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She disappears through another door. Jillian flops onto the settee. “This place is bonkers,” she whispers. “Do you think they have snacks?”

“Focus, please,” I mumble.

“Iamfocused,” she swears. “I’m focused on snacks.”

I shuffle around uncomfortably, unsure whether to sit or stand or, I dunno, assume some sort of position. I feel like I’m at the gynecologist’s office—part of me thinks there’s an unspoken understanding that I’m supposed to undress, but the other part of me is lowkey terrified that Säsha is going to come back and be like,Uh, ma’am, why are you naked?

Before I can make up my mind on the question of disrobing, Säsha returns. She’s carrying a garment bag, long and black. She hangs it on a hook near the mirror.

“Mr. Lazarev was very specific,” she explains.

It takes everything I have in me not to say,Oh, I bet he was.

She unzips the bag slowly. The fabric inside catches the light.

… And I stop breathing.

It’s a deep, dark red, like wine or blood or crushed velvet roses. The dress is floor-length with a stupefyingly high slit on one side, a slit that says,Do not eventhinkof wearing underwear.The neckline plunges south in a sharp V, heavy on the boobage. The back is almost completely open, held together only by razor-thin straps that crisscross down the spine.

It’s elegant. It’s gorgeous. It’s a dress that makes people stop talking and start drooling when you walk into a room.

I was so sure I was going to hate it.

I really, really don’t.

Jillian must be thinking the same, because she sits up straight. “Holy shit.”

“Indeed,” Säsha agrees with a cryptic smile.

I reach out and touch the fabric. It’s softer than anything I’ve ever felt. I want to be buried in it. In fact, it’s so soft that I’d consider being buried in it right this second.

“Would you like to try it on?” Säsha asks.

I start to say yes, then think better of it. I’m gonna sound like Minnie Mouse guzzled a whole tank of helium if I try to speak out loud, so I keep my lips zipped and just nod instead.

I shuck off my clothes quickly, then she helps me step into it. The fabric whispers against my skin. Cool at first, then warming to my body like it was made for me. Like it waswaitingfor me.

Which, I realize as she zips up the back, it pretty much was.

“Mr. Lazarev provided your measurements,” Säsha says, as if reading my thoughts. “He has excellent taste in women’s fashion.” She adjusts one of the straps, chattering idly. “His wife taught him well, until she…”

She catches herself and her mouth snaps shut.

I meet her eyes in the mirror. “Until she what?”

“Nothing!” Säsha’s smile is back, but it’s tighter now, obviously fake, and so brittle that I feel like she’d shatter like a porcelain doll if I touched her. “Turn around, please. Let me see the back.”

I turn—and gasp. The mirror shows me a stranger. The dress hugs every curve. The slit exposes my leg almost to the hip. The open back makes me feel naked and powerful at the same time.

Jillian lets out a low whistle. “Gahdamn, girly-pop! You clean up nice.”

“It’s the dress,” I demur.

“It’syou,” she corrects. “The dress is just enhancing what’s already there.”

Säsha nods. “Your friend is quite right. The dress flatters, but the body underneath does the real work.”

I turn back to face the mirror. The woman staring back at me looks confident. Sexy. Maybe even a little dangerous.