I turned my head just enough for her to hear me. “Who?”
“You’ll have to leave this bedroom to find out.”
After she left, Alice wrapped my finger in a bandage to stop the bleeding. We didn’t say another word to each other as I picked up an antique hand mirror and glanced at my reflection. My half-braided hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, wayward strands not obscuring my distant gaze.
Two dead eyes on a pretty face.
How long would it take for this feeling to fade?
The stairs werecold beneath my bare feet. Garland wrapped around the banister, and mistletoe dangled from the chandelier in the foyer. Wreaths made of greenery and berries hung on every door in the manor. And at the bottom of the stairs, Fable and Ivy were shrugging out of their coats.
They turned when they heard my hollowed steps, pushing hopeful smiles with sorrow curving the rims of their eyes—not sadness for me but sadness from being apart for too long. Living with them for twenty-two years made me know the difference.
Once my feet touched the bottom of the stairs, they threw their arms around me.
An aroma ofhomesurrounded the three of us, causing me to burst into tears.
Almost three weeks had passed since I’d seen either one of them.
My emotions finally had a safe place to be.
When they realized my strange reaction, they squeezed me tighter.
Ivy stroked the back of my head. “Adora, what’s wrong?”
I shoved my head into the curve of her neck, shaking it. “I’m—” I sucked in a breath, a flare of him striking my chest. I greedily shoved him back down. “I’m just so happy to see you both.”
When the three of us finally broke apart, Fable and Ivy exchanged worried glances. Then Fable leaned in and looked deeply into my eyes with worry. “Are they treating you okay?”
Before I could answer her, Ivy grabbed my arm. “What happened to your hand?”
I blotted the corner of my eye with a convincing smile. “How embarrassing.” I tried to wave it off so they would stop worrying. “I just hurt myself on the sewing machine, is all. I promise they’re treating me just fine.”
Viola clapped her hands lightly, interrupting us. “When everyone is ready, I have tea and finger foods in the conservatory. It would be great if we could continue the conversation there.”
“Ooh, the conservatory,” Fable whispered with mocking eyes.
The conservatory was fashioned from Gothic exoticism with a Saturnalia touch. Wreaths adorned the grand arched paned windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. Black lanterns hung from above, flowerless vines wrapping around them. And a twelve-foot-long, weathered wooden table hosted tea and charcuterie on one side of it. On the other side of the table was a stack of binders, fabric samples, and everything one would need to paint an elegant wedding.
Viola had ambushed me and used my sisters to drag me out of the bedroom.
“Viola, it seems you’ve kept yourself busy,” I muttered after stepping further into the room. In the corner, Camora sat in a wingback chair with a full plate of cheese, crackers, and a plop of jam balancing on her lap.
Just outside the paned windows, Cyrus was standing in the garden, wearing a black blazer over his sweater; hair in midnight disarray and not fingered back in his usual formal style. I’d caught him admiring his stone sculpture in front of a naked bush. Or criticizing it. He had one hand in his pocket, and the other flicked ashes from his cigarette that hung lazily from his fingertips. When he heard the commotion coming from the conservatory, he glanced over at me until our gazes locked, then brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply.
He was my fiancé. My soon-to-be husband.
Maybe I could feel things for him if I tried.
Cyrus was everything one could want—handsome, respectable, artistic, and talented. It may have been possible for Cyrus and I to enjoy a fairytale life together if my sister wasn’t in love with him, if I didn’t plan to kill his best friend, if it wasn’t for Stone.
“Camora, small portions, remember? You have a dress to fit into,” Viola scolded in a whisper.
Camora shoved a cheese-filled cracker into her mouth and rolled her eyes.
“That’s the great thing about having me here,” I said to water down the tension in the room. “I can always make last-minute alterations if I need to—” Camora glared at me and slowly shook her head. “Though, maybe I shouldn’t make promises I can’t keep.” And Camora seemed relieved with my hurried save, then went back to finishing her plate.
We’d spent at least an hour catching up, snacking between subjects, and listening to Viola ramble about color schemes, centerpieces, and dinner options. I needed this distraction. At one point, an entire minute had passed when I hadn’t thought abouthimat all.
