Page 26 of Lethal Saint

No, no, it was allwrong.Pretty dress, light makeup, straight hair, and a bow. But my hair was curly. It wasn’t perfect, it was wrong. And I lost my bow last night in the aftermath of the shooting.

I stared at my traitor reflection, trying to catch a breath, each gasp shorter, cutting deeper into my chest. Shaking, I ran back to the boxes I’d brought into the bedroom, frantically searching for a brush even though I knew it would make no difference. My hairwas stubborn, just like Mum’s had been. Before Dad shot her in the head.

My eyes blurred. I couldn’t find the brush, I couldn’t—there! My hand shook as I snatched it up and ran back to the mirror, brushing over and over, gritting my teeth when the bristles snagged on knots and ripped out strands. I kept brushing, kept brushing, but the curls sprang back into place every time.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, ruining my makeup. I was a mess. Wrong—everything was wrong. Damien hadseen melike this at breakfast—no makeup, hair curly and wild, dressed in a fucking onesie. My stomach twisted tighter. I was going to be sick.

Abandoning the brush, my scalp screaming with pain, I raced back to the boxes, frantically pulling things out. The maid must have bought me a straightener. Shemusthave. Surely she knew I had to be perfect for Damien. Ithadto be here, I just had to keep searching.

My breaths wheezed, my lungs denied air. It had to be here. I had to be perfect.

“Vasilisa?” a voice asked—quiet, wavering and distorted, panic screwing with my senses until I couldn’t recognise the voice, couldn’t say if they were male or female. Oh god, Dad had found me—

I flinched, raising my hands like that would do any good. “I’m so sorry. I tried—I tried to—”

Sobs bit off my apology, my voice breathy and raw.

“Hey, it’s okay,” that voice murmured, and when I blinked, shaking all over, it wasDamienrushing across the bedroom towards me. “It’s okay, little queen.”

He swept me into a hug, one hand cradling the back of my head—and I fell apart.

“I-I tried to—my hair—I’m so sorry—I can’t—it won’t—”

“Shh,” he murmured, stroking up and down my back, draining all my strength until I slumped against him, wheezing for air. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, I promise it’s okay, Vasilisa. And if there’s something that needs fixing, I’ll fix it. You’re safe here with me, remember?”

My bottom lip wobbled. I was safe but everything was wrong and I needed to be perfect for him.

He tipped my head back until I met his eyes, not that I could see him through my tears. “Breathe with me, okay Vasilisa? Can you do that?”

I inhaled shakily, a sob cutting off my air, and nodded even if I didn’t think I could. I’d do whatever he wanted, whatever I had to to make things right again.

A soft thumb brushed tears off my cheeks, smearing even more of my makeup. I was a mess, and I hated it. My stomach curdled. But I sucked in a jagged breath when he reminded me to breathe, and exhaled a sob.

“Shh,” he soothed, still stroking my back. “I’ve got you, you’re safe now. Just breathe for me.”

The gentleness of his fingers on my cheek had a fresh wave of tears scalding my eyes, spilling down my face. He’d bought all these beautiful, expensive gifts for me and here I was crying and causing him trouble.

“Talk to me, little queen,” Damien said when my sobs slowed, and he sounded like him again, my hearing not as wavy. “What happened?”

“Everything’s wrong,” I explained with a shuddering exhale. “My hair—needs to be straight and now—my makeup’s all run and I—I don’t have a b-bow—”

Damien’s fingers slid through my hair, pressing me closer to his chest, and a kiss fell on the top of my head, making my bottom lip wobble again. “I can get you a bow, Vasya. I can getyou a million if it’ll make you happy. But why does your hairneedto be straight?”

My breath hitched, my tears slowing as I blinked, my face pressed to the warmth of his chest. “It—it has to be. I have to straighten it. Everything’s wrong if I don’t.”

Another kiss landed in my hair, loosening a knot in my chest. “Do you want it straight? You’re the queen here, Vasilisa. You make the rules.”

“I don’t,” I whispered, as loud as I dared to disagree.

“This is my apartment, and I’m your fiancée. If I say you make the rules, you make the rules.”

I blinked again, surprise lightening my chest even if my stomach was a mess.

“I—” I bit my lip, only brave enough to speak with my eyes closed. “I don’t want to straighten my hair. I don’t want a bow—Ihatewearing them. I’m supposed to look young and girly but Ihateit, it makes me feel sick.”

My chest heaved; I’d used all my air and now I gasped frantically, furious and terrified and—relieved. To finally say it out loud.

“I can buy you a million bows to burn if you’d like,” Damien offered, something dark in his voice—gravelly but still soft. “It could be cathartic.”

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