Morgan looked at me like I was a stranger. "What are you planning, El?"
I looked back at the magazine cover one last time—at Javi’s hands on her skin—before flipping it face down.
"I'm going to make sure she’s exactly where she belongs," I said, my voice final. "Under my roof. Where I can keep an eye on her."
four
ELLIOTT
The thingabout being in an unhealthy infatuation with a world-class wedding dress designer is that she knows exactly what looks good on a woman’s body. Specifically, she knows exactly what looks good onherbody.
I watched Vanessa float through the restaurant in a form-fitting dress designed for one reason and one reason only: to torture me. It was a slip of fabric that left most of her back bare and dipped dangerously low in the front. I wanted to carve outthe eyeballs of any man in the room who dared to stare at her for more than a second. One second was an insult. Two seconds was a death wish.
I stared at the empty seat next to mine—the one with her name on the place card. I knew what she was doing. She was waiting for the last possible second to sit down, playing a game of chicken with our proximity. Or at least, that’s what I told myself to keep from losing my mind. The other part of the truth—the more irritating part—was that she was Morgan’s Maid of Honor, and she was actually doing her job.
I watched her navigate the room with the precision of a general. She checked the gift tables, verified the signage, and ensured the photo booth wasn't malfunctioning. She even haunted the bar to ensure the signature "Mortini" was being served at the perfect temperature.
You’d think she was the fucking wedding planner.
But that was Vanessa. She didn’t just deliver; she over-delivered—until she didn’t. When I thought of the spring line, my saliva turned to ash. She’d made sure everything was perfect for Morgan, even if it meant running herself ragged, carrying those faint purple smudges under her eyes that everyone else was too blind to notice.
I couldn’t even find it within me to feel guilty. If it were up to me, I’d keep her in my closet—tuck her away like the masterpiece she is—and never let another soul lay eyes on her again. I’d keep her all to myself, exactly how it was always meant to be before she fucked it all up. While I was at it, I’d punish her for the rest of eternity—be it through pleasure or pain.
Unhinged? Perhaps. But I was too far gone for sanity.
She was a martyr, a designer, and a masterpiece all wrapped into one silk-covered package. She was determined to stay just out of my reach, dancing on the edge of my vision and driving me slowly, methodically, out of my mind.
It wasn't until the guests began to take their seats that she finally, reluctantly, made her way to her chair. As she pulled it out, I caught a heavy draft of everything Vanessa. It was sweet, it was spicy; it was utterly and uniquely her.
Surprisingly, she spoke first. “Hello, Satan,” she said smoothly. Although she intended it to be venomous, her voice was a balm to my soul.
“Aw, I’ve missed you too, sweetheart.” I clutched at my chest, but she didn’t even look at me. Now that she was right next to me, I could see her with agonizing clarity—and just how much of her was actually on display. “Did they run out of fabric?”
Her head snapped in my direction. “Excuse me?!”
My eyes dropped to the center of her exposed chest. My mouth watered, but I pressed on. “Did. They. Run. Out. Of. Fabric?”
“Morgan chose the dress, jackass,” she snapped. I could tell she was embarrassed; her cheeks tinged pink, and for a fleeting second, I felt like an asshole. It wasn’t the type of dress she’d normally go for and I knew that.
Before I could say anything else, an eager hand shot out from across the table. “You must be Vanessa. I’m Rob,” my best friend said, a devious smirk on his face. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Vanessa looked between the two of us. She had never met Rob, and there was a reason for it. He had just met her and his eyes hadn't ventured anywhere above her collarbone, and I was seconds away from taking off my tie and strangling him with it.
“Nice to meet you, Rob,” she said, her manners getting the best of her. Then she leveled him with a look. “My eyes are up here.”
Rob didn’t even have the dignity to look embarrassed. “Seems like Elliott left a few details out.”
“Hmm,” she hummed, the sound running like a live wire through me. “Like what? My cup size?”
Rob’s smile turned serpentine. I’d had enough. I shrugged out of my jacket and draped it over Vanessa’s shoulders. She tried to protest, but I didn't let her.
“For the love of God, just wear the coat, Vanessa.”
five
VANESSA
Morgan looked beautiful;she was absolutely glowing from the inside out. The only thing keeping me from strangling her brother in front of everyone was the knowledge that it would ruin her night—and the fact that he was her only remaining relative. Richard had proposed a month ago, and the wedding was already slated for six weeks from now. She said she didn’t want to wait, though I never imagined Morgan would beone to rush. I suppose it was painful not having her parents here; perhaps she just wanted to rip the band-aid off.
