Page 22 of Point of No Return

We both know the shop isn’t. Neither is anywhere else. But my mother was insistent that we get the dress here… and Eva Orlova always gets what she wants. My mother ignores Liv’s comment, glaring holes through the tailor’s head instead. But I smile at Liv in the mirror.

I like her.

“Done,” the poor girl stands. “I’ll have the alterations finished before the big day.”

“Very good,” my mother says, and before she can comment on my weight- or anything else- I step off the pedestal and climb into the changing room.

The dress falls to the floor in a sigh of fabric, and I step out of it carefully. The dress I trade it for is long and electric blue with sleeves that cover my tattoos and shoulder. At least, I don’t have to worry about Moma’s comments on the matter tonight.

On the first floor of the shop, everyone’s waiting when I come down. Skar and Aleks are both standing in a circle around my mother and Liv.

Aleks beams when he sees me, stepping forward to kiss both my cheeks. “My brother’s a lucky man if you look even half as beautiful on your wedding day.”

I laugh, shoving him away lightly. “You’re shameless.”

He shrugs, and I watch as his eyes drift to Liv, looking her over from head to toe. Though he’s two inches shorter than her and likely years younger, he winks. “I call it when I see it.”

Liv flushes bright red, and I look at my fiancé. Dark and brooding as ever, wearing his usual suit, but he has an easy expression on his face. His dark hair isn’t swept back, and instead, strands dangle over his forehead, shadowing his light eyes.

It’s all an act, I remind myself as I stroll up to him. He brushes a kiss across either of my cheeks, and his scent hits me in a wave. His cologne is nothing like his father’s piney aftershave. His scent is dark, soft, subtle.

“Where are we going for lunch?” I whisper, pulling back.

“Already taken care of,” he mutters back, pocketing the phone he’d been checking emails on.

When we step out of the shop, the buttery smells from the nearby bakery waft toward us. A light breeze tugs at the braid in my hair, and my dress twirls around me as we walk toward the black SUV already parked at the curb.

The restaurant, a fancy bistro overlooking the Drumstone river, is only a few miles drive through Sutton. The city is a midway point between Viserion and my parent’s home, and the drive is fairly quick. It only takes fifteen minutes before we’re seated on the second floor at a private booth where the wind coming from the awning windows is rather mild.

Candles at the booths flicker near-silently as we take our seats. I sit across from Skar, and though Liv moves in next, my mother inserts herself first, sliding into the spot beside me. Skar notes the movement but says nothing, busying himself by reading over the menu.

“So,” Eva begins, and I gulp down a few sips of water as she slowly tugs her gloves off and sets them across her lap. “Olivia, what do we have left before the wedding?”

I want to slam my head against the table. We spent the entire morning with wedding talk, and I’m thoroughly burnt out, but I opt for looking down at my menu as well.

“We still have to finish planning the rehearsal dinner as well as finalizing the ceremony outline. Oh,” Liv chuckles as she remembers something. “I forgot to ask about the bridal party. I noticed no one came to the dress fitting today but-”

“That’s because there isn’t one,” Eva says as someone drops by to take our orders.

As if there would be.

Liv’s face is blank, pale at the dismissal, but she starts up again. It’s enough of a distraction that no one comments on the abruptness of the response. I’m uncomfortably aware of the fact that my mother reaches a hand beneath the table, discreetly sliding something small into my lap.

I don’t react, don’t show any indication that my mother has done anything at all. My eyes wander over the table, scanning everyone’s expression as they listen.

Aleks already has a drink in-hand despite being underaged, and his face is glazed over and uninterested, but Skar… he looks directly at my mother. Curiosity and something else- something harsher- is clear on his face.

“I know there are some traditional Prevyain ceremonies. And I’d be happy to incorporate them somehow,” Liv offers my way, but it’s at that precise moment that Tyson Benenati appears at the end of the table.

“Eva and I already discussed the fact that we will honor Westlan traditions. The way of every Benenati.”

It’s not that I’m surprised, but the idea of everything Prevyain being lost makes me feel queasy. Every last inch of who I am is slowly being wrung out, changed, gutted.

Skar’s still looking at my mother, but his attention slides to his father who motions for someone to pull out his chair.

“How’s my bride?” Tyson greets, but his voice holds no friendliness. Only arrogance. Ownership. A muscle in Skar’s jaw ticks, and he downs a sip of his drink.

“You know,” I smile, leaning back. “Enjoying what little time I have in the city.”

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