Page 1 of Her Ruin

CHAPTER1

ISLA

Lilies werethe flower of the devil.

I was sure they weren’t. They were probably the flower or symbol of some ancient Greek god, but to me—someone with an allergy problem—they were the flower of Satan.

“Isla, do you think pink with white or white with pink?” Sienna asked, holding up two stems of the offending devil flowers.

They both looked the same—allergy-inducing weapons of demons. “Sure.”

Sienna narrowed her eyes at me. “Sure?”

That look. I knew it well—the one that said she was moments away from screeching if I didn’t look like I cared.

“Sure?” she said again, her tone sharpening.

“Sure, I like the white with pink,” I lied smoothly. “Don’t you?”

Her gaze lingered suspiciously for a second longer before she turned back to the florist with a radiant smile. “White with pink.”

They resumed their conversation about bouquets while I edged closer to the door. Fresh air was my lifeline in that cramped florist shop packed with floral landmines. My throat felt tight, and I could practically feel every petal plotting against my sinuses.

Pushing the door open, I stepped outside, the bells jingling above me as I escaped. Leaning against the cool brick wall of the shop and trying to shake off the tickle in my nose, I gulped in the crisp air like I’d been underwater for too long.

“You ditched me,” Sienna called out a few minutes later as she joined me, her arms overflowing with brochures about centerpieces and table arrangements.

“Allergies,” I said, gesturing to my nose as I pushed off the wall. “Plus, you didn’t tell me you were turning into Bridezilla.”

“I amnotBridezilla,” she protested, swatting at my arm playfully. “I thought you, of all people, would appreciate my efficiency.”

“I do appreciate efficiency,” I admitted with a small smile. “But I also appreciate diplomacy. So far, you’ve interrogated three florists, held a hostage situation over linen colors, and made a baker cry. Efficient isn’t exactly the first word that comes to mind.”

Sienna’s laugh echoed down the sidewalk, bright and carefree. “The baker deserved it! He couldn’t tell me the difference between buttercream and fondant. Who doesn’t know the difference?”

“Then why ask him?” I teased, but I couldn’t stop the grin tugging at my lips. For all her chaos, Sienna was still one of my closest friends—and I knew how much her wedding meant to her. She was adamant she was only doing itonce, so she was doing itright.

Looping her arm through mine, she smiled up at me, her voice light. “Okay, Miss This-Isn’t-How-I-Work, what’s next?”

“Work,” I deadpanned, glancing at my watch. “I have a meeting in twenty minutes. I don’t think I’m cut out for weddings anymore.”

Sienna wasn’t offended. She knew me too well. “Well, you did plan a gazillion weddings when you started your career,” she said sympathetically. “But...you don’t get to ditch me. You’re a bridesmaid. And as a bridesmaid, you have to do all the stuff.”

“That’s the maid of honor’s job,” I reminded her.

“My sister is a she-demon.”

I snorted a laugh. “She is not a she-demon. You just want to call me constantly because I’m an event planner.”

“As I said, I’m efficient and utilizing my resources.”

“Or what my grandmother would call a chancer,” I said, watching her frown in confusion. “It means you push your luck when you know you shouldn’t.”

The faint headache I’d been ignoring started to throb at my temples, probably a leftover from the florist shop’s pollen haze. Sienna noticed and gave me a knowing look.

“You need a break, Isla. You work all the time, and it’s at all hours.”

“I’m an event planner,” I reminded her. “Irregular hours come with the territory.”

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