Chapter 5

I shoved the notebook back into the drawer, but he'd already seen it.

Damian leaned against the doorframe. A soft, dismissive snort.

"Writing in your little book again? More of that self-pitying shit?"

He stepped past me. Bent down. Picked up the bracelet Iris had dropped.

"Tomorrow you're going dress shopping with her." He didn't look up.

"You've been a bride-to-be before. Help her pick something."

He walked out.

I stared at the door for a long time after it closed.

A few months ago, I'd said I wanted to try on wedding dresses. Just once. Just to feel what it was like.

Damian had given me a dozen reasons why we couldn't.

Too busy. Too dangerous. Too early. Soon.

I let out a sound that wasn't quite a laugh.

Then I nodded, slowly, to no one.

The next morning, Damian sent a car.

I was still weak from surgery. Still bleeding through my bandages.

But the soldiers who came to my room didn't give a shit. They pulled me into the back seat and drove me to a bridal boutique in the old quarter of Verenza City.

Iris was already there, standing in front of a three-way mirror in white.

Damian sat in a velvet chair by the window. Watching her spin.

The shop assistants looked at me and whispered behind their hands.

"Look at her face. You'd think she was picking out funeral clothes."

"She's the Don's mistress, I heard. The other one."

"A mistress? With a face like that?"

I kept my face blank. I'd had years of practice.

I walked to the rack and started sliding hangers.

Iris tried on dress after dress. Damian praised every single one.

Stunning. Perfect. Made for you.

Words he'd never once wasted on me.

She threw the fifth dress on the floor and turned to me with a pout.

"I'm tired. Selene, you try it on. Show me how it looks."

Before Damian could protest, I picked up the gown and walked into the fitting room.

When I pulled back the curtain, the room went

silent.

The dress was white. But on me, it was different.

The fabric clung to my body, and my body was a map of violence.

Black bruises up my arms. Three fresh bullet wounds on my left shoulder, still seeping red through the bandages.

A long, jagged scar across my right side where a knife had opened me up two years ago.

For three seconds, he looked at me the way he used to.

Then he blinked. And it was gone.

Iris backed away, hand over her mouth. "What is that? Damian, it's hideous. I'm going to be sick."

Damian's face went dark. "What the fuck are you standing there for? Cover yourself up."

I didn't move.

"Are you deaf?" He stood. His chair scraped against the marble.

"You're disgusting. Put your clothes back on."

I turned and walked back into the fitting room. The fabric pulled against my wounds.

It hurt. Everything hurt.

I peeled off the gown. Put on my own old clothes.

When I came out, Iris had already moved on to accessories.

She couldn't choose. Damian bought every dress in the boutique.

I picked up a small pink dress from the children's section. A gift for Luna — for when she woke up.

Iris snatched it out of my hand.

"Buying this?" She smiled. "For her grave present?"