Page 17 of The Silent Note

“Now, I’ve been doing hair for years. You just listen to me and I’ll fix you right up?—”

“I said I don’t want my hair up, okay?” My voice trembles a bit and both Viola and the hairdresser stop.

My nostrils flare and even I’m a bit surprised by how emotional I’m getting.

“Grey…” Cadence says quietly. But her eyes aren’t on me. They’re on my temple where my scar is.

That’s when I realize I’d subconsciously touched my stitches.

I whip my hand down, but it’s too late. Embarrassed, I grumble, “Just do the top knot.”

“I can leave it down,” the hairdresser says gently.

“I’m fine,” I answer, defeated.

The air in the room turns chilly and the ladies tiptoe around me like I’m fragile glass.

Maybe I am.

Maybe I’m too broken to be put together again.

“Don’t be such a cry baby.”

I look up and Sloane’s there, leaning against the wall across from me. Her mouth is twisted into a mischievous smile.

“This is your moment. Your wedding day! Enjoy it.”

Enjoy what?

Getting to meet Slavno after so many years?

Right after his conviction, I staked out the prison, the courthouse and anyone who would listen, hoping for a meeting with the psycho.

I’ve been so desperate, Jarod Cross was able to dangle Slavno in front of me like a carrot, but he didn’t deliver. Zane might not either. Everything’s a risk. I’ll celebrate when I’m finally sitting across from Sloane’s murderer.

Activities whirl around me. I go numb until the preparations are complete. Everyone in the room showers me with compliments, but all I can see when I look in Viola’s LED makeup mirror is a woman who’s truly crossed every line she can.

It’ll be worth it when this is all over.

Shakily, I lift my hand and touch my stitches. It’s a constant reminder of the threat I’m up against and how small I feel compared to the monsters I’m hunting. It’s a constant reminder that I might end up in the ground next to Sloane if I’m not careful.

Cadence hands me a bouquet of flowers and we start our trek down the hallway.

“You should smile,” Viola teases, pointing to her own pink lips. “It’s your wedding day, not a prison sentence.”

I stare numbly at her.

Slowly, her grin dims and she glances away.

Nurses and patients alike stop and stare at me. A few of them start clapping as if I’m some kind of hero.

You’re all wrong. I’m a sell-out and I’m getting married to the prince of hell.

Nerves twist in my stomach, but I keep moving, emptying my mind of everything but two words.

For Sloane.

For Sloane.

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