Page 76 of By Sin To Atone

I nod. Thank him. The day passes remarkably slowly and, in the evening, when I return to my room from wandering around the house, I find a stunning black satin corset gown hangs on the back of my bedroom door. Soft feathers line the low bodice, and the dress is cut to accentuate every curve. The skirt is split high along the front of one thigh and a pair of heels with feathers matching those on the dress sits on the floor. It’s all very beautiful and also very much not me. At least nothing I’ve ever worn before or could imagine myself in, but looking at it, it makes me want to put it on.

“Your hair wasn’t blue when you were sixteen, right?” Zeke asks as I gently brush my fingers along the delicate feathers, the soft satin.

I shake my head. “I dyed it when I got to New Orleans. I don’t think he’d recognize me. I was a late bloomer so I looked like a kid. What about Craven or any of the men from The Cat House seeing me?”

Zeke shrugs a shoulder. “Let them.” He checks his watch. “Get dressed. We’ll leave in half an hour.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“You’ll be safe.” His phone rings and he walks out of the bedroom to take the call, closing the door behind him.

I pull the dress off the hanger, lay it on the bed and strip off my clothes. The tag is still hanging on the dress. It’s from an exclusive boutique I have walked by once or twice in town. One of those places I’d definitely feel awkward to walk into. My eyes bulge when I see the price. Did he buy this for me? For one night? Did he spend this much money on such an impractical dress?

“Rich people.” I shake my head but there’s a part of me that’s pleased. That’s excited to put the dress on. To wear the heels and to feel beautiful.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror over the dresser, take in my short, blue and black hair, the scar that is not quite invisible although well camouflaged.

I am not beautiful. And this is not a date. I need to remember that. I strip off my things and slip the dress over my head. It’s a perfect fit, as I knew it would be. He has a good eye for size. The cut of the dangerously low bodice accentuates my breasts, pressing them from beneath to make them swell over the top of the dress.

A small clutch that matches the dress sits beside the shoes and I pick it up, dig the flash drive out of my jeans pocket and stash it inside.

In the bathroom, I reapply my makeup, paying extra attention to the scar on my cheek. That’s one way Wyatt, if it was him, might recognize me. Although it was bandaged then. I apply thicker eyeliner than usual, dab matte crimson lipstick on my lips and, since all I have are a few pins, arrange my hair in a sort of messy up-do which, coupled with the collar and the neckline of the dress, isn’t bad actually. Not elegant, not Society, but not horrible.

The bedroom door opens. I brush a lock of hair that’s too short to be pinned behind my ear and walk into the bedroom, weirdly nervous about him seeing me like this.

Zeke is looking at his phone, so I have a moment where I get to take him in unobserved. He’s dressed in a tuxedo. He is elegant. He was born elegant. Black on black, he looks exactly like the anti-hero he is. Dangerous. Dark. And so fucking sexy I’d like to climb him.

Fuck.

I shake my head.

What the hell is wrong with you, Blue?

Zeke looks up. Our eyes meet and, for a moment, we stand just like that, staring at each other. He appears taken aback and I’m first to look away, feeling the heat of a flush creeping up my neck to my face.

He recovers himself more quickly. I forget how much more experienced he is than me. “Dress looks good on you, Blue,” he says, approaching.

I don’t have shoes on yet, so I feel shorter than usual and have to crane my neck back to look at him.

“You too,” I say, not quite meeting his gaze.

He raises his eyebrows.

“I mean the tux. It looks good.” God. I’m an idiot.

His eyes narrow, one corner of his mouth curving upward. I take in the sharp edge of his jaw, the neatly kept five o’clock shadow. I breathe in aftershave as he touches the collar at my neck, then dips his hand into his pocket and produces a small lock of brightly sparkling fine crystals—at least I think they’re crystal because it can’t be diamonds, surely. He attaches it to my collar.

“And,” he starts, and from that same pocket he pulls out two dangly earrings, also crystal I guess. “The earrings are on loan,” he says. “Don’t lose them.”

I take them from him, put them on, and try to act casual as I cross the room to pick up the shoes. I slip the strappy things on my feet. They’re uncomfortable but so pretty. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the dresser once more and, for a moment, I just take in the reflection of myself, of us when he comes to stand beside me.

We look like a couple. A good-looking couple, actually. Like we fit.

Zeke’s eyes meet mine in the mirror. My gaze falters. He’s too experienced, too confident. A man who knows what he wants.

I clear my throat, step away. “Do people in your world often spend a month’s salary on a dress they’ll wear once?” I ask, disrupting whatever was happening.

“That’s not a month’s salary for people in my world,” he says with a wink. “One thing.” He pulls me close by my hips, and, eyes locked on mine, slips his hands under the dress.

---