Page 70 of Cruel Games

The model turned around, revealing a face I needed to punch. With a smirk, Elizabeth swept her gaze down my tailored dress. “Is that all you could cobble together? Don’t worry, Hand-Cock. I’ll permit you to hold my train when you lose!”

My gaze swept down the front of Elizabeth’s wedding dress, where the diamanté swirls continued over her shoulder and down a fitted bodice with a sweetheart neckline. It was one of those dresses that was so intricate, the bride only needed the barest of makeup to avoid looking overdone.

“That’s a gorgeous gown,” I drawled. “Where did you buy it, Vera Wang?”

Her cheeks turned pink. “I’ll have you know I slaved in front of a sewing machine for weeks.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Where did you get the pattern?”

“Vogue.”

“What’s it called?”

Her face screwed up. “Mind your own business!”

I snorted. “Not even a team of seamstresses could conjure up a dress like that from scratch in such a short space of time.”

Elizabeth stuck her nose in the air. “Don’t judge me by your pitiful standards.”

“Says the girl who jumped on a table and threw a box of pins at the teacher.”

Before Elizabeth could bend reality with another of her lies, the students before us had finished parading themselves to the audience, and the old woman ushered us forward.

Elizabeth sashayed down the stage like she had absorbed every episode of America’s Top Model. It was a pity she was five-five like me. Otherwise, she might have had a career on the runway.

The entire banqueting hall filled with gasps at her creation. Photographers flashed their cameras in concentrated bursts of lightning, and they shouted for her to turn in their direction.

I couldn’t blame them. That wedding gown was sublime, but it wasn’t the work of a high school student.

“What the hell does she think she’s doing?” snarled Maeve.

“Don’t know, don’t care.” At least Elizabeth’s appearance had calmed our nerves. I walked out onto the stage and followed the deranged girl’s loop.

As I descended the stairs after Elizabeth, I caught sight of a dark-haired woman standing at the front, her face whiter than the wedding dress. It was Lady Liddell, and she was livid.

Next to her stood a gray-haired man in a modest black suit, clerical collar, and a large, silver cross. I could only assume this was Lord Liddell, the Archbishop of Scotland. His face had slackened with shock, and he couldn’t stop shaking his head.

I turned back to glare at Elizabeth’s beautifully adorned back. From her parents’ horrified expressions, she had stolen her mother’s wedding dress and passed it off as her own work. In public. And in front of a fuckload of reporters.

If she hadn’t been such a vindictive cow, I might have felt sorry for the amount of trouble she’d caused for herself.

We continued down the aisle-cum-runway, which stretched down to the end of the room. Gideon, Lachlan, and Francesco stood on the right, giving me a standing ovation.

“Lilah!” shouted Lachlan. “You look fantastic!”

My heart filled with gratitude, and I beamed at my friends.

A few rows down, Kendrick stood.

Elizabeth stopped abruptly.

I made my feet grind to a halt, narrowly avoiding her train, but Maeve bumped into my back.

Elizabeth turned around, her pale eyes bright. “Look over my shoulder.” She flicked her head to the right and back of the banquet hall. “You’re welcome.”

As Elizabeth picked up her train and sprinted away, I turned my gaze to the direction she had indicated. My eyes locked onto Kendrick’s, who sat with Orlando and Maxwell, but I didn’t think she wanted me to see them.

“Why aren’t you walking?” shouted Maeve.