Chapter 82: Wedding Dress
Aaron stepped out of the SUV, shutting the door behind him to keep the car quiet. He walked a few paces away with Niko, stopping near the edge of the private parking area.
"What’s the word on the drops?" Aaron asked, his tone dropping into a dangerous, quiet rumble.
"The test took longer because of how thorough they had to be," Niko explained quickly, keeping his voice down.
"When the specialist in Russia took the sample, they didn’t just run a basic check. They had to break down the compound, check it against the regular manufacturer recipe, and prove what was added. Then, because we knew we were bringing her back here for court, we had the physical vials transferred to a top lab in New Jersey eleven days ago."
Aaron narrowed his eyes. "And where are the actual results?"
"The preliminary test confirmed foreign chemical additives," Niko said.
"The lab director is finishing the final signed report right now. It takes time because it has to stand up in court without any legal loopholes. We will have the hard copy in our hands in less than forty-eight hours. Seventy-two at the absolute most."
Aaron stared at him for a long moment, then gave a single, firm nod. "Good. Make sure nobody touches that lab report until it’s delivered straight to you."
"Already on it," Niko said, turning back toward his own car.
Aaron walked back to the SUV, opened the door, and slid into the seat beside Isabella. He pulled the door shut, locking the chaos of the world outside once again.
"Is everything okay?" Isabella asked, turning her face toward him.
"Everything is fine," Aaron said. He looked at her pale face, noticing the slight tension around her mouth. He reached out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her cheek. "I’m taking you somewhere."
Isabella blinked. "Home?"
"No."
"Where are we going, Aaron?"
"You’ll see."
She frowned, though a small smile tugged at her lips. "Aaron."
"You’re going to like it."
"That’s not an answer."
"It wasn’t meant to be one," he said, his voice smooth and full of quiet amusement.
The car moved through the city streets for twenty minutes before pulling into a quiet, paved alleyway and stopping inside an underground garage. When the doors opened, there was no sound of street traffic, no waiting reporters, no noise at all.
Aaron guided Isabella out of the car and down a carpeted hallway. When they stepped through a tall set of glass doors, the faint scent of fresh silk, clean lavender, and expensive lace filled the air.
"Welcome, Mr. Kazarov," a woman’s soft voice greeted them.
Isabella paused, listening to the soft rustle of heavy fabrics all around her. "Aaron... where are we?"
"You need a dress," Aaron said casually, taking her coat and handing it to an attendant.
Isabella went dead silent. She turned her head toward him, her mouth opening slightly. "A dress? We just walked out of my divorce hearing."
"Which means we need to prepare for what comes next," Aaron replied, his voice completely unbothered. He led her toward a large, plush velvet sofa in the center of the private showroom. "Sit."
The lead designer, an older woman with a gentle voice, stepped forward holding several thick swatches of delicate lace and silk. "It is an honor, Mrs. Carter, or should I say, soon-to-be Mrs. Kazarov. Mr. Kazarov called us a month ago to reserve this slot."
Isabella felt her cheeks warm up instantly. "A month ago?" She turned toward Aaron, whispering under her breath. "You were planning this while I was still figuring out my legal paperwork?"
"I like to be prepared," Aaron said, sitting down right beside her. He leaned back, resting one long arm along the back of the sofa behind her shoulders.
The designer began describing the options softly. "We have heavy satin, delicate French lace, clean silk crepe... What kind of train were you imagining?"
"Nothing with a train," Aaron cut in flatly.
Isabella turned her face toward him, her eyebrows drawing together. "Why?"
"You’ll trip," Aaron said simply.
"I am blind, Aaron!" she said, offended.
"Exactly," he answered without missing a beat.
Isabella reached out and gave his arm a sharp, annoyed smack. "You are impossible!"
"And yet you’re marrying me," he said, taking her hand and bringing her knuckles to his lips for a slow, warm kiss.
Isabella tried to hold a serious face, but a small, breathless laugh escaped her lips. The tension that had been weighing down her chest all morning finally started to melt away under his quiet, stubborn charm.
The designer smiled softly at the two of them, holding up a piece of smooth, heavy silk. "Perhaps a clean, soft line then? Something very light to wear?"
Isabella reached out, her fingers touching the fabric the designer offered. It felt impossibly soft, like water flowing under her fingertips. "It’s beautiful," she whispered.
She stood up slowly, stepping toward a small platform as the designer gently draped a piece of sample fabric over her shoulder to check the drape.
Isabella smiled, feeling the smooth silk against her skin. But as she took a deep breath, her smile suddenly faded.
A strong, thick scent hit her nose, a mixture of the heavy floral perfume the designer was wearing, the smell of fresh fabric dye, and the rich coffee sitting on a side table.
Her stomach gave a sudden, violent flip.
Isabella froze, her hand flying to her throat.
Aaron was on his feet in a second. "Isabella?"
"I’m fine," she said quickly, swallowing hard.
"You don’t sound fine."
"I’m fine, I just, " She took another small breath, but the room seemed to spin slightly, her stomach turning over again.
Aaron didn’t wait. He stepped onto the platform, took her by the waist, and lifted her down effortlessly, guiding her back to the sofa.
"Sit down," he ordered softly.
"Aaron, I can finish, "
"Sit."
The teasing tone was completely gone from his voice. Aaron dropped to one knee in front of her, his large hands resting on her knees, his dark eyes searching her pale face.
"Nauseous?" he asked softly.
Isabella hesitated, feeling a sudden wave of heat flush through her body. "A little. My stomach just... flipped."
Aaron turned his head toward the designer, his voice flat and commandingly cold. "Clear the room. Bring a glass of cold water with lemon. Right now."
"Of course, sir," the designer said quickly, gathering her things and hurrying out the side door with her assistants.
Aaron sat on the edge of the sofa beside Isabella, pulling her gently against his chest.
He took the cold glass of water from the staff member who rushed in, holding it to Isabella’s lips so she could take a small sip.
"Better?" he murmured, his hand gently smoothing her back.
"A little," she whispered, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. "I don’t know why that happened. I was fine a minute ago."
Aaron rested his chin against the top of her head, his fingers holding her close. He knew why. Her body was changing, the stress of the morning catching up to her.
"We’re going home," Aaron said softly.