This is what Mummy has been working on for so long. I hope you’ll agree it was worth the perpetually grumpy face and occasional skipped trip to the park.
I love you.
Contents
DAY ONE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
DAY TWO
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
ALEXANDRIA 5 MAY 36 BC
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
DAY THREE
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
A Word From Ileandra
Next in the Saar’s Legacy Trilogy: Walking the Razor’s Edge
Also By Ileandra Young
About Ileandra Young
Silk Over Razor Blades
DAY ONE
Chapter One
‘That guy is staring at me,’ said Lenina.
Abandoning her half-hearted perusal of a magazine, she pointed out the shop window to the figure in grey slouched against a lamp post on the far side of the road. He seemed to straighten as she looked, pulling a scruffy woollen hat further down over his shock of frizzy ginger hair.
Beside her, lost in the clutches of a generously stuffed leather armchair, Ramona looked up from her copy of Brides Today. ‘What?’
‘Outside by that bench. Some guy with a woolly hat.’
Her friend leaned forward and squinted through the window. ‘You sure?’ she said, her words heavy with Glaswegian overtones. ‘He’s just standing there.’
‘For ten whole minutes. Just staring. It’s creeping me out.’
‘Maybe he thinks you should be wearing white, too.’
Lenina glared. ‘Don’t you start. Daddy already tried to talk me out of it. Even Nick wasn’t sure when he heard.’
‘Has he seen it yet?’
‘No. He’s not supposed to. Tradition.’
‘You’re wearing a wedding dress the colour of fresh blood. What the hell do you know about tradition?’ Ramona’s soft expression drained some of the sting from her words. ‘It’s beautiful, honey.’
‘Really?’
‘Aye, how many times do I have to say it?’
The door to the fitting suite opened, admitting a silver-haired stalk of a woman with short, rounded fingernails painted pale pink. She pressed one hand to her barely there breasts and gasped through carefully rouged lips. ‘You’re a vision, Miss Miller. Just look at you.’
‘There’s an old man lurking outside,’ Lenina said. ‘He’s in grey. Shabby. Like a tramp. He’s been watching me for ages.’
‘Oh, is it Homeless Bob? Does he have a dog? This street is his favourite spot.’
‘I didn’t see any dog, but I’d say this guy is homeless.’ Lenina turned to the window, meaning to point him out. ‘Oh. He’s gone.’
‘Don’t worry about it, Miss Miller, Bob is harmless. He loiters here because the bakery across the road gives him pastries at the end of the day. Now . . . let’s have a look at you.’ The woman tugged and tweaked at the dress. Twice she dabbed the hem with white pen and inserted a pin beside the mark. ‘I wish more people would embrace bolder colours,’ she said. ‘I’m all for tradition, but white and ivory used to mean something. A woman should wear a dress that reflects her personality. Her inner fire.’
Lenina frowned. ‘I just liked the cut.’
A nod. ‘Yes, it does flatter you. Women with such lovely, strong hips should show them off.’ The woman touched her own skinny frame. ‘I had to pad my dress when I got married, just to prove I had a waist under all that fabric. But fashion was very different then. All shoulder pads and lace.’
Ignoring Ramona’s giggles, Lenina smoothed the fabric over her ribs. ‘It needs adjusting around the waist and across the shoulders.’
‘Have you lost some weight?’
‘Maybe.’
‘You only have two more weeks.’ The woman wagged her finger. ‘No more or else I won’t be able to help. Have you decided on hairstyles yet?’
‘Loose, I guess.’
‘Are you sure? We shouldn’t hide those lovely high cheekbones under all those braids. No need for make-up either; you have beautiful dark skin. Show it off and have your hair off the neck.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Of course, Miss Miller. These adjustments will be done by Friday, I’ll book you in for 4 p.m.’
‘No, I’ll be at the museum. Make it Saturday. I won’t be working then.’
When the measuring, pinning and tucking was done, and the dress safely wrapped in plastic, Lenina turned back to her friend. ‘You can stop laughing too. You should be protecting me. She practically said I’m fat.’
‘What, when?’
‘All that stuff about my hips.’
‘Oh, Nina, stop it. You’re not fat. The dress is gorgeous and so are you. She’s just doing her job.’