Chapter 116
Mila gathered the gowns into her arms and stepped inside the private fitting suite, drawing the heavy velvet curtains tightly shut behind her. Surveying the two options, she decided on the gown featuring intricate lace detailing—and a noticeably lower price tag. Letting out a quiet, steadying breath, she hesitantly slipped out of her oversized street clothes.
As the silk dress glided over her skin, a shiver ran down her spine at the cool, luxurious touch of the fabric. She smoothed the soft material where it clung to her hips, her breath catching as she turned toward the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
A soft flush crept onto her cheeks. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her. Having spent her life wearing practical, thrifted clothes to stretch every dollar, she had never experienced the indulgence of high fashion.
Staring at her reflection in quiet awe, she gathered the hem of the ivory skirt and twirled slowly, inspecting her silhouette from every angle. The gown was meticulously fitted through the bodice, flaring out at the waist into a sweeping train that trailed behind her. For the first time in years, a quiet wave of confidence washed over her.
Remembering the associate’s dismissive warning about production defects, Mila leaned closer to inspect the lace and stitching. Try as she might, she couldn’t spot a single flaw. The gown appeared utterly breathtaking.
Yet, as she imagined stepping out under the blinding lights of the main showroom, a sudden knot of self-consciousness tightened in her chest. The off-the-shoulder neckline and sheer, low-cut back left her feeling exposed. In elite circles, women carried themselves with effortless poise, their bodies groomed to perfection by top stylists. Mila was a simple publicist, not a model, and the fear of hidden judgment made her throat feel tight.
Reaching up, she pulled the pins from her structured bun, letting her thick, golden-blonde locks cascade freely over her shoulders and down her back, shielding her bare skin. Checking the mirror once more, she felt far more comfortable with her hair framing her face. Gathering her courage, she decided to seek Raphael’s opinion. Demonstrating unity in public was part of their arrangement, and if he approved of this gown, she would be spared the ordeal of trying on another.
Mila pulled back the velvet curtain and stepped out into the hallway, gathering the long train in her hands so she wouldn’t trip. Navigating the quiet corridors of the boutique, she spotted Raphael near the central foyer, engaged in conversation with a woman. She bit her lip nervously, hovering at the edge of the display area.
As if reacting to a sudden shift in the air—or the subtle hushed murmurs rippling through the showroom staff—Raphael turned.
His striking blue eyes landed on Mila, and he froze. His lips parted slightly in stark astonishment, his gaze sweeping over her in unscripted disbelief. The quiet, understated manager he saw every day in oversized blazers had transformed completely, without a trace of heavy makeup or artificial styling.
The structured lines of her usual attire were gone, replaced by silk that draped over her waist, accentuating curves he had never noticed before. With her golden hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders, she looked like a moonlit goddess stepping through a veil of clouds.
"Wow..." he breathed unconsciously, the low murmur making Mila’s cheeks burn red under his intense gaze.
"Is this... acceptable?" Mila murmured shyly, her eyes meeting his before she quickly looked down at the floorboards.
Raphael’s attention shifted from her blushing face to the construction of the dress itself. While Mila couldn’t distinguish a liquidator’s defect from high-end couture, Raphael had spent years in front of fashion lenses and modeling for top luxury houses. He instantly recognized the outdated cut and inferior lining of a rejected sample.
His brow furrowed into a sharp scowl. "What on earth are you wearing?"
Mila flinched, the harsh tone hitting her like a cold splash of water. Shame washed over her as she ducked her head, her voice barely audible. "I... I thought you would approve."
Realizing how his instinctive reaction had sounded, Raphael cursed under his breath and bridged the distance between them in two long strides. Reaching out, he pulled her into the warm curve of his arm, his touch firm and protective.
"I am so sorry, sweetheart. My frustration wasn’t directed at you," he reassured her quickly, his voice dropping into a rich, reassuring rumble near her ear. "You look breathtaking. You make the gown look graceful simply by wearing it. But..." He cast a dark, critical glare back at the dress before his jaw tightened with sudden, fierce anger. "Who gave you a rejected floor sample to try on?"
A dangerous spark flared in his eyes as he scanned the showroom, his protective instincts flaring at the disrespect shown to his bride.
Mila looked up, her pulse fluttering at his sudden proximity. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the haughty sales associate quietly backing away, attempting to melt into the shadows behind her colleagues.
"It’s fine, Raphael," Mila whispered, placing a gentle hand on his arm to soothe his rising temper. "I actually thought it was lovely... and it saves us a considerable amount of money."
"No, my love, it is not fine," Raphael countered, his tone leaving zero room for argument as his arm tightened around her waist. "Finances are not an issue. I want only the absolute finest for my wife."
The emphasis he placed on the words my wife was so profound that Mila’s heart skipped a beat. His tone sounded so fiercely genuine that for a terrifying moment, she found herself wanting to believe it. It was easy to forget that this was a staged performance for the public. Raphael was playing his part with terrifying perfection, but Mila felt her defenses crumbling. If he continued to pamper her with this level of fierce, protective warmth, how was she supposed to keep herself from falling for her contract husband?
"Raphael!"
A sharp, sophisticated voice cut through the tension as Amelie, the world-renowned designer herself, swept into the main showroom.
"I am terribly sorry for keeping you waiting, darling! I was tied up with an insufferable celebrity client who demanded every second of my time," Amelie said with a lighthearted laugh, striding over with open arms. But as she drew closer and caught the thunderous, icy expression on Raphael’s face, her smile vanished instantly.
"Raphael?" Amelie asked, her voice turning sharp with concern as she looked between him and Mila. "What on earth happened here?"