Chapter 6 Wedding Dress and Bulletproof Vest
# Chapter 6: Wedding Dress and Bulletproof Vest
"I absolutely refuse to compromise on this, Miss Bates. The bodice must have the Kevlar lining."
Valentina Rossi, renowned wedding dress designer to royalty and celebrities, stood firm in the mansion's sunlit fitting room. Her Italian accent thickened with frustration as she held up the intricate lace panel in question. "Mr. Dennis was most specific about the requirements."
Noelle suppressed a sigh, meeting the designer's stern gaze in the three-way mirror. "Valentina, I appreciate your concern, but don't you think Kevlar might affect how the dress falls?"
"That is precisely why I am here in person!" Valentina gestured dramatically with her measuring tape. "Any hack could sew ballistic fabric into a wedding gown and create a monstrosity. I am creating a masterpiece that will protect you while making you the most beautiful bride in America."
The designer turned to her assistant, snapping her fingers imperiously. "Marco! The special silk overlay samples."
Twenty-four hours had passed since the security breach at the mansion. The interrogation of the captured mercenaries had yielded little useful information—they were hired guns who knew only that they'd been paid to retrieve medical samples, not who had ultimately employed them. Milo's "specialized techniques" had confirmed at least that they had no direct connection to Sokolov, which had left both Noelle and Milo puzzled about who else might have targeted them.
The governor's fundraiser—their opportunity to move against Sokolov—was now just one day away. Yet here she was, standing on a fitting platform surrounded by tulle and lace as if the wedding were the most pressing concern.
"I don't understand the rush," Noelle said as Valentina pinned another section of the gown. "The wedding is still weeks away."
"Mr. Dennis insists the dress be ready immediately," Valentina replied, pins clenched between her teeth. "He has moved the timeline forward."
That was news to Noelle. "Moved it to when, exactly?"
"Three days after the governor's event. A small, private ceremony at the cliffside chapel." The designer stepped back to assess her work. "He did not tell you?"
"We've been... preoccupied with other matters."
That was an understatement. Since the shooting range incident, Milo had been even more withdrawn than usual, spending hours locked in his secret room analyzing the security breach while Operation Phoenix preparations continued on a parallel track. The strange almost-proposal had not been mentioned again, nor had the mysterious blood type report she'd glimpsed.
Valentina clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "Communication is essential for a successful marriage, cara mia. Though that man—" she lowered her voice conspiratorially "—he is not easy to read, no? So controlled, so precise. My other clients, they bring their fiancés to fittings, they weep with emotion. Mr. Dennis, he sends fabric specifications and ballistic requirements."
Noelle couldn't help but smile at the accuracy of the description. "He's... unique."
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"Ha! A diplomatic word." Valentina circled Noelle, making minute adjustments to the draping. "Though I must say, his attention to your safety is impressive. Most men worry about how revealing the gown might be. He worries only that it will stop a bullet."
"Romantic, isn't it?" Noelle said dryly.
"More than you think." The designer's expression grew serious. "In my thirty years creating gowns, I have dressed princesses with security concerns, politicians' daughters, women in danger. Never have I seen such precise protective measures as Mr. Dennis demands for you."
Before Noelle could respond, the fitting room door opened, and Richards appeared. "Pardon the interruption, but Mr. Dennis requests Miss Bates's presence in his study immediately."
"Impossible!" Valentina protested. "We are at a critical stage with the bodice construction!"
"I'm afraid it's urgent, madame," Richards insisted, his tone making clear that no further argument would be entertained.
With an apologetic glance at the fuming designer, Noelle carefully stepped out of the pinned gown sections and changed into the silk robe provided for the fitting. "Please continue with whatever you can. I'll return as soon as possible."
Richards led her through the mansion's corridors with brisk efficiency. "Mr. Dennis has received new intelligence regarding tomorrow's operation," he explained in a low voice. "Time-sensitive material."
The study was a hive of activity when they arrived. Milo stood at the center of the room, surrounded by digital displays showing building schematics, security routes, and what appeared to be real-time surveillance footage of the governor's mansion where tomorrow's fundraiser would take place.
"Ah, Noelle." Milo barely glanced up from the tablet in his hand. "We have complications."
"What kind of complications?" She moved to his side, scanning the displays.
"Sokolov has changed his security detail. He's bringing twice the manpower we anticipated, including several faces I don't recognize." He swiped across the tablet, bringing up personnel files on the main screen. "These three are new additions. Former Spetsnaz, with connections to a paramilitary group active in Ukraine."
Noelle studied the faces, committing them to memory. "Higher-grade muscle than his usual entourage. He's nervous about something."
"Precisely my assessment." Milo zoomed in on the building schematic. "We need to adjust our approach. The original plan relied on minimal security at the east entrance. That's no longer viable."
For the next hour, they reworked the operation plan, identifying new vulnerabilities and contingencies. The core mission remained unchanged—Noelle would wear a wire to record Sokolov making incriminating statements, while Milo's team simultaneously accessed the governor's secure server room to download evidence of his administration's complicity in Sokolov's operations.
"The biggest risk remains the handoff," Milo noted, indicating the small courtyard where Noelle was to meet his extraction team. "With the increased security, your window has been reduced to approximately three minutes."
"I can make it work," she assured him, though privately she wasn't as confident. The plan had too many variables, too many potential points of failure.
As if reading her thoughts, Milo pulled up another display. "I've added a secondary extraction route. If the primary fails, there's a service corridor here—" he traced a path on the schematic "—that leads to a staff parking area where Anton will be waiting with a catering van."
"Anton? Your chef is part of the extraction team?"
"Anton was extracting high-value assets from hostile territories while you were still in the police academy," Milo replied mildly. "His soufflés are merely a pleasant bonus to his primary skill set."
The planning session continued well into the evening, with staff members coming and going as various aspects of the operation were refined. Throughout it all, Noelle was struck by the precision of Milo's preparations, the way he anticipated problems before they arose, the depth of intelligence his network had gathered.
It was nearly midnight when the last of the team departed, leaving Noelle and Milo alone in the study. The digital displays still glowed with operation details, casting blue light across his features as he reviewed the final checklist.
"You should rest," he said without looking up. "Tomorrow will be demanding."
"So should you." She studied his profile, noting the subtle signs of strain around his eyes. "When was the last time you slept?"
"Sleep is inefficient. I'll take a stimulant supplement before the operation."
"That's not healthy."
"Neither is being unprepared." He finally set the tablet aside, meeting her gaze. "Are you having doubts?"
The question caught her off guard. "About the operation? No."
"About our arrangement."
Ah. There it was—the unaddressed elephant in the room since the shooting range proposal. "I'm focused on Sokolov right now. Everything else can wait."
He nodded, accepting her non-answer. "Logical prioritization."
An awkward silence settled between them, filled with unspoken questions and complications neither seemed ready to address. Finally, Noelle changed the subject.
"Valentina tells me you've moved the wedding date forward."
"A security precaution." He moved to his desk, retrieving a folder. "After tomorrow's operation, regardless of outcome, there will be scrutiny. The marriage needs to be legalized before potential complications arise."
"Complications like what?"
"Detention. Prosecution. Death." He listed the possibilities with clinical detachment. "If something happens to me, the marriage certificate ensures you retain control of the foundation and the resources to protect the orphanage."
The pragmatic consideration behind what most would consider a romantic milestone was quintessentially Milo.
"Should I be insulted that you're planning for your death on our wedding day?" she asked, only half-joking.
"On the contrary. It's the highest form of trust." He handed her the folder. "These are the updated legal documents, including provisions for various contingencies. Review them before tomorrow."
Noelle accepted the folder, but something else had caught her attention—a small velvet box sitting on the corner of his desk. The ring box from the shooting range.
Milo followed her gaze. "Ah. Yes." He picked up the box, opening it to reveal the emerald ring. "In the chaos yesterday, we never concluded our discussion."
"You call that a discussion? You staged an elaborate proposal with gunfire and explosions, then got interrupted by mercenaries before I could answer."
A faint smile touched his lips. "Admittedly not according to plan."
"You had a plan for that?"
"I have plans for everything, Noelle." He removed the ring from the box, holding it between them. "My offer stands. After Sokolov, after the contract requirements are fulfilled—a choice. Stay or go, with no coercion either way."
The sincerity in his voice was unexpected, as was the vulnerability briefly visible in his expression before his usual mask of control returned.
"Why?" she asked softly. "Why would you want this to continue when it started under such circumstances?"
He considered the question with typical thoroughness. "Compatibility. Shared objectives. Mutual benefit." He paused, then added more quietly, "And because in three weeks, you have challenged me more effectively than anyone I've encountered in years."
Coming from Milo, it was practically a declaration of devotion. Noelle found herself strangely moved by the awkward almost-compliment.
"I'll consider it," she finally said. "After tomorrow. After Sokolov."
He nodded, returning the ring to its box. "A reasonable timeline."
With the matter settled for now, Noelle turned to leave, but paused at the door. "Milo? Who is Michael Dennis?"
The question hung in the air between them. For a moment, she thought he might actually answer truthfully, but then the familiar calculation returned to his eyes.
"A complication for another day," he replied. "Focus on Sokolov."
Back in her suite, Noelle found that Valentina had left behind a garment bag with a note attached:
"First fitting complete. Mr. Dennis insisted this be delivered tonight for final approval. The special features are all incorporated as requested. —V.R."
Curious, Noelle unzipped the bag to find not the wedding dress, but what appeared to be her outfit for tomorrow's fundraiser—an elegant burgundy gown with subtle beadwork along the neckline and a tastefully draped back. The fabric was heavier than expected, and when she examined the interior, she found the now-familiar signs of protective reinforcement seamlessly integrated into the design.
As she lifted the dress to inspect it further, a small envelope fell from the folds of fabric. Inside was a handwritten note:
"Today there will be someone with a gun in the west ballroom... don't worry, I bought sniper insurance. Stay close to the champagne fountain until 9:17 PM. —M"
The cryptic warning sent a chill down her spine. Was this Milo's idea of operational security—leaving enigmatic notes hidden in her clothing? Or was there something about tomorrow's mission he hadn't shared during their planning session?
She searched the dress more thoroughly, finding several hidden features beyond the protective fabric—a concealed pocket perfectly sized for a small recording device, reinforced seams that could accommodate a garrote wire, and a specially designed area in the bodice that could hold the compact Walther without revealing its outline.
Whoever had designed these modifications understood both fashion and fieldcraft at an expert level. It was impressive work, but also disturbing in its implications about the danger she would face tomorrow.
Noelle was hanging the dress carefully when another knock came at her door. Richards stood outside, holding a long, narrow box.
"Mr. Dennis asked me to deliver this personally," he said, handing her the package.
Inside, nestled on black velvet, lay a delicate diamond tennis bracelet—elegant but understated, nothing like the ostentatious publicity jewelry she'd been wearing for appearances.
"It's lovely," she said, genuinely appreciative of the tasteful design.
"It's also a tracking device, emergency beacon, and audio recorder," Richards informed her matter-of-factly. "The clasp contains a panic button that will alert the entire security team if pressed three times in succession."
"Of course it does," Noelle sighed. "Heaven forbid Milo give a normal gift."
A hint of amusement crossed Richards' usually impassive face. "If I may speak freely, Miss Bates?"
"Please do."
"I've worked for Mr. Dennis for eight years. In that time, I've never seen him take such extensive precautions for anyone's safety, not even his own." Richards' expression was earnest. "The measures may seem excessive, even intrusive, but they come from genuine concern."
"Concern or control?" she countered.
"Perhaps both," Richards acknowledged. "Mr. Dennis has... difficulties expressing conventional emotions. But his actions speak clearly enough."
After Richards departed, Noelle found herself contemplating his words as she examined the "gift" more closely. The craftsmanship of the bracelet was exquisite, the technology hidden within it impressively sophisticated. It represented Milo perfectly—beautiful and dangerous, protective and controlling all at once.
As she prepared for bed, another delivery arrived—this time a large garment box brought by one of the female security staff. Inside was her completed wedding dress, with a note from Valentina explaining that Mr. Dennis had insisted on overnight completion so Noelle could inspect it before tomorrow's operation.
The dress was breathtaking—a masterpiece of ivory silk and French lace that somehow managed to look both timeless and modern. Despite her complicated feelings about the accelerated wedding timeline, Noelle couldn't help but admire the gown as she lifted it carefully from its nest of tissue paper.
As promised, Valentina had accomplished the seemingly impossible—incorporating substantial protective elements without compromising the design. The bodice featured an innovative Kevlar lining disguised beneath intricate beadwork, while the full skirt concealed reinforced panels that could withstand significant impact.
When she held the dress up to examine the detailed back, something fluttered from the folds of the delicate veil—another note, this one sealed in a small envelope with her name written in Milo's precise handwriting.
Curious despite her wariness about his cryptic communications, Noelle opened it to find another warning:
"Today there will be someone with a gun at the altar... don't worry, I bought sniper insurance. —M"
The phrasing was nearly identical to the note about the fundraiser, but this one referred to their wedding day. What was Milo playing at? Was he warning her about a specific threat or simply being his paranoid self?
She examined the veil more carefully, running her fingers along the delicate edging until she found it—a tiny hard object sewn into the hem. Not a tracking device this time, but a small data chip, carefully concealed within the lace pattern.
Without appropriate equipment to read the chip, she couldn't determine its contents, but the implication was clear—Milo was embedding information in her wedding attire, information he didn't feel safe communicating directly.
The realization was both unsettling and oddly touching. Whatever game Milo Dennis was playing, whatever secrets he was keeping, he was at least attempting to share some of his contingency plans with her, albeit in his characteristically cryptic manner.
As she carefully returned the wedding dress to its box, Noelle's gaze fell on the bedside drawer where she kept the knife Milo had left for her that first night. On impulse, she retrieved it, examining the inscription once more: "To my beloved wife, Milo."
He had placed it there before she'd even arrived, anticipating her need for self-protection, recognizing her instincts as a trained officer. Just as he now anticipated threats at both the fundraiser and their wedding, preparing for dangers she couldn't yet see.
Noelle returned the knife to its place and slipped into bed, her mind racing with preparations for tomorrow's operation, questions about Milo's secrets, and the strange path that had led her from being blackmailed into a fake engagement to considering a real marriage to one of the most complex, frustrating, and fascinating men she'd ever encountered.
As sleep finally claimed her, her last conscious thought was of the hidden compartment in her wedding dress's crinoline—the perfect size to conceal her service weapon, just as Milo had undoubtedly intended.
