“Wholeheartedly.”
“You can’t murder him,” she says simply. “Not now. Not ever.”
I sigh.
She’s still struggling to unearth the gown.
“Forgive me, love, but if all this”—I nod at the garment bag, the explosion of tulle—“is for a single dress, I’m afraid I already know how I feel about it.”
She stops tugging. Turns around, eyes wide. “You don’t like it? You haven’t even seen it yet.”
“I’ve seen enough to know that whatever this is, it’s not a gown. This is a haphazard layering of polyester.” I lean around her, pinching the fabric between my fingers. “Do they not carry silk tulle in this store? Perhaps we can speak to the seamstress.”
“They don’t have a seamstress here.”
“This is a clothing store,” I say. I turn the bodice inside out, frowning at the stitches. “Surely there must be a seamstress. Not a very good one, clearly, but—”
“These dresses are made in a factory,” she says to me. “Mostly by machine.”
I straighten.
“You know, most people didn’t grow up with private tailors at their disposal,” she says, a smile playing at her lips. “The rest of us had to buy clothes off the rack. Premade. Ill-fitting.”
“Yes,” I say stiffly. I feel suddenly stupid. “Of course. Forgive me. The dress is very nice. Perhaps I should wait for you to try it on. I gave my opinion too hastily.”
For some reason, my response only makes things worse.
She groans, shooting me a single, defeated look before folding herself into the little dressing room chair.
My heart plummets.
She drops her face in her hands. “It really is a disaster, isn’t it?”
Another swift knock at the door. “Sir? The gentleman seems very eager t—”
“He’s certainly not a gentleman,” I say sharply. “Tell him to wait.”
A moment of hesitation. Then, quietly: “Yes, sir.”
“Aaron.”
I don’t need to look up to know that she’s unhappy with my rudeness. The owners of this particular Supply Center shut down their entire store for us, and they’ve been excruciatingly kind. I know I’m being an ass. At present, I can’t seem to help it.
“Aaron.”
“Today is your wedding day,” I say, unable to meet her eyes. “He has ruined your wedding day. Our wedding day.”
She gets to her feet. I feel her frustration fade. Transform. Shuffle through sadness, happiness, hope, fear, and finally—
Resignation.
One of the worst possible feelings on what should be a joyous day. Resignation is worse than frustration. Far worse.
My anger calcifies.
“He hasn’t ruined it,” she says finally. “We can still make this work.”
“You’re right,” I say, pulling her into my arms. “Of course you’re right. It doesn’t matter, really. None of it does.”
“But it’s my wedding day,” she says. “And I have nothing to wear.”
“You’re right.” I kiss the top of her head. “I’m going to kill him.”
A sudden pounding at the door.
I stiffen. Spin around.
“Hey, guys?” More pounding. “I know you’re super pissed at me, but I have good news, I swear. I’m going to fix this. I’m going to make it up to you.”
I’m just about to respond when Ella tugs at my hand, silencing my scathing retort with a single motion. She shoots me a look that plainly says—
Give him a chance.
I sigh as the anger settles inside my body, my shoulders dropping with the weight of it. Reluctantly, I step aside to allow her to deal with this idiot in the manner she prefers.
It is her wedding day, after all.
Ella steps closer to the door. Points at it, jabbing her finger at the unusually white paint as she speaks. “This better be good, Kenji, or Warner is going to kill you, and I’m going to help him do it.”
And then, just like that—
I’m smiling again.
Two
We’re driven back to the Sanctuary the same way we’re driven everywhere these days—in a black, all-terrain, bulletproof SUV—but the car and its heavily tinted windows only make us more conspicuous, which I find worrisome. But then, as Castle likes to point out, I have no ready solution for the problem, so we remain at an impasse.
I try to hide my reaction as we drive up through the wooded area just outside the Sanctuary, but I can’t help my grimace or the way my body locks down, preparing for a fight. After the fall of The Reestablishment, most rebel groups emerged from hiding to rejoin the world—
But not us.
Just last week we cleared this dirt path for the SUV, enabling it to now get as close as possible to the unmarked entrance, but I’m not sure it’s doing much to help. A mob of people has already crowded in so tightly around us that we’re moving no more than an inch at a time. Most of them are well-meaning, but they scream and pound at the car with the enthusiasm of a belligerent crowd, and every time we endure this circus I have to physically force myself to remain calm. To sit quietly in my seat and ignore the urge to remove the gun from its holster beneath my jacket.
Difficult.
I know Ella can protect herself—she’s proven this fact a thousand times over—but still, I can’t help but worry. She’s become notorious to a near-terrifying degree. To some extent, we all have. But Juliette Ferrars, as she’s known around the world, can go nowhere and do nothing without drawing a crowd.
They say they love her.
Even so, we remain cautious. There are still many around the globe who would love to bring back to life the emaciated remains of The Reestablishment, and assassinating a beloved hero would be the most effective start to such a scheme. Though we have unprecedented levels of privacy in the Sanctuary, where Nouria’s sight and sound protections around the grounds grant us freedoms we enjoy nowhere else, we’ve been unable to hide our precise location. People know, generally, where to find us, and that small bit of information has been feeding them for weeks. The civilians wait here—thousands and thousands of them—every single day.
For no more than a glimpse.
We’ve had to put barricades in place. We’ve had to hire extra security, recruiting armed soldiers from the local sectors. This area is unrecognizable from what it was a month ago. It’s a different world already. And I feel my body go solid as we approach the entrance. Nearly there now.
I look up, ready to say something—
“Don’t worry.” Kenji locks eyes with me. “Nouria upped the security. There should be a team of people waiting for us.”
“I don’t know why all this is necessary,” Ella says, still staring out the window. “Why can’t I just stop for a minute and talk to them?”
“Because the last time you did that you were nearly trampled,” Kenji says, exasperated.
“Just the one time.”
Kenji’s eyes go wide with outrage, and on this point, he and I are in full agreement. I sit back and watch as he counts off on his fingers. “The same day you were nearly trampled, someone tried to cut off your hair. Another day a bunch of people tried to kiss you. People literally throw their newborn babies at you. I’ve already counted six people who’ve peed their pants in your presence, which, I have to add, is not only upsetting but unsanitary, especially when they try to hug you while they’re still wetting themselves.” He shakes his head. “The mobs are too big, princess. Too strong. Too passionate. Everyone screams in your face, fights to put their hands on you. And half the time we can’t protect you.”