Downplaying my nerves, I curl my lips into a haughty smile. “You love me.”
“So much. You’re my Atlas.”
I tug her closer, erasing every molecule of air between us. “That’s good, because I’m so in love with you that I was seriously considering chaining you to my bed.”
“We’ll back-pocket that.” She entwines her arms behind my neck. “But I do have one more request. It’s kind of a nonnegotiable.”
“Go ahead,” I order, tamping down my excitement until I’m assured that she’s not going to break me.
“Can I be your date tonight?”
“You want to be my date tonight?” I sweep her off the ground, palming her head and seizing her lips. It doesn’t matter that Itasted her this morning. That felt like a goodbye, and this is … everything. “Let’s start with being my date forever.”
“I’ll speak my hospitable poet’s language.Forever is composed of Nows,” she says, quoting Emily Dickinson.
My brilliant Thorn.
Nothing could be more fitting. No matter what the future holds, the present is ours.
ZARA
“Nyet. Vso koncheno. Vso sdelano.” No. It is finished. It is done.
Adorned in satin on what should be the happiest day of my life and spitting Russian at my irate father, I can’t catch my breath, can’t rein in my emotions. I didn’t expect him and Tripp to show up, but their reaction and the ultimatums they’ve issued this past week have been beyond what I’d fretted about.
“There’s nothing left to say then, angel. You’ll do what you must. As will I. One stone.” He pauses, probably lamenting how our use of that symbol, that tool, that conviction has been shredded until it’s nothing but the dust and ashes of our end. But still, he extends his send-off. “Never say die.”
And I hate him so much right now. I hate him for every word he spoke in this conversation, every utterance that should have been an extension of love and pride because he has the burden of fulfilling the shoes of two parents. Instead, he simply chose the rebuke and injunction of a commander. So, I treat him as such.
“Nikogda ne sdavaysya.”Never say die.
My tribulation manifests in a Hulk-like strength. I toss my burner onto a desk forcefully enough that the plastic shellcracks, and of course that’s the precise moment that I sense a presence. Spinning, I find Rena staring at me. She’s cute, youthful but perceptive. Blonde hair with pink streaks, a nose and eyebrow piercing, edgy style, and a bright aura.
Axel called her the night of the Prohibition Ball to introduce me and tell her we were getting married in a few days. I asked her to be one of my bridesmaids, along with Mercy and Tessa, and she squealed, so overjoyed for the man she considered a father to marry someone four years older than her. It turns out, her husband is eight years her senior, so she’d be a hypocrite to judge.
Her excitement has evidently waned though. She’s scrutinizing me from the doorway of her old bedroom, which is set up as my wedding preparation area. But I don’t think my being in here is the issue.
“Everything okay?” she asks, sweet and suspicious. She was eavesdropping.
“Everything is wonderful.” The quaver ushering those words screamslie, so I recalibrate. “Other than my family’s opinions of current events.”
She blows out a heavy breath and shuts the door. “I got married without my brothers’ knowledge, so you can imagine how that went down.”
A shocked scoff flees from my lungs. “I’m not sure I can since everyone lived to tell about it.”
“Exactly.” She rushes over and tugs me into a straitjacket hug. “You look beautiful. Axel is so in love with you. I wish your family could see that.”
Me too, but it still wouldn’t solve everything.
My chest rumbles against hers, and my eyes and nose burn. “Let’s not do this. I need to forget about them today.”
She nods, but doesn’t let go. “Okay, but from one girl who lost her mom far too young to another, it’s okay to have mixed feelings about this.”
That is my breaking point. I sob in her arms, like a damn child, until my makeup is a disaster and I can’t stand up. Until Mercy and Tessa storm in and curl around me on the floor. Until I feel weak and embarrassed and Amy has to perform emergency surgery on the gown because the train is wrinkled, my mascara assaulted it, and I popped a button on the corset as I was trying to extract myself from it.
But then I pull myself together, and once I’m in a T-shirt and shorts, awaiting the fixes on my dress, they guide me to peek at Axel. He’s dashing in his tux, just like he was the night of the Prohibition Ball, though this one is a more modern cut with a long black tie.
But today, he’s tossing his niece and nephew—or pseudo-grandchildren—Lyric and Lennon, who keep shrieking, “Pap-paw.” Each of them giggles and bounces for more.
