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The black dress I pulled from my closet is a flattering a-line that gently hugs my curves. A bias-cut neckline shows off the pale skin of my throat, and my arms are bare. I secured my dark hair into a messy ponytail, but the messiness looks intentional somehow when paired with the dress.
I look classy and elegant, refined and understated—except for the bold tattoo that covers my arm and the scarred stump of my forearm.
Fuck it. And fuck anyone who doesn’t like it.
My prosthesis was destroyed in the fire, and I haven’t had time to get a new one made. We’ve been busy with other things, distracted by concerns that matter more than a fake arm. And considering that this dress showed up in my wardrobe a day ago, another gift from one of the guys, I’m guessing neither of them have a problem with me wearing something sleeveless. Hell, they picked it out for me.
I glance at my reflection one more time, dragging a little mascara through my eyelashes before screwing the cap back on one-handed.
I look… okay.
More okay than I feel, honestly. There are dark circles under my eyes, and the small bruises I got during the game have faded into unflattering greens and yellows. But I look functional. Normal, almost.
I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that a broken heart can’t be seen on the outside.
“Ayla. You ready?”
There’s a soft rap at the bathroom door, and I open it to find Theo standing there. He’s wearing a perfectly tailored bespoke suit in a dark charcoal color. His hair is styled, and the lines of the suit make him look even taller than usual. He looks older like this—or maybe it’s just the matching circles under his eyes that give that effect.
His blue-green eyes spark with warmth as he takes in my appearance. I feel his gaze drift over my tattoo and my scars, but the attention doesn’t make my nerves prickle with discomfort like it normally does when people look at my ruined arm. Instead, it sends a small spark of heat shooting through me.
Nothing has happened between us since the morning we found solace and comfort in each other as he kissed away my tears.
But the way he looks at me sometimes… the way I feel when I look at him…
It scares the fuck out of me.
Because it feels real.
As if drawn by my thoughts, Theo steps closer to me. His arm goes around my waist as he tucks a small, escaped strand of hair behind my ear. It’s an embrace that walks the fine line between platonic and so much more, and I find myself leaning into his touch, turning my head to chase the brush of his fingertips.
His hand lingers at my face, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw as he gazes down at me. His blue-green eyes hold more than I could ever hope to decipher, and the silence between us fills with things neither of us are ready to say.
The version of Theo I’ve lived with for the past week is more serious, more somber than the charming man with the laughing eyes I met at Duke’s all that time ago.
I miss that version of him. I hate seeing the light in him so dimmed.
Maybe it’s that thought that spurs me to reach up and grab his hand, cradling it in mine as I turn my head to press a kiss to his palm.
He makes a noise low in his throat, and that small sound somehow manages to travel all the way through my body. When I look back up into his eyes, he threads our fingers together, giving my hand a squeeze.
“Come on. It’s time.”
Ryland meets us downstairs. His suit is pure black, and it fits him perfectly, setting off the deep, rich colors of the tattoos that crawl up his neck all the way to his jawline. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and a shadow of scruff dusts his jaw, making him look just a little disheveled.
His gaze flits down to where Theo’s and my hands are still clasped, and something passes behind his eyes. I can’t quite tell what it is, but it makes my stomach flip over.
Is he angry?
Fuck, I hope not.
Whatever the emotion is, it’s gone before I can identify it, and he nods to both of us before leading the way out to the garage. He takes the back seat with me while Theo gets behind the wheel, and we arrive at a large church in downtown Halston thirty minutes later.
People are already starting to arrive. Well-dressed men and women in expensive-looking black clothes walk up the wide steps leading into the church, and Ryland and Theo fall into place on either side of me as we join them.
Inside the church, the pews are filling up. We end up in one near the front, and as I settle onto the seat, a man with dark hair catches my eye.
