Chapter 3 3

The subway ride was a nightmare.

The garment bag was too big. It took up two seats.

People glared at Keira. A man in a dirty windbreaker actually spit on the floor near her shoe.

By the time she got to 5th Avenue, she was sweating.

She stepped out of the subway station and into the heat of Manhattan.

The city was different here. The sidewalks were clean. The people smelled like expensive perfume and old money.

Keira felt like an imposter.

She dragged the bag down the street to Lumière Bridal.

The window display was breathtaking. Mannequins with no heads modeled dresses that looked like clouds.

She looked down at her sneakers. They were scuffed.

Chin up, Keira.

She pushed through the heavy glass revolving door.

The air conditioning hit her instantly. It was freezing inside. And it smelled of lilies.

Three clerks were standing behind the marble counter, gossiping.

They looked up as Keira approached. Their eyes did a collective sweep of her jeans, her t-shirt, her messy ponytail.

They dismissed her instantly.

"Can I help you?" one of them asked. Her nametag said Brenda. She was chewing gum.

"I'm here to return this," Keira said, heaving the bag onto the counter. "It was a rental."

Brenda sighed, like Keira had asked her to donate a kidney.

She unzipped the bag. She grabbed the silk with rough, manicured fingers, pulling it out.

"Careful," Keira said automatically. "It's silk."

Brenda snorted. "If you can't afford to rent it, don't rent it."

She inspected the hem.

"Stain," she announced loudly.

"What?" Keira leaned over. "Where?"

She pointed to a microscopic gray smudge near the bottom. "Dirt. Dust. Whatever."

"That's just from the bag," Keira said, panic rising. "It wipes off. Look."

She reached out to brush it away.

Brenda slapped her hand away.

"Don't touch the merchandise."

"It's my deposit," Keira said, her voice trembling. "I need that deposit back. It was two thousand dollars."

"No refund on damaged goods," Brenda said, zipping the bag back up. "Read the contract."

"That's not damage! You're stealing from me!"

"Lower your voice," she snapped. "Or I'll call security."

"Oh, look who it is."

The voice came from the entrance. High-pitched. Mocking.

Keira's blood ran cold.

She turned around.

Janie was standing there. And her stepmother, Geraldine.

They looked perfect. Blow-dried hair. Chanel suits.

Janie walked over, her heels clicking on the marble.

"I thought I smelled something cheap," Janie said, wrinkling her nose. "How's the honeymoon, Keira? Did your convict husband beat you yet?"

The shop went silent. The other customers-women in pearls and silk-turned to stare.

Brenda's eyes widened. She looked from Janie to Keira.

"You know her, Miss Jacobson?"

"Unfortunately," Janie laughed. "She's the family charity case. And apparently, she's causing a scene."

"I just want my money," Keira whispered. She felt tears pricking her eyes. She hated herself for it.

"Get her out of here," Geraldine said. She sounded bored. "She's disturbing the atmosphere."

Brenda nodded. She pressed a button under the counter.

Two seconds later, a security guard appeared. He was big. Beefy.

"Miss, you need to leave," he said, grabbing Keira's arm.

"My dress!" Keira cried, reaching for the bag.

"We'll keep it as collateral for the cleaning fee," Brenda sneered.

The guard pulled her. Hard.

She stumbled. Her sneaker squeaked on the polished floor.

"Get your hands off me!"

He didn't listen. He dragged her toward the revolving door.

Janie was laughing.

Keira was being thrown out like trash.

The guard shoved her toward the glass.

"And don't come back," he grunted.

She braced herself for the impact of the door.

But the door didn't move.

It stopped dead.

A hand-a large, tanned hand with scarred knuckles-was pressed against the glass from the outside.

The guard frowned and pushed harder.

The door didn't budge. It was like pushing against a mountain.

Through the glass, Keira saw him.

Dock.

He was wearing a black canvas jacket and a baseball cap pulled low.

But she saw his eyes.

They were terrifying.

He pushed the door. The mechanism groaned in protest.

The guard stumbled back, surprised by the force.

Dock stepped inside.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

He didn't look at the dresses. He didn't look at Janie.

He looked at the guard's hand on Keira's arm.

"Let. Her. Go."

His voice was quiet. But it carried across the room like a crack of thunder.

The guard released her instantly. He looked at Dock, sensing the violence radiating off him.

Keira stood there, trembling, tears finally spilling over.

Dock looked at her. His jaw was clenched so tight a muscle feathered in his cheek.

He reached out and pulled her behind him.

His body was a wall. A shield.

He looked at the room full of wealthy women and sneering clerks.

"Which one of you made her cry?"