Page 48 of Devil’s Promise

She hands me another plain tube top dress. I push off the sundress and pull up the tube top. I’ve already got a strapless bra on, so I just pull the dress over it, not bothering to take the bra off.

“Damn. You even make those little cotton things look good.”

I roll my eyes, then I write.

Yeah. I bet you wish you were me. Shoved in this apartment all day and marrying a guy who doesn’t even like me.

Candy shrugs. “I don’t know. My ex is such a piece of work, I’m hiding out here and working for peanuts in a whorehouse just to stay out of sight.”

Ah, crap.

Sorry, Candy. Didn’t mean to do that thing where I think I’ve got the worst story.

She sits me in a chair and pats my shoulder. “I totally get it. But around here, everyone’s got a shit story. And by the way, I don’t tell anyone mine, so can we keep what I said in a cone of silence?”

I raise my brows, before I point at my mouth and make the lock-and-throw-away-the-key motion.

She laughs. “Right. I bet everyone tells you their secrets.”

I shake my head, bringing up the pad.

I don’t know about that, but they do forget I’m there and then say the most personal things.

She starts foiling my hair, and I can tell just by the feel that she’s doing perfect sections that will be small enough to look natural. As she works, she talks, telling me about her ex, how she’s been at Angel’s club for the last three years and about how she’s fallen in love again.

That’s amazing!

She winces. “I’m not so sure. Vinnie’s so sweet with me, but he’s part of this life.” She drops her voice to a whisper close to my ear. “He’s the son of the biggest crime boss in the city, Vincent Morelli.”

I’ve heard of him. I think I’ve even met him. That’s the thing about politics, it brushes the shoulders of anyone with money.

I frown, my nose wrinkling. Some women just have terrible taste in men. If my attraction to Angel is any indication, I’m one of them. I have no idea if Candy is or isn’t, but I hope it works out for her, Candy is good people.

I reach for her hand, giving it a squeeze. She squeezes back as our eyes lock in the mirror. “Promise, do you think you’ll ever talk again?”

My mouth opens and closes, my jaw working. I haven’t thought about it. Holding in the words gives me control. Not just with my father or Angel.

It keeps the feelings bottled up too, that if let open, I’m not sure what would happen. I pick up the pad, the pen perched over the paper as I consider…

Maybe when I’m actually safe. But I don’t expect to live long enough for that to happen.

“Shit,” she whispers, before she checks one of the foils. “Time to rinse.”

I jerk my chin even as she squeezes my shoulder, not letting me up. “If you could do one thing before you die, what would it be?”

I know the answer, I’ve known it for the last year. It’s the reason I drag myself out of bed every day. But it’s not the kind of thing you write on a piece of paper.

A knock sounds on the door.

“It’s Gunner.”

“Come in,” Candy calls even as she leads me to the kitchen. I have to stand, tipping my head forward into the sink as she starts to pull the foils.

“Angel wants to see Promise as soon as you’re done.”

“Got it,” Candy answers. “It’ll be about twenty minutes to wash and blow out.”

We’re all business after that, Candy working quickly to shampoo my hair and then blow it out, styling it in soft waves.