Page 90 of Shadow Of Sin

I roll my eyes. “That’s easy for you to say. You married into this.”

“I married into this because my father signed a contract with a man I’d never met. I didn’t get to choose. But I chose to stay. And I chose to make it mine. The dress is like armor, Eva. Wear it like you mean it.”

I stare at her. She stares back. She’s not asking. She’s also not ordering.

Because she knows.

“Fine,” I say. “But I’m taking my knife.”

“There’s nowhere to put a knife in that dress,” Adriana says.

“Then I’ll improvise,” I say with a shrug.

“I like her,” Luna says from behind us. “And for the record, I have the perfect clutch bag that you can slip your knife into.”

“Another reason why I knew you were the right woman for this job.” Adriana smiles at her sister. Then she turns back to me. “Now, let’s get you ready. You’ve been wearing Wolfe’s t-shirts for a week, and it’s time to glam you up.”

“I like his t-shirts.”

“I’m sure you do.” Adriana gives me a look that says she knows exactly why I like them and she’s choosing not to comment. “Okay, Lulu, take over. I need to make some calls.”

Adriana leaves. Luna turns to me with a grin that could light up a stadium.

“Okay,” she says, pulling the dress out of the bag. “Let’s make you dangerous.”

The dress I chose is black. Simple and fitted with a low back. The fabric is soft and expensive and the kind of thing my body isn’t used to wearing. When I put it on and do a half-turn in the mirror, I have to gasp. It was made for me, hugging every curve.

I’ve never felt so beautiful, even with a pencil holding my hair in a messy bun.

“Sit,” she says, pointing at the chair. She pulls out the pencil and my hair tumbles down my back. “Hair first.”

I sit because I found out pretty quickly that arguing with Luna is pointless. She’s so aggressively cheerful about the whole makeover thing that resisting just makes me feel like a bitch.

She works fast. On the table in front of the mirror is an assortment of hairpins, brushes, and bottles of products I don’t recognize the names of. She chats while she works…about the restaurant, about the shoes she brought that I’m probably going to hate but will wear anyway because they make the dress work. She’s funny and witty and I find that the stress leaves my shoulders for the first time in days.

“Hold still,” she says, tilting my chin up. “Eyeliner.”

“I don’t usually do eyeliner.”

“You do tonight. Trust the process.”

“The process involves me not being able to blink.”

“Beauty requires sacrifice, Eva,” she sing-songs.

I let her do her thing. She steps back after about forty minutes and studies me like I’m a painting in an art gallery.

“Done,” she says. “What do you think?”

A gasp slips from my lips when I look in the mirror. I barely recognize myself. Not in the sad way. In the holy-shit-who-is-that way. The dress, the hair, the eyes. I look like the kind of woman men make bad decisions for. Which, given the circumstances, is exactly the point.

“You okay?” Luna asks.

“Yeah.” I blink hard. “It’s just been a while since I looked like this.”

“Well, get used to it.” She squeezes my shoulders. “Because you look incredible and we’re already running late.”

She pulls out a clutch bag that matches the high-heeled sandals on the floor. I drop my knife into the bag and slip my feet into the shoes, feeling a tiny bit like Cinderella.