Page 6 of Reaper’s Wrath

“D, what is going on with you?”

His jaw flexes while the rest of his body relaxes as though he’s working very hard to calm himself. “Nothing is going on. Absolutely nothing at all. Forget I was ever here.”

I’m left utterly speechless as he quickly strides away toward the street.

What the hell just happened?

I don’t know whether to tell Rina to get him to a doctor or to throw rocks at him as he retreats. What I want to do is cry and rage at the same time, then crawl under my covers until I wake from this nightmare.

A single tear spills past my lashes.

I wipe it away, knowing I’m probably smearing dirt all over my face. I suppose it’s fitting. After a few short minutes with DiAngelo, I feel filthy in every way imaginable.

Maybe he’s right.

Maybe I deserve this marriage with Mazzi.

Maybe DiAngelo is an emotionally dysregulated twat who needs to get his head out of his ass.

That, too.

Yeah, let’s go with that. As easy as it would be to absorb the toxic sludge he spewed, I choose not to. Today is about enjoying the beautiful weather and my final days living with my dad. I’m not letting anyone take that away from me.

I lower back down to my knees and pick a spot for the next seedling. With two hands wrapped around the handle of the spade, I impale the ground with it as though staking a thousand-year-old vampire through the heart.

Yes, today is a good day for gardening. And if my old friend talks to me like that again, I’ll just have to dig a bigger hole.

I spend the entire evening trying not to think about seeing DiAngelo again tomorrow. Trying being the keyword. Despite my best efforts, I run through roughly a thousand different scenarios in preparation.

As it turns out, none of them are helpful. DiAngelo shows no sign that our argument ever happened. He and Terina pick me up midmorning to shop for a wedding dress. I eye him warily as I get in the car, but he doesn’t even notice.

And Terina certainly doesn't act like she knows anything is going on. She’s full of suggestions about the latest trends in bridal fashion—something I suspect she’s been eyeing for her own plans.

I’m glad. She's tried to talk me out of the wedding on multiple occasions. I'd just assumed she'd be too distracted with beads and lace to launch into another debate, especially with D around. I couldn’t take it if the two of them ganged up on me.

Instead, he playfully teases us about making sure to pick out a dress with pockets as we drive to the boutique. And when he holds the door for us, and my elbow bumps his, there’s zero reaction, not on his part or mine. His scent isn’t dizzying, and the touch doesn’t ignite a thousand little sparklers in my veins.

Nothing.

He plants himself in the seating area at the front of the shop as if the purpose of our outing hadn’t compelled him to drop by my house less than twenty-four hours earlier.

I can’t help but question if I’m losing my mind.

Once I’m alone with Rina, I consider asking her if DiAngelo talked to her about our conversation, but I don’t want to spoil the only time I get to shop for a wedding gown with my best friend. She’s upbeat, so I follow suit, oohing and aahing over the gorgeous dresses. We even indulge in mimosas when they’re offered.

“Let’s toast,” Rina says, raising her glass. “To unexpected celebrations—may your groom keel over dead before the wedding.”

I choke on my own spit and devolve into a fit of coughing and laughter.

Rina snickers as she pats my back. “Easy there, didn’t mean to kill you off, too.”

“Ree, you’re terrible.”

“Nah, just honest.” She winks at me to keep things light, which I appreciate. “Let’s get down to business. What kind of dress are you thinking about?”

“Well, I don’t know anything about the ceremony. I haven’t really been involved in the planning, but I’d like my dress to be elegant yet not pretentious. Does that make sense?”

“So no ball gowns?”