Irina's POV
Saturday mornings should be sacred, but here I was, dragged to a wedding dress fitting because Eddie had convinced his daughter I needed to be part of this circus. I'd already suffered through the initial dress selection when she chose that monstrosity she calls bridal couture.
I couldn't fathom why this dimwit suddenly thought I was her personal assistant, bombarding me with calls about wedding details at all hours. The worst part? Eddie expected me to cater to this girl's every whim like some kind of fairy godmother.
Let's be clear—money was the only reason I tolerated this nonsense. Without Eddie's paycheck, I would've told his ridiculous daughter and her equally insufferable mother exactly where to go. Both lacked any semblance of taste, class, or style.
