THE NEXT DAY was the 15th October: the day Konstantin had agreed to deliver the “tool” for whatever criminal job he’d hired the guy at the mall to do. I watched him closely all day, but he never left his study.

Meanwhile, the staff were scurrying around getting the mansion ready for a party. Konstantin was known for his parties and anyone who was anyone in New York wanted an invite: models, business moguls, even politicians. Konstantin didn’t care about socializing, of course. For him, the parties were a chance to do deals in a quiet corner, or in the poker room, without having to worry about the FBI watching.

This party was different, though. This was Konstantin’s annual ball. The men would be in dinner jackets, the women would be in big, elaborate dresses and there’d be formal dances. It all sounded amazing, and very traditional and Russian, the sort of thing where some young Tsarina would meet her future husband. What I couldn’t work out was why Konstantin was doing it. A normal party would have worked just as well as a way to do deals. And that’s all Konstantin cared about...right?

Whatever the explanation, the preparations left me at a loose end. I’d started to hang out in the staff areas during the day, chatting to the cooks and maids while I lent a hand folding sheets or setting the table. Today, though, there was no time for chat. Everyone was rushing back and forth with trays of food, boxes of glasses and stacks of chairs, and a team of four men were maneuvering an ice sculpture through the middle of it all. I was just in the way so I made myself scarce.

I didn’t give much thought to actually going to the ball, or what to wear. I usually have to be dragged to parties and then spend the evening in the corner looking at my feet. But, a few hours before it was due to start, Konstantin marched into the bedroom carrying a box so big, he had to turn sideways to get through the door. He set it down on the bed and then gestured towards me.

I stared at him, startled. For me?!

He nodded.

I approached the box. It was cream and the cardboard was as solid and stiff as wood. There was a name embossed in gold in the center: Beringham and Chase, done in that particular, curly font that suggested Beringham and Chase were British, old-fashioned, and quite possibly on good terms with the Queen. I hinged open the top….

That was the moment I first saw the dress. Just the bodice and a lot of folded skirt, at first, but that was enough to clue me in to what it was and I gave a kind of squeak of disbelief.

It was exactly what a princess would wear in some animated fairytale. It was made of thick, glossy satin the pale blue of the sky on a perfect spring day. There was a tight bodice with a square neckline, short sleeves and a big skirt. Everything was done with ribbons and buttons: I couldn’t see anything as modern as a zipper anywhere.

I lifted it gently up from the box, surprised by how heavy it was. That’s when the skirt unfolded...and then unfolded again. I’d completely underestimated it. It was a full-on, bell-shaped, floor-length extravaganza. It had only fit in the box because all the frilly stuff that filled out the skirt was missing—that must be somewhere else.

I looked at it in awe. “I can’t wear this. I mean, it’s lovely but….” I turned to him to explain that this was a dress for a princess, and I wasn’t—

But the words died in my throat. Those gray eyes were smoldering down at me and telling me, very firmly, that I was. And that he’d damn well dress me appropriately.

I flushed and nodded, my heart suddenly pounding.

“I’ll send in Victoria,” he told me, and left.

Victoria? Why would I want my maid in here? But within thirty seconds of picking up the dress, I saw why. The back was a confusing mass of buttons, none of which seemed to line up with each other, and I had no idea what to wear underneath or how the skirts worked. When Victoria knocked on the door, I let out a sigh of relief.

I let her take charge and just did what she told me. First of all, she showed me what I should be wearing underneath: a silky, cream-colored corset with an embroidered pattern of silver roses winding around it and real metal ribs. It wrapped around my waist and then curved up just barely high enough to cover my nipples. I looked like a sexy princess, or an old-fashioned superheroine.

Then Victoria pulled on the laces. Hard. All the air hissed out of me as the thing cinched tight. “What are you doing?!” I croaked.

“Corseting you,” she said, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. Then she tugged again and I had to grab hold of the end of the bed so that I didn’t stagger backwards. I could feel my waist shrinking each time she heaved on the laces. My eyes bulged. “Okay,” I managed. “I think that’s enough.”

“Yep,” she agreed. But then pulled the laces tighter and I realized she was just humoring me. “Just about done.” Tighter. “Really not much more—” Tighter “—to go.” She was having to grunt with effort, now and I wondered if this was revenge for all the times Christina had been cruel to her. “You’re really—unh! Just—nngg—about...there!” She gave a last, sudden jerk and then tied them and stepped back. “How’s that?”

I was squeezed so tight, I could barely answer. I had to breathe one small mouthful at a time. I turned to tell her that I couldn’t possibly stay like this.

Then I saw myself in the mirror. My waist had shrunk down smaller than I would have thought possible—hell, with Konstantin’s big hands, he’d practically be able to span it. And my ass and boobs now flared out into an hourglass. “Oh wow,” I croaked.

Victoria grinned and pulled the dress up around me, buttoning it up the back and adjusting the ribbons. Then she went into my closet and unpacked a huge box of frilly underskirts and attached them, filling the skirt out to its full, four-foot-wide magnificence. She helped me with my make-up and managed to get my hair to lie in one long black waterfall, cascading over one shoulder and down my front. She’d only just finished when an impatient Konstantin knocked on the door. She scurried out. He strode in and—

It was the first time I’d seen him in a tuxedo since Boston, what felt like a lifetime ago. I’d forgotten just how good all that black looked on him, how it emphasized the size of those broad shoulders and strong chest, how the soft white dress shirt hugged his pecs and revealed the muscled flatness of his abs. It wasn’t just the clothes, it was the way he wore them, as if he’d been born to this world. Those brooding good looks, the confidence...he looked royal.

Then he saw me and—

He was always unshakeable. But for once, he just stopped.

“Is it…” I swallowed, suddenly nervous. “Do you—”

He marched across the room and grabbed my hands, lifting them. His lungs filled as he gazed down at me, his thumbs brushing over the backs of my fingers. “You—” His voice was tight with emotion and he fought to control it. “You look...exquisite.”

I felt something lift and soar inside my chest. My hands squeezed his and we stared at each other.

“Here,” he said, digging in his pocket. “I want you to wear this.”

He could have draped me in some huge, garish, diamond-encrusted thing worth hundreds of thousands of dollars—that’s what most rich Russian men would do. But instead, he opened a simple black jewelry box and handed me something much more valuable.

It was very old, the silver lovingly polished. A single, thin chain held a pendant in the shape of a ten-pointed star. The gem at the center was the same pale blue as Konstantin’s eyes, when he had one of those rare moments of softness.

Like now.

My heart was thumping. I knew there must be a story behind it, one that went deep into his past, but I didn’t dare ask. He came around me and started to fasten it on me. I dipped my head forward obediently and the slow dance of his warm fingers on the back of my neck as he pushed my hair out of the way and then fastened the necklace was the best thing I’d ever felt in my life.

“There,” he said, and pressed lightly on my shoulders to tell me to turn around. I turned to him, glancing down. The pendant was resting just above my breasts. I looked up and—

All the moments when he’d smoldered at me, all those times when it had nearly bubbled over into something real, something more than just sex...all of those moments paled into insignificance next to this. His eyes blazed blue, as if they were reflecting the gem. Then his gaze slid down to my lips and I could feel them throbbing and tingling, and then my gaze was sliding inexorably down to his lips and—

He tore his gaze away, dropped my hands, and shook his head savagely as if telling himself not to be silly. No, I thought desperately. Don’t! Keep going! Then I caught myself. It’s better, like this. Things were complicated enough, without us falling for each other. If that could even happen. I couldn’t have feelings for a man like him...could I? And according to Christina, he was incapable of feeling anything.

But if that was true, what was going on? Organizing this super-traditional ball, buying me the dress, giving me the necklace...that felt the opposite of cold and heartless. This whole thing...it meant something to him.

He took a deep breath, gathering his self-control, still not looking at me. “There are shoes in the box,” he told me.

Shoes. My mind was still whirling from the nearly-kiss so I didn’t pick up on it. I dug in the tissue paper in the box and found heels in the exact blue to match the dress. It was only when I bent over to slip them on that I remembered that he’d have bought them in Christina’s size. Crap! I wriggled my toes in. Yep: they were a full size too small. And I had nothing in my size that was remotely similar and anyway, he was standing right there. I’ll tell him it must be a mistake in the manufacturing. They say five, but they’re really a four. I looked up at him and opened my mouth to speak—

He was looking down at me with a look of almost childish anticipation. He really wanted to see me in the full outfit.

We hadn’t talked about the ambush the night before. But it had shaken both of us: the way Ralavich had looked at me had given me nightmares and Konstantin had been grim-faced and silent all morning. I knew now not to ask about his work, or try to ask about his past and what Ralavich had done that made him hate him so much. But there was one thing I could do to make him feel better. For some reason, he cared about this ball. Well, fine. If it was important to him, I’d make it perfect.

Taking a deep breath, I crammed my left foot into its shoe. I had to lever the unyielding leather with both hands to force it over my heel, but I did it. The right one felt even tighter. I had to cross my toes over each other and arch my foot, hook the heel in and then try to flatten things out, careful to keep smiling. Owww! Walking was going to be agony.

But when I saw the look on his face, it was worth it. Just for a second, he looked happy and warm. He could have been any normal guy who’d bought his girlfriend a dress and loved how she looked in it.

Then he pouted and looked away, brooding, trying to shut that happiness down. I was beginning to understand that happiness was weakness, in his eyes. My chest went tight. Konstantin….

I put my hand decisively on my hip, forming a crook he could hook his hand through. “Let’s go to the ball,” I said.

He glowered, eyeing my arm suspiciously.

And then he nodded, threaded his arm through it, and led me downstairs.