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I don’t know how much time I spend in his arms, just that it’s enough for my voice not to quiver when we part. I lie and tell him my drop in mood is about the divorce.

A beat of silence. “Look… there’s a club we go to every third Friday of the month, where they play alt music and hand out free pizza at midnight. I know it’s not your scene, but it might do you some good to let your hair down.”

I run my pendant through its chain methodically as I think it over. On one hand, it might be nice to blow off some steam. On the other, I’m not sure if drinking around Sunday is the right thing to do.

“I don’t know…”

Sunday’s workshop door swings open and Lara walks in with a paper cup in hand, Séverin in tow. He’s nearly as pale as Sunday.

“Ah, there he is! Your chai is getting cold.” She hands it to me. I take the cup with gratitude and sip the spicy, warm liquid.

Her gaze rapidly swings between me and Sunday. “What the hell happened to you?”

Sunday laughs and points a tattooed finger at me. “Him. He happened to me.”

Lara looks at the blood staining Sunday’s shirt, then turns to me, her face breaking into a wide smile that I can’t help but return. “I knew there was a reason I hired you. Excellent work.”

“I was just telling Bels he should come to District next Friday,” Sunday tells Lara.

“Ohmigod yes! And Séverin, it’s your twenty-first birthday before then, right?” She turns to him, and he looks as though he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

The conversation moves on to plans for Séverin’s birthday, his face pinching at the mention of a cake that I know with certainty he can’t eat. He makes his excuses—lactose intolerance, veganism. Special diets. Lara has a solution for all of it.

Sadly, you can’t cure vampirism with flour and sugar.

Chapter Fourteen

Bellamy

“Do not tell me you plan to go out on the ton in that? You look like a fishmonger!” my Regency-era pain in the ass squeaks from where she’s strewn across my bed, her pitch climbing with each word.

Delphine doesn’t really understand the concept of fishnets, nor does she understand why I want to go into a dark, tightly packed room full of sweaty bodies, drink copious amounts of alcohol, and dance until my feet feel like they’re going to fall off.

“I’m putting jeans on over the top, stop squawking,” I tell her, rummaging around my dresser for the precise pair I need—the ones that are too ripped to be work-appropriate, practically exposing both of my thighs.

“Yes, well, what about the upper region? You’ll catch a chill,” she returns.

I’m working with what I have. Which isn’t a whole lot, honestly. Black isn’t exactly my wheelhouse. I’m wearing a lace bralette underneath a boxy crop tee that slips off my shoulders. It doesn’t feel all that obscene to me but probably seems that way to her.

I sigh as I slide my fishnet-covered legs into my slashed jeans, tugging them over my thighs. “Look, sometimes to feel good you just have to say screw it and dress like…like…”

“A strumpet?”

“Sure, whatever. Let me be a strumpet in peace for one night.”

Spirit knows I need it. I’ve managed to hold myself together for this long, but anxious energy is bursting at the seams. I can practically feel myself unraveling.

I won’t drink too much, though—just enough to get fuzzy and dull the embarrassment of dancing with strangers.

I put on a small amount of makeup, just a dusting of highlighter at my collarbone and the high points of my face. A little bit of eyeliner, smudged artfully. My hair is an entity unto its own and I’ve long since learned that it will do what it wants. No amount of heat will straighten it, and trying to make it curlier is something I only tried once.

I slot my favorite earring in too—a dainty chain that connects between my helix and my lobe, draping over the shell of my ear and ending in a tiny silver star.

My phone buzzes with a message from Séverin, letting me know he’s outside. I turn to Delphine, steeling myself and twirling for her approval. Or in her case, judgment.

“So—do I look okay?”

“That depends. Do you want to look like a fishmonger who has had a terrifying encounter with a creature from the deep?” She gives me one of her coy smiles, fluffing her skirts. I give her a sarcastic smile back.