Chapter 4

I shove the notebook under the blanket. Too late. He saw it.

Dazon scoffs.

"Still scribbling that whiny little diary of yours?"

He brushes past me, scoops Chloe's broken bracelet off the floor, and heads for the door.

"Oh. Tomorrow. Take Chloe wedding dress shopping. You've got experience with that kind of thing. Help her pick something good."

The way he says it, casual, like he's asking me to grab milk. I almost laugh.

Three months ago I told him I wanted to try on dresses. He gave me twelve reasons why we couldn't.

I don't say anything. I just nod.

The boutique is all champagne and giggling girls.

Except me.

The salesgirls are huddled by the register, whispering.

"God, what's her problem? Looks like somebody died."

"Oh, you didn't hear? That's the side piece. Real fiancée's the blonde."

"Shut up. No way."

"Swear to God."

"Ew. Look at her. He picked that?"

I keep my head down and slide hangers along the rack.

Same dresses I looked at three months ago. Back when I was the one trying them on. Back when he found a new excuse every weekend not to come with me.

Funny how nothing in this store has changed. And everything else has.

Chloe tries on dress after dress. Damon doesn't take his eyes off her. Runs through every adjective in the dictionary praising her.

She still pouts. Throws the latest gown on the floor. Looks at me.

"Selene, you do it for me. I'm tired."

Before Damon can stop her, I grab a dress and walk into the dressing room.

He freezes.

I zip up the gown. I pull back the curtain.

The look on his face flips from anticipation to disgust in half a second.

The dress is strapless. My skin is a roadmap. Bruises layered on top of bruises. Three deep stitched-up gashes on my left shoulder, still seeping pink through the satin.

A jagged scar curling from my ribs down to my hip where I caught a knee in a death match last spring.

The whole boutique sucks in a breath.

Chloe stumbles back. Slaps both hands over her mouth.

"Damon, oh my God! What is that? That's so gross, get it away from me!"

His face goes black.

"What are you standing there for? Put it back on."

"You're embarrassing yourself. You're embarrassing me."

Strangers stare. Salesgirls stare. I peel the dress off in front of all of them.

The fabric drags across an open stitch. I bite the inside of my cheek.

Every punch I ever ate for this man, every break, every busted joint, it's all coming back at once. Seven years late.

In the end Chloe still can't pick. Damon waves a hand and buys all of them.

I grab a small pink dress off the children's rack. Something soft. Something a little girl would love.

A get-well present. For when Nina wakes up.

She must be so scared.

A laugh behind me. Mean and high.

Chloe rips the dress out of my hands.

"Aww. You buying this to bury her in?"