‘Funny that you should mention that,’ Dax said, but Mauri carried on.

‘Trystan will be home tomorrow.’

Dax hadn’t expected him to say that. ‘Tomorrow? That’s earlier than planned, is it not?’

‘Yes,’ Mauri said. ‘But he and the girl have to go and get the marriage licence together, they have to both be there in person. So he’ll get back tomorrow, they’ll pick up the licence tomorrow or the following day and be married by the weekend.’

Mauri was thrilled, Dax had never seen him like this, if he said anything now, about how he felt for Ivy then all of that exuberance would turn into anger and when Mauri was angry someone paid the price. If Mauri chose to be angry at Dax then he could take that, but Dax knew the anger wouldn’t be aimed at him, not wholly.

Mauri would believe that Ivy had manipulated him and that he’d been the schmuck to fall for it, which would mean Mauri would discover that Ivy wasn’t quite as brainwashed and compliant as he’d been led to believe.

Maurice Stark didn’t like to be made a fool of and disliked being disrespected, if Ivy got the full force of Mauri’s wrath then Dax would have no way to counter it and protect her.

Chapter Sixteen

This had been the longest day of her life. It had started out like normal, with Rita bringing her breakfast, which she got to eat before Serg brought the treadmill into her room. During her workout Ivy focused on the door, waiting for it to open and reveal Dax. So intent was her gaze that she ended up running almost twice as far as she normally would, but she was glad to expend the energy and to kill the time.

Luxuriating in the shower after her exertion, she hoped that if Dax arrived at her bedroom now, he would seek her out here in the mist of steam and tell her that everything was resolved, then they could celebrate under the hot spray. That fantasy made Ivy deliberately take more time over her usual routine, but by the time she had done everything that a woman could do in the bathroom, there had been no sign of him.

Leaving the bathroom, there was nothing ahead of her, so she perused the selection of books and DVD’s in the entertainment unit. All of her focus was on Dax and when he would walk into her room to tell her that he had fixed their problem, so she struggled to relax and get engrossed in the novel that she’d selected.

Ivy had expected Dax to come to her first thing because he’d said his engagement with Mauri was for breakfast.  But as time slipped by she wondered if Dax had actually meant brunch. When lunchtime came and went, she speculated that maybe Mauri had delayed their meeting due to something unforeseen.

At three o’clock her bedroom door opened and Ivy abandoned the book she’d been lying with to sit bolt upright. The burst of expectation was met with disappointment when Ivy identified the entrant as Rita and not Dax.

‘You’re wanted downstairs,’ Rita said. ‘What are you wearing?’

Ivy got off the bed, and glanced down at the strapless white sundress that she’d had on all morning, in anticipation of Dax appearing to take her away from all of this madness.

‘Why do you care what I’m wearing?’ Ivy asked, digging her ballet pumps out from under the edge of the nightstand to stick her feet in them.

‘You need something that’s quick and easy to take off,’ Rita said. ‘Come on.’

Ivy didn’t like the sound of that at all, but Rita was already out of the room. Following her out, Ivy saw Serg was there to accompany them to wherever they were going. Mauri’s office had been upstairs and this time they went down, so the probability of seeing Mauri was low.

Hoping that she was about to find Dax waiting for her, Ivy stayed close to Serg and Rita, eager to reach their destination. Already she had been disappointed because Dax hadn’t come to her promptly, so she tried to keep herself calm because the later in the day it got the more her optimism was fading.

Entering another room with a heavy door, Ivy didn’t know what would be waiting for her. What she didn’t expect in the ground floor space was to be faced with a series of folded out mirrors, and two other women.

‘You are the bride?’ one of the women said. ‘I’m the seamstress, and I have to fit you.’

‘Fit me for what?’ Ivy asked. Rita closed the door from beyond it, leaving Ivy alone with these women.

The second woman rounded the portable mirrors. The swish of material sent a corkscrew of dread and alarm twisting under her skin. The two women were beaming with joy and pride and didn’t seem to see the anxiety in Ivy.

‘Your dress!’

The second woman brought the gown into view and held it up in triumph. ‘It’s just beautiful, you made a fantastic choice.’

The swathes of white silk and lace made her eyes bug. She hadn’t chosen anything, but someone had, and here it was.

‘We’ll help you on with it,’ the first woman said. ‘We have lingerie for you to try as well, you can make a selection today. I hope you’re not modest, though with a figure like yours, why would you be?’

Slipping out of her clothes, Ivy let the women parade lingerie in front of her, and did her best to be civil, but she couldn’t imagine that they missed her negative attitude. For some reason, they spent an age of time doing her hair; styling it in long, large curls and using half a can of hairspray to keep the diamond tiara in place.

Then before she knew it, she was wrapped in the dress. The ball gown style had a tiered skirt and a tight corset that clenched around her breasts and hung on capped sleeves. It was a beautiful dress, there could be no doubting that, but it wasn’t really her style. This dress screamed “look at me!” while Ivy was more comfortable standing in the corner doing the observing and going unnoticed.

‘We’re supposed to take some pictures,’ one of the women said, pulling out a makeup case and carefully applying some liner, shadow, and mascara to Ivy.

‘Pictures?’ Ivy asked while the woman worked. ‘Why would you need to—‘

‘Mr Stark wants to see how you look in the gown,’ the second woman said, fastening earrings into Ivy’s ears and hooking a necklace around her neck.

She was being pulled one way, then the other and trussed up like a model at a beauty pageant. These women were perhaps used to brides who were more exuberant, thus happier about the prospect of being gussied up.

Ivy found this whole experience uncomfortable, she didn’t like being preened like a Barbie doll. She had no trouble with dressing up and looking good, she just preferred to be the one making her own choices about hair and make-up.

Resigned to the fact that these women had a job to do, Ivy let them finish with the make-up and with the accessories and then stood static while they oohed and ahhed.

‘Perfect,’ one of the women said. The glaze in her eyes made Ivy think that she was about to start crying, but she couldn’t believe that to be true when this was the woman’s job. She had to see dozens of women in wedding gowns all the time, but maybe the tears were part of the sales pitch.

‘I’ll get the camera,’ one woman said, hurrying for the door.

‘No,’ said the other. ‘The veil, what about the veil?’

‘Did you bring it?’

‘It’s in the car. Remember a single person can’t carry it in alone because of its length. The last thing that we want is for it to be soiled or torn this close to the big day.’

‘Oh yes, yes of course,’ the first woman said and snatched Ivy’s hand to give it a pat. ‘You wait here, we’ll get everything that we need and be back in a jiffy.’

They rushed toward the door together. ‘Oh,’ the second woman paused when they opened the door. ‘Don’t sit down, or the dress will crinkle.’

Ivy’s first impulse after they left was to plant herself on the floor. The petulant act would wrinkle the dress, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about the dress, or this wedding, or anything else that the Stark’s had planned for her.