She shook her head with a wry smile, braids whipping around her waist. “I like you, Quentin. I hope they don’t kill you.”
My smile fell at the blunt reminder. “At least I get a party before I die.”
The conversation sunk away under the weight of reality. It was laughable that while a death sentence hung over me, I was the guest of honour at the most extravagant party I would ever attend.
How did Archer expect me to enjoy this?
The simplest answer and the only one I could deduce was that he didn’t. This wasn’t entirely for my benefit, but something that aided him in whatever secrets he was keeping.
I slipped into a pair of gold heels with Dionne’s help, wobbling slightly as I towered beyond what was comfortable. As I stepped into the dress, she pulled it up around my body.
“I look ridiculous,” I said, staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror.
The bodice of the dress hugged my torso, slimming my waist, while my legs were hidden beneath layers of tulle. Colour of choice for the evening was gold, but vines of forest green crept along the corset—a nod to the host.
But it looked wrong.
A colour shouldn’t have unsettled me so deeply, but a faint voice rang through my mind.
I wanted them to know you belonged to me.
“He’s going for alost princess returning homevibe,” Dionne said, barely containing her laughter.
“I’m not a doll,” I snapped. “He doesn’t get to play dress up with me.”
A soft knock on the door forced me to turn my head, and I scowled at Archer as he leant against the frame. His slender figure was draped in my colour. A gold shirt and tie were hidden beneath the golden suit. I peeked at his shoes and even his loafers honoured my aura. Archer could have been placed in a cabinet amongst other trophies for how good he looked in gold.
“Dionne, get ready and join the party,” he told her, eyes never leaving me.
“I haven’t started on her hair,” Dionne argued.
“She’s perfect as she is.” His gaze travelled down my body, and my arms wrapped around my middle.
“I’ll see you down there,” she said to me, squeezing my bicep.
Dionne slipped past him out of the room, and Archer sloped in, walking up to me.
“If you dislike the dress so much,” he said, “you could always turn up to the party naked.” When I didn’t laugh or comment, he sighed. “Come on, Quentin. This is a celebration. You haven’t even said thank you. This ball is to honour you.”
“Thanks for finding a sure-fire way to get me killed,” I said, stilted and cold.
“Angel,” he murmured. “We’re friends, but you’re behaving as if we’re strangers.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“But you trust the elite?”
“No.”
“Grayson?”
“No.”
“Sweet, innocent Erik?”
“I don’t trust any of you.”
There was some truth behind those words. It was difficult to trust them when I didn’t know what they were doing. And yet, I still trusted them more than I did Archer.
