Stupid, emotional, dramatic stepdaughter. That’s what she thinks of me. If I get too near, her house of cards starts shaking.
Abi checks herself in the mirror, smooths her dress, and types.
No, I’m not worried about Talon. He’s a boy. He sulks, he acts out, and then he gets distracted. He always has. It’s the girl I am watching.
She means me.
My grip on the divider slips, and I catch myself just before I topple to the floor in my fitting room. The motion makes the wall creak.
“Hello?” Abi calls.
I let go and hop down from the bench, heart slamming. I stare at my reflection, face flushed, eyes too wide. The satin dress looks wrong now, like it belongs on some other girl in some other life where her almost stepmother is not texting possible accomplices about men she may or may not have killed.
I press my palms to the cool mirror.
Abi killed her husband.
The thought is a whisper at first, then a roar. She killed Todd. Or she watched it happen and helped cover it. And Minxy saw enough to put names to it.
My dad is going to marry her.
The room tilts.
There’s a rustle outside my door, and I scramble to rearrange my face and slip into the other dress before I yank it open. Abi stands there, champagne in hand, smile back in place, color mostly returned to her cheeks.
“Are you alright in there?” she asks. “You took a while.”
“I’m fine,” I say. My voice barely wobbles. I count that as a win. “Zipper is being a little stubborn.”
She laughs. “That’s what Lila is for. Step out and let us see.”
I do.
Lila swoops in, all focused on kindness and pins. “How’s the fit?”
“It’s good,” I say.
Abi circles me, eyes skimming over every detail.
“You look beautiful,” she says. “Chad will be so proud to have you up there with him.”
My throat tightens. “He’s the only reason I’m willing to stand at all.”
She smiles like that is sweet rather than a warning. “Family is about sacrifice, darling. We do what we must to keep the people we love safe and happy.”
Safe.
“I know,” I say quietly. “I’m learning that.”
She pats my arm. “You’ll thank me one day.”
Over my dead body.
Lila hands me a small card with a date and time. “Final fitting next week. We’ll have the hem finished, and the seams set by then.”
“Great,” I say, tucking it into my bag. “Looking forward to it.”
I’m not. At all.
