Chapter 7 - THE FITTING AT HOUSE OF VANCEBy 1:00 p.m. that afternoon, Mara found herself standing on a raised wooden podium in the center of House of Vance—the most exclusive haute couture bridal salon in downtown New Orleans.
The air smelled of expensive champagne, white lilies, and old money.
An elderly French seamstress named Madame Dupond was circling Mara like a hawk, muttering in rapid-fire French while draping six thousand dollars' worth of French Alençon lace over Mara’s cheap cotton blouse and frayed jeans.
"Magnifique," Madame Dupond sighed dramatically, pinning a fold near the waist. "The fiancé has impeccable taste. He called me at eight this morning, told me to clear the salon, and said, 'Dress her like a queen who is about to go to war.'"
Mara stared at her reflection in the massive three-way gilded mirror. The woman looking back did not look like a desperate single mother living out of a suitcase with thirty-six dollars to her name. With the silk gown cascading down her frame, her dark hair swept up into an intricate chignon, and a diamond ring—borrowed temporarily from Damon’s family vault—heavy on her left ring finger, she looked like royalty.
The front bell of the salon chimed.
The heavy oak doors swung open, and Damon walked in. He had changed out of his business suit into a tailored black cashmere blazer and dark denim. He didn't look at the racks of dresses or the champagne fountains; his eyes locked instantly onto Mara in the mirror.
For a second, the reflection of the rugged, dangerous billionaire softened. The air in the salon seemed to drop ten degrees.
"Well?" Madame Dupond clapped her hands together. "Is she fit to stand beside a Cross at the altar?"
Damon walked slowly across the plush white carpet until he was standing right behind the podium, just inches from the small of Mara’s back. Through the mirror, their eyes met.
"She doesn't need the dress to look like she's going to war," Damon murmured, his low voice vibrating right through the silk and lace. "She already looks like she's about to conquer the parish."
Mara turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze in the glass. "Don't get used to this, Mr. Cross. The moment Judge Abernathy bangs that gavel on Friday and hands me full custody of Lily, this diamond goes back in your vault, and I go back to being your head nanny."
A slow, knowing smile crept across Damon’s rugged face. He reached out, his warm fingers brushing against the bare skin of her shoulder, sending a jolt of electric current straight through her veins.
May you like
"We'll see who's returning what when the time comes, fiancée," Damon whispered, his breath hot against her ear.
Before Mara could snap back a retort, the glass storefront window exploded inward with a deafening CRACK.
