Chapter 3 - The Fitting for the Lion’s Den
The next morning, Meline woke up in a bed larger than her entire bedroom in her old apartment. The guest suite was decorated in soft cream and gold tones, complete with a private balcony overlooking the misty grounds of the estate.
Before she could fully process her new reality, a knock sounded at the double doors. Elena stepped inside, followed by four young women pushing rack after rack of designer evening gowns.
"What is this?" Meline asked, sitting up in bed and pulling the silk duvet over her shoulders.
"Mr. Moretti ordered the top fashion houses in Boston and New York to send their finest evening collections for your approval, Miss Hayes," Elena said with a polite smile. "For the Gala tonight."
Meline stepped out of bed, putting on her plush robe, and walked over to the racks. She ran her fingers over the fabrics—satin, velvet, tulle, and lace. But as she examined the cuts, her professional eye immediately picked out the flaws.
"These are all cut for sample-size bodies," Meline said, shaking her head. "They just scaled up the measurements without adjusting the proportions for a real woman’s curves. The waist lines are wrong, the chest darts are too high, and the fabric will pucker here."
"I told them you would say that," a deep voice purred from the doorway.
Meline turned to see Lorenzo leaning against the doorframe. He was dressed in a tailored navy suit, looking fresh, dangerous, and impossibly handsome. He waved his hand, dismissing Elena and the assistants.
Once they were alone, Lorenzo walked into the room, holding a heavy velvet bag in his hand. "I knew you wouldn't wear off-the-rack garbage. So I had my men retrieve this from your shop before the cleanup crew started."
He unzipped the bag, revealing the very navy silk-velvet fabric Meline had been cutting yesterday afternoon before the attack.
Meline gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "My velvet... you saved it?"
"It was the piece you were working on," Lorenzo said, setting the bag on a table. "There is a fully equipped sewing studio on the third floor of this house. My mother used to design textiles. I had it prepared for you this morning."
Meline looked from the fabric to Lorenzo’s eyes. A strange emotion swelled in her throat. He wasn't just offering her protection; he was respecting her work, her identity, and her craft.
"I have six hours to construct an evening gown from scratch," Meline said, her eyes lighting up with a professional spark she couldn't suppress. "If I am going to play the terrifying mafia boss’s fiancée, I am not going to do it in a dress that pinches under the arms."
Lorenzo chuckled, a rich, dark sound that vibrated through Meline’s chest. "Show them who you are, Meline."
For the next five hours, Meline lost herself in her element. In the bright, beautiful sewing studio on the third floor, she measured, cut, draped, and stitched with absolute precision. The dress she created was a masterpiece—a deep midnight-navy silk-velvet gown with an off-the-shoulder neckline that emphasized her collarbones, an empire waist that sculpted her lush curves, and a dramatic train that fell in heavy, luxurious folds.
At 6:00 PM, Elena helped her adjust the final zipper. When Meline looked in the full-length mirror, she barely recognized herself. She didn't look like a nervous tailor hiding in a back room; she looked regal, powerful, and breathlessly stunning.
A firm knock sounded at the door. Lorenzo stepped into the studio.
He froze.
For the first time since Meline had met him, the utterly composed, dangerous Lorenzo Moretti looked completely speechless. His storm-grey eyes swept over her from her dark pinned-up hair down to the hem of her gown, lingering on the exposed curve of her shoulders and the lush silhouette of her body.
"Lorenzo?" Meline asked softly, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Does it... look alright?"
Lorenzo crossed the room in three long strides. He stopped directly in front of her, reaching into his coat pocket to pull out a velvet jewelry box. He opened it to reveal a breath-taking necklace of cushion-cut sapphires surrounded by diamonds.
"It looks," Lorenzo said, his voice husky and low, "like every man in that gala is going to envy me, and every enemy I have is going to realize I would burn the city to the ground before letting anyone touch you."
May you like
He stepped behind her, his warm fingers brushing against the bare skin of her neck as he fastened the heavy sapphire necklace around her throat. Meline shivered at his touch, her eyes meeting his in the reflection of the mirror.
"Remember, Meline," Lorenzo whispered in her ear, his hands resting gently on her shoulders. "Tonight, you aren't just surviving. You are the future queen of Boston."
