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He asks, “What’s all this for?”
“I don’t know,” Lily says. “Garrison was just about to tell…”
I’m shaking my head with widened eyes.
She’s gaping, brows bunched. “Uhhh…”
I bet she sucks at charades.
Lo glances at me. “Is this about your video game?”
My face falls. “What?” What the fuck?
He flashes a half-smile.
I choke out, “How’d you know?” Are there hidden cameras in his house? In my cubicle? What. The. Fuck.
“You’re working for Connor Cobalt, man. The guy probably has fifteen brains and seven pairs of eyes. You might not know what he’s thinking, but he knows what you are.” Lo touches his chest. “And he’s my best friend. He told me you’re working on a game based on a comic book character.”
I sway backwards, disbelieving. Connor Cobalt already knows I’m creating a video game on Sorin-X… “And he didn’t give a shit? I thought he’d pull the plug on the project.”
“He actually likes the idea. So do I.”
I’m in another dimension. “What?”
“I own the video game rights to The Fourth Degree series.” Halway Comics is the publisher, duh. “And Belinda and Jackson told me they’d rather eat their left arms than see a thousand people turning the game into a money-making soulless franchise.”
Of course I recognize those names. Belinda and Jackson Howell are the young brother-sister duo and artists and writer of The Fourth Degree universe.
My head is spinning, but I gather my thoughts fast. “I have most of the technical shit coded, but I’m at the point where storyline is important. That’s why I was looking through the comics, but eventually I’d need Belinda and Jackson for the art. I can only code, and what I’m making is classic, indie. I think the game style fits what the comic intended to be.”
“I’ve been mentioning the video game to Belinda and Jackson for a full year,” Lo says, “and they’re interested. I know they’d work with you. I’ll give you their numbers.”
My jaw is on the floor.
Speechless.
In shock.
Lo has known for a full year about the video game because of Connor. He’s already mentioned the project to the most important people. And they’re interested.
My eyes burn, and I think for so long, I didn’t believe I should try to chase after what I loved. When other people are faster and smarter, it felt pointless.
It took work to get here, but I know the first step was always belief.
Belief that I could.
Belief that I should.
And yeah…I’m happy I did.
1 year later
MAY
68
willow hale
I’m shaking.
For someone who likes to be on the outskirts—out of the blazing spotlight—this moment feels way too focused on me.
I’ve already been told I look lovely and divine and like a royal goddess about a billion times. But the extra attention from Lily and Rose only burns my cheeks and spikes my temperature.
With all the wedding planning, the venue was the scariest part to nail down. Do we fly somewhere tropical? Do we marry on the beach? Or do we have a city high-rise wedding like Lily and Lo—though maybe not on a rooftop. Garrison and I couldn’t picture ourselves in France like Rose and Connor, or somewhere awe-inspiring like Machu Picchu where Ryke and Daisy tied the knot.
None of that screamed us.
We decided on something close to home. Something more simple, quiet, soft, and pretty. A nearby botanical garden had availability, no need to pull strings or flash celebrity cred (Rose offered to do it—but she said we should send Lily since she’s the most famous. To which Lily said that she loves me, and she’d proudly fight for my wedding like X-23 with her adamantium claws out. That made me happy.)
Another perk of this botanical garden: the luxury dressing room for the bridal party. The before part is going smoothly, I remind myself. While I’m sitting at the vanity, Daisy touches up my makeup. She’s pretty skilled in the art of mascara, blush, highlighter, and eye shadow pallets thanks to her modeling days. “I watched the pros do my makeup before runways and stuff,” she said when she first unzipped pouches of products. By the Chanel labels alone, I could tell she borrowed a lot of Rose’s beauty stash.
I’m thankful for my maid of honor. I didn’t have to hire a makeup artist, and one less stranger in this room does wonders for my speeding pulse.
“Your dress is so you,” Lily swoons over in the corner.
“It’s gorgeous,” Rose says pointedly. “And flawless.”
I touch the lavish fabric of my dress. Beaded floral leaves on a corset top give way to flowing white tulle. 27-yards of tulle to be exact—as Rose told me. Sheer lace applique on the bodice makes the gown feel regal yet simple in a way. It’s Rose’s design. And Lily is right, it is so me.
I cried when Rose handed me the wedding dress last month. She almost shed a tear when I asked her to design it. Her hands flung to her eyes like she was commanding the waterworks to stop before they’d even begun. It’s about as close to a Rose Calloway Cobalt sob session as you can get.
