From Mob Princess to Mugshot Photographer novel Chapter 18

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

News of Soren Wilson’s wedding reached the small town hundreds of miles away.

I was signing the papers to give away the couture gown shop my father had left me.

He showed up, road–weary, with his fiancée in tow–a girl who was the spitting image of me ten years ago.

As she picked through the collection, it was obvious the girl wasn’t a fan of the modern, American–inspired designs.

Soren, however, tapped his fingers on the counter, a mocking smirk on his face.

“What about that masterpiece you keep in the back? Name your price. I’ll take it.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s priceless. Don’t even think about it.”

But that piqued the girl’s interest. She tugged at his arm, cooing, “Then I want the priceless one.”

I threw them out, check and all. The next morning, I found my shop burned to the ground.

Later, on the eve of his wedding, he sent me a text.

“Either bring the gown yourself, or wear it and come to me.”

But I could never reply.

The girl, Isabelle Brooks, had already tried on the nineteenth gown, her brow furrowed the entire time.

The way she smiled, lifting her lashes, was a near–perfect copy of me from a decade ago.

Soren was smoking outside, scattering cigarette butts on the pavement, turning back every so often to answer her.

She gave a twirl and a wave of her hand, a clear dismissal of this one, too.

Just as Soren strode in, Isabelle leaned over the counter to ask me again.

“Do you have anything else? Something a little more special? I don’t like any of these.”

With a casual shove, she sent the small mountain of gowns cascading to the floor.

I whipped around, my eyes locking with Soren’s mocking gaze.

Swallowing the metallic taste that rose in my throat, I bent to pick them up, but he shifted his weight, planting his foot directly on the delicate silk.

13:50 O

From Mob Princess to Mugshot Photographer: Smile, Ex

12.3%

Chapter 1

“What, are you mute? Didn’t you hear my fiancée? Bring out some other styles for her.”

Already dizzy, I shot up so fast the room spun. I steadied myself on the counter and used my free hand to shove him hard.

He stumbled back a step, his grin widening, but he froze for a second when he got a good look at my face.

“Hypoglycemia? You skipping meals again?”

Isabelle tilted her head, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Soren, you two know each other?”

“Yeah.”

Soren was noncommittal, bending to scoop up the pile of gowns and tossing them back onto the table.

Isabelle laughed. “No wonder. I was wondering why we drove to this backwater town to look for a wedding dress.”

She hooked her arm through Soren’s, swinging it playfully.

“Soren, darling, I still prefer a classic white wedding dress. You can have one flown in. It’ll be here in time.”

I had already turned away, letting out a quiet sigh of relief.

But Soren’s voice came from behind me. “I prefer this style. You know my parents are pretty traditional.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson spent most of their time overseas, they clearly preferred international flair to anything “traditional“.

Isabelle nodded obediently, then tentatively asked if I had any other designs she could try.

But Soren suddenly rapped his knuckles on the tabletop. “What about the one you keep under lock and key? Name your price.

I want it.”

My head snapped around. “Soren, don’t push it.”

“You run a shop. You sell things. Besides, isn’t money the only thing you care about?”

My expression hardened, my fingers trembling against my will. “It’s priceless. So don’t even think about it.”

But Isabelle just gave me a long, shadowed look. “Soren, then let’s get the priceless one.”

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