our seamstresses in to get your measurements. We’ll both give you some privacy while she does that.” She gestures at me as she heads out of the dressing room, pausing, waiting for me.

“I’ll be out front whenever you’re ready.” I approach Brooklyn, leaning toward her. After the past week, I expect her to withdraw from me, but she doesn’t. I take a moment, inhaling her lavender scent as I gently kiss her cheek. “You look gorgeous,” I murmur against her ear, then step back, following Judy toward the reception area.

I’m not sure how much time passes as I watch her fill out form after form, punching a bunch of numbers on the calculator to come up with a grand total. It all seems a bit archaic. I’d prefer she just scan a barcode and run my credit card without me seeing her push all those buttons.

“To place the order, we normally only require a fifty percent down payment, in addition to the rush fee, but I don’t think that’s possible here, especially if you don’t want her to know you’re paying for it.”

“Which I don’t.”

“You do realize she’ll eventually find out, correct? Mrs. Bradford will wonder why there’s no charge. I promised I’d forward an email copy of the receipt this afternoon.”

“I understand. I just need her to believe Mrs. Bradford bought it for a day. Not even. I’m assuming you don’t have a return policy, do you?”

She chuckles. “Not on rush orders. They’ll have to go into production right away.”

I nod at my credit card sitting on the desk, then at the four-figure total scrawled on the paper beside it. “Put the charge through.”

She picks up my card, pausing as she studies me. With a smile, she refocuses her attention on the credit card machine and swipes the card, a sales receipt spitting out almost immediately.

“It’s a shame.” She shakes her head as she hands me the slip and a pen.

“What is?” I ask as I sign.

“You love her.”

“It’s not like that,” I