There’s no question in my voice. Stefano hesitates. The skin bunches around his eyes, tightening, as he nods.
That… that was real, too, then. The last, final, horrific step of my marriage.
His hands skate across my skin, not quite touching as he backs up, giving me space.
My memories are jagged and scattered, a mixture of horrors both real and not. I turn to the mirror. Examine myself. “I don’t… I don’t remember much.”
But I remember that black canopy so fucking clearly.
“Probably for the best, right?” My voice only shakes a little.
Until it happens again. They’re not giving me any more ketamine, the dosage tipping me dangerously close to death. Next time, I’ll remember everything.
My fists clench. Not in anger, but – need. A sudden, desperate wish for the poison they gave me, formoreof it to take that possibility away.
It has me twisting away from the wild look on my face, back to Stefan with pleading eyes.
I don’t know what I’m asking for.
He steps into me, every move slow as he gives me time to move away. His arms slip around my back. Carefully.
“I’m going to fix this,” he murmurs. “I promise you.”
There is no fixing it. No changing it. But I don’t tell him that. I breathe him in, relishing in the feel of him here, safe and alive before I step back. “They’ll be looking for us.”
I’m surprised they’re not already.
“He’s with Cecile.” Dark eyes on my face.
Slowly, I nod. “Good.”
The noise of the party slams into me as we walk out. Everywhere I look, there’s people drinking, shouting, laughing,fucking.
Familiar faces catch my eye from every corner. The girls I have spent so many days with – a lot of them are here.
I keep moving, trying to find a quiet corner to stand as Stefano keeps pace, his arm keeping anyone from pushing into me. I scan the crowd—
My mouth opens. Forcing my legs to remain steady, I push past Stefano as I change direction, trying to pace my steps so it doesn’t attract attention.
We reach the bar, and I stop. Checking, to make sure I’m right.
“There’s a girl,” I mutter. “In a black dress. She has a… a scar on her face. Is she…,”
He knows what I mean as he scans the people waiting. His voice is gentle. “Real. She’s real.”
Oh, god.
My fingers twist together as I step up beside her. Stefano gives me a curious look. “You want a drink?”
I clear my throat. “Water, please.”
The person beside me stiffens. I tilt my head, just enough to take her in.
“What thehellare you doing here?” She stumbles at my furious hiss, a shocked noise slipping from her lips.
“I—,”
Frankie Costa. I want to throw my arms around her, this familiar face, but I hold myself back, focusing on the terror that she’s here in this hellhole. Again. “Did your father bring you back?”
