Page 130 of Sadistic

"I'll be there tomorrow," I say finally.

He can't hide the relief in his voice. "You will?"

"We have things to discuss. Decisions to make. About how this marriage actually works."

"Whatever you need."

"I need a partner, Doran. Arealpartner. Someone who makes decisions with me, not for me."

"I know. I'm trying to learn that."

"Try harder."

"I will," he promises. "Revna, I?—"

"Tomorrow," I interrupt. "Whatever you're going to say, save it for tomorrow."

"Okay. Tomorrow."

I hang up.

Mom's still beside me, quiet support in the darkness. "You're really going through with it," she says.

"Yeah. I think I am."

"Then let's go inside. You need sleep, and I need to frost those cinnamon rolls." She stands, offers me her hand. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

Back inside, the kitchen is warm and smells like cinnamon and sugar.

Dalla's eating directly from Mom's latest batch of cookies.

Dad and his men have disappeared to wherever they go to debrief after violence.

"These are excellent," she tells Mom. "You could sell them at the spa, or offer them with certain packages."

"Just stress baking," Mom mumbles, but she looks pleased.

"The wedding shoes." Dalla points to the box on the table. "Dad brought them in. Said Greer had them delivered earlier, didn't want them to get lost in tomorrow's chaos."

I open the box.

The shoes are perfect—elegant heels that match the dress, not too high, with delicate straps that will look beautiful but won't kill my feet.

A small card is tucked inside:

For my daughter-in-law. Walk tall tomorrow.

- Greer

"She thinks of everything," Mom murmurs, admiring them.

"Yeah." I touch the delicate straps. "She does."

"Try them on," Dalla suggests. "If we're doing this, might as well make sure they fit."

I slip them on.

They fit perfectly, because of course they do.

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