"Keep the necklace, Ness."
I walked out, but I didn't go back to the party. I drove around aimlessly instead, the gold locket—and my pride—feeling like lead in my chest.
Later, Morgan told me she found the locket sitting on the window sill. Right on the spot where I’d first kissed her. It was a message, loud and clear.
She didn’t want it or me.
fifteen
VANESSA
I had been sketchinglike a madwoman.
I never started a line with a gown; I started with a theme. Once I had the vision, the rest fell into place. The gown I was sketching now was one Ineededto draw. It had been nagging at me since Morgan’s dress fitting—the bare-bones design I’d first scribbled in Elliott’s car. I couldn’t get it out of my head. And honestly? I was in love with it. I figured if I returned to designingsomething that excited me, the rest would follow. So far, the plan was working.
“Hey.”
The soft voice made me jump, and my heart leapt into my throat. My hands flew to my chest, nearly knocking my iPad over.
“Jesus, you scared me.” My hand stayed over my heart as if I could hold it in place, keeping it from pounding right out of its cage. That was the thing about working in silence—any noise felt like a small heart attack.
Inspiration had been hitting me at all hours, sometimes in the dead of night. I had already designed seven gowns and landed on my theme:The Great Gatsby. Old Hollywood glamour. It felt perfect. I knew in my bones this was the best work of my career.
Before I realized it, Elliott was standing in the doorway, staring at the chaos around me—sketches pinned to mannequins, spread across the desk, covering the floor.
“Ness, these are… wow.”
He didn’t know it, but that was the best compliment he could have possibly given me. My chest tightened at the thought. He paused at the mannequin plastered with my random doodles, and then something soft and warm dropped into my lap.
Steve. Stealthy like a panther.
“Does he just follow you around the house all day?” I asked, scratching the dog’s head.
“Yeah. He’s my biggest fan,” Elliott said. He said it casually, but it melted a piece of my icy heart. We really didn’t deserve dogs. “It’s a shame you don’t draw people, because some of these are good.”
Some?Please. They were all amazing.
When I needed a break from dresses, I drew what I loved: my family, my parents’ house, the sky, hearts. And, okay—sometimes Elliott. Usually in devil’s garb. In one sketch, he was holding a pitchfork with a wicked grin and horns. In another, he had a forked tail. My personal favorite was Devil-centaur Elliott, his forehead distorted, other centaurs laughing at him in the background.
I watched his body language carefully as he flipped through them. If he was offended, he didn’t show it. When he got to the one of himself in a literal dumpster fire, he laughed—loud and unrestrained. The sound made my chest ache, so I looked away.
Steve abandoned my lap for Elliott’s feet. Without thinking, Elliott scooped him up and stroked his fur like it was second nature. That was when I really looked at him—and I noticed how tired he was. No, exhausted. My heart ached. I hadn’t seen him look this worn out since his parents died. That had been another lifetime ago. Back when our relationship was different. Whenwewere different. His eyes finally met mine, and I saw the exhaustion there, too.
“You okay?”
He sidestepped the question completely. “Are you hungry?” He set Steve down and raked a hand through his hair—a nervous tell, though I couldn’t imagine why. “I got food from that Thai place Morgan told me you love.”
I hesitated. The thought of an awkward dinner with him made me want to crawl back into my studio. I knew myself too well—I’d ruin it with the wrong question or push him into topics he didn’t want to touch. I was a pusher. A nosy one. Sometimes it was a curse; sometimes it was a gift. (Like when I’d spied on Catherine’s designs and learned more than I ever should’ve.)
“Mario and Gina said you haven’t been eating much. That you mostly stay in here. Your mom would kill me if she thought I was starving you. Please, Ness. Eat. You don’t even have to talk. Just… eat.”
Mario helped with the upkeep of the house and Gina handled the cooking from time to time, though I was secretly convinced he had hired them to spy on me whenever he wasn't home. Every report they gave him felt like a breach of contract, a tiny betrayal tucked into a Tupperware container.
Worry. That’s what I heard in his voice. He was worried about me. It made no sense—my mom fed us all like we were preparing for hibernation. If we were ever kidnapped, we could have survived for weeks on body fat alone.
“Did you get spring rolls?”
The tired smile he gave me was so breathtaking it made my heart stumble. Honestly, why hadn’t Colgate signed him already?
