Not really. I started wondering what it would feel like tomeanit. To look at someone and want the vow tobleed.
For the pure possession of it.
“Imagine explaining it,” I stared at the scar no my hand “When she asks—what’s the wedding day look like?”
“You mean the part where we slice her dress open in front of our dynasty?”
“Yeah,” I said, laughing under my breath. “That part.”
He raised his brows. “She’ll love that.”
“Oh,definitely.Just thrilled that we’re cutting a dress off her just after our extended family stands in a circle bleeding on her.”
Vince scoffed. “Saves on alterations.”
“And then,” I went on, lifting my hands as if framing the pitch, “after the ink dries on her back. What does she get? Not a ring. Not even a gold bracelet. No?—”
“A fucking collar,” Vince finished. “During the lock-in.”
“Which,” I said, pointing a chopstick at him, “is also when she gets tattooed again. On her thigh. Withourblood mixed in.”
“Romantic as fuck.”
“Literal blood, Vince.”
He smirked. “Bonding.”
“Branding.”
“Same thing in our family.”
“No wonder people think we have tostealbrides,” I said.
“That’s propaganda,” Vince muttered.
“Is it?”
He looked at me.
“I mean, seriously,” I went on. “Imagine you’re some dynasty girl. Sweet. Used to gala announcements and press releases. Some asshole Crow shows up and says, Hi, you don’t get a wedding band—you get a collar. You don’t get a bridal suite—you get a lock-in. That ends when I say. And oh, by the way? Your body is now a dynasty record.”
“We’re traditional,” Vince offered.
“We’re unhinged.”
“We’re effective.”
“Andunhinged.”
Vince tapped a rhythm on the table with the edge of his fork—just once, like his mind had gone somewhere else.
“You ever think we’d get married?” I asked.
He looked over. “You mean us personally, or our generation?”
“Both.”
He scoffed. “Rome’s allergic to commitment. The twins are still pretending they don’t remember the girl they’ve been obsessed with since the Academy.”
