Page 23 of Reckless Promises

“You hate it?” Of course she does.

It’s handstitched Irish lace, and it cost me half as much as she did.

“It’s just… white,” Odette says. “I prefer to wear black.”

“You were wearing white when I met you.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know why. That white dress is how men like you justify all the money you spend at those things.”

I can’t help but smirk. “That’s assuming you’re not lying about your virginity.”

She grits her teeth and glares, crossing her arms over her chest.

I don’t doubt she’s a virgin, given Gabriel kept his daughters on a tight leash. But I’m also not naïve. Repressed girls are desperate for rebellion, so I could be wrong.

“Who knows,” she quips. “Maybe I lied.”

“Maybe you did.”

Odette glares at me as I pop another blackberry in my mouth. Her emerald eyes cut through the silence, and she refuses to break my stare.

“So why black?” I change the subject.

The last thing I need in wedding photos is a bride who looks like she’ll slit my throat in the middle of the night. So the best course of action right now is to steer the conversation in a better direction.

“You mean, besides the fact that this might as well be my funeral?”

I smirk, nodding once, and it’s enough to get her to relax her shoulders.

“It’s because wearing white feels like a lie.”

“Like at the auction?”

“Not because of that.” She rolls her eyes, and I’m pretty sure her immediate defense is confirmation she is a virgin.

“Then why?”

Odette leans forward, nervously biting the inside of her cheek as her gaze moves to the window. “Because you’re lying to yourself if you think this world brings anything but death. I was born into it. I’m bound to it. I’ve accepted it, no use hiding. Purity is a veil when everyone’s got blood on their hands.”

“Does that include you?”

Her gaze snaps to mine, and color drains from her cheeks, but she doesn’t answer the question. Her stare cools, and her lips press tight.

“I see.” I pull out my phone and dial Fallon, who answers immediately.

“I know, I know. I’m running late.”

“You’re always late. That’s not the issue.”

“If it’s Shane again, I don’t want to hear it.” She slams something on the other end of the line. “You’re brothers, and you need to get over your daddy issues to find a way to make this work.”

If only it were that simple.

“Fallon.”

“Cillian,” my sister mocks me. “What?”

“She hates the dress.”

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