I look between the three of them. "He sent for you."
"He did," confirms Rae. "He said you'd be marrying into the family and you didn't have anyone here. And that you might need…" She trails off, glancing at the others.
"He said you might need women who understand," Cass finishes gently.
I don't say anything. My throat is tight and hot.
"Anyway," Cass continues, clapping her hands together, "there are dresses to be chosen. Lukas had them brought in and he… Well, he's never done anything halfway in his entire life, so there are a lot to choose from. There's also champagne, which I personally consider non-negotiable. So. Girls' day! Whether you like it or not."
The dresses are in a room I've never been in, which doesn't narrow it down much in a house this size. At least three dozen of them hang on a rolling rack, white and ivory and champagne and every color in between, sheaths and ballgowns and contraptions that don't yet have a name. Someone has set out a tray of pastries and a bottle of Dom Pérignon, sweating in a silver ice bucket.
"This is absurd," I say.
Jillian laughs as she pops the cork with a practiced thumb. "You should see his birthday parties."
She pours four glasses. Cass hands me one.
Then, at their urging, I try on a dress. Then another. Then another. Cass zips and unzips, Rae adjusts straps, Jillian gives blunt verdicts—"no," "absolutely not," "your boobs are doing something weird in that one." It's strange, warm, and against all odds, almost normal. For a little while, I forget why I'm here.
Then I catch myself in the mirror in the fourth dress—a simple ivory silk thing that skims down my hips—and I see my own face.
Just like that, the forgetting stops.
"That's the one," Rae says softly.
"What if I don't want it to be the one?" I whisper.
I sit down on the little velvet bench in front of the mirror, still in the dress, and I put my face in my hands.
"Okay," Cass declares. "Out. Both of you. Go drink the rest of the champagne somewhere else."
"Cass—" Rae starts.
"Go."
They go. Cass sits down next to me on the bench. She doesn't say anything for a while. She just sits there, and somehow, that's exactly right, because Cass has always been a woman who knows when to talk and when not to.
"He pulled my father into it," I finally say. "Did Lukas tell you?"
"Lukas doesn't tell anyone anything," Cass laughs. "But I figured something happened, and I kinda figured it was pretty bad. You've got a face like a kicked dog. No offense."
"None taken." I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. "Afon told me the whole story, the thing I went up that mountain to find out." I take a shaky inhale. "The short version is that my dad was a good man—and then Afon dragged him into the Bratva's world. The way he put it, once you're in, you don't get out. So my dad slid in deeper and deeper. And that's why my parents are dead. Because of him."
Cass breathes softly at my side. She's looking at me in the mirror, her dark eyes steady.
"Can you believe I fell for him?" I whisper. "Or at least, I thought I did. But what am I supposed to do with all that now?" I look down at the gauzy white fabric draped over my lap and laughmiserably. "Marry him, I guess. That's so funny. The thing I wanted so badly for a minute there is now the absolute worst thing that could happen to either of us."
Cass doesn't gasp. She doesn't tell me it's terrible, or that it's fine, or any of the things people usually say. She just nods slowly.
"Can I tell you something?" she says after a while.
"Fire away," I say with another sickened laugh. "It's not like I have anywhere else to be."
"I married the man who killed my sister."
I turn to look at her in horror. I know bits and pieces of her story, but truth be told, I've been kind of absorbed with my parents' deaths over the last year. "What?"
"Raymond. You remember him, I'm sure. He and your father were the lead partners at the law firm." Her jaw is set tight, eyes shining with ferocity. "I'll spare you the gory details for now, because this isn't about me, but in short, he killed Giana, my older sister. And I married him. On purpose. Eyes open, as you'd say." She picks at the hem of her sleeve. "So you don't have to explain the feeling to me. The thing where you want something and it disgusts you at the same time and you can't tell which one is real."
