As the weeks count down from seven days to my wedding to six, five, four, three, two, and then one, I progressively get uneasy. There’s so much happening; dress fittings, appointments with professional stylists, gifts from people I don’t even know, and more dinners with my father than I’d care to be present for.
I don’t meet Dmitri again.
But since coming back, every morning I wake up with a new bouquet of flowers delivered to my room, and a handwritten note from him.
I glare at the maid as she gushes over the cluster of purple lilies. She tucks them into a white vase, moves them around, inhales deeply and sighs dreamily.
“Take out the white roses.” I say.
She gasps, turning around, surprised to find me awake and shooting daggers at her from the comfort of my sheets. She brushes the s
