Page 59 of The Revenge

“She’s tired,” William says. “Why don’t you let your fiancée get some sleep, son? We should talk anyway.”

There’s something about the way Syn’s father is looking at his son that leaves me feeling uneasy. I know the last thing I should worry about is Syn, especially when he’s with his own father, but I find myself taking Syn’s hand.

“Can’t you talk tomorrow?” I ask him. “Come to bed with me.”

Syn looks down at me. For just a moment, something changes, and I see a glimmer of something… a softness, almost.

But then, it’s gone.

“Synclair?” William says.

“I’ll be up soon, darling.” He deftly moves us like we’re dancing, and then suddenly, I’m on the other side of a closed door.

XXIII

Tori

Itried to stay awake and wait for Syn, but if he did return at all, it was long after I’d fallen asleep. I’d crawled into the bed and even sat up with the lamp on, going back and forth as to whether I wanted him to sleep on the couch, or if I felt bad enough to let him sleep in bed with me.

When I woke in the morning, the lamp was still on, and the other side of the bed looked undisturbed. Syn walked in shortly after, dressed in different clothes than the night before, following in one of the maids, who was wheeling in breakfast.

The most conversation we had was him telling me to eat. By the time I finished eating, the first of a stream of people walked into the room.

A masseuse, who spent a long time focused on a knot in my shoulders.

A woman who gave me a foot massage before giving me a manicure and pedicure.

A hair stylist who came prepared to take the blue out of my hair but left only after deepening the color before he styled it with curls.

Another man appeared before the stylist had finished and waited patiently before sitting me down in front of the dressing table and doing my makeup.

And then came the woman with two assistants and four racks of evening gowns.

All the while, Syn sat in the corner, watching in silence. He didn’t even object when I told the hair stylist that I wanted to keep the color.

After the previous night, I was expecting him to watch me dress, but while I went into the dressing room to change, he took some clothes and went into the bathroom to shower.

The dress I’ve chosen is beautiful, though it’s fair to say, all the dresses brought to the room were. Dozens of different fabrics and styles, but all black to fit theBlack-Tietheme. The one I’ve settled on has thick straps and a back that dips lower than the neckline. There are thousands of silver sequins swirling around the waist and reaching up from the bottom of the skirt that pools around my feet.

Standing in front of the mirror, I stare at my reflection. I look like the princesses I’ve been treated like today. I’ve tried to allow myself to enjoy the experience, but I’ve felt on edge the entire time.

Tonight, one way or another, this will all be over.

Behind me, Syn clears his throat, and as I turn to face him, his eyes widen. “You look…”

I let out a long sigh. I look good, and I know I do. Given the reaction I got from him last night, I think it’s fair to say that while Syn doesn’t like me, he clearly doesn’t think I’m unattractive. “Don’t hurt yourself,” I mutter.

“Huh?”

“What do you want, Syn?” I ask him, irritably.

Syn walks over, and I realize he has a box in his hands—a box that can’t be mistaken for anything other than the type that contains jewelry. He opens it in front of me. Inside is a diamond necklace with a matching set of earrings. “This event is full of people whose collective net worth is greater than that of somecountries. After last night, I thought you might like something to hide the mark on your neck, but I thought that you might find it too difficult to wear that style of necklace. The chain on this is long, thin, and will break easily—though I hope you won’t find yourself in a position where you need to do that.”

The issue should be that he’s presenting me with yet another expensive bribe, but it’s not.

My hand moves to my throat in an automatic movement. The visual evidence, hidden beneath makeup, doesn’t hurt anymore. Even the soreness in my throat has finally gone. Yet, somehow, the idea of putting that necklace—oranything—makes it suddenly feel like the air I’m breathing is being restricted.

“I can’t wear that,” I manage to whisper.

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