“You know, love, it occurs to me now that I’ve lived through actual hostage situations far less torturous than this.”
“Okay, okay, it’s off. Packed away. I just need a second to put on my cl—”
“That won’t be necessary,” I say, turning around. “Surely this part, I should be allowed to watch.”
I lean against the unusually white wall, studying her as she frowns at me, her lips still parted around the shape of a word she seems to have forgotten.
“Please continue,” I say, gesturing with a nod. “Whatever you were doing before.”
She holds on to her frown for a moment longer than is honest, her eyes narrowing in a show of frustration that is pure fraud. She compounds this farce by clutching an article of clothing to her chest, feigning modesty.
I do not mind, not one single bit.
I drink her in, her soft curves, her smooth skin. Her hair is beautiful at any length, but it’s been longer lately. Long and rich, silky against her skin, and when I’m lucky—against mine.
Slowly, she drops the shirt.
I suddenly stand up straighter.
“I’m supposed to wear this under the dress,” she says, her fake anger already forgotten. She fidgets with the boning of a cream-colored corset, her fingers lingering absently along the garter belt, the lace-trimmed stockings. She can’t meet my eyes. She’s gone suddenly shy, and this time, it’s real.
Do you like it?
The unspoken question.
I assumed, when she invited me into this dressing room, that it was for reasons beyond me staring at the color variations in an unusually white wall. I assumed she wanted me here to see something.
To see her.
I see now that I was correct.
“You are so beautiful,” I say, unable to shed the awe in my voice. I hear it, the childish wonder in my tone, and it embarrasses me more than it should. I know I shouldn’t be ashamed to feel deeply. To be moved.
Still, I feel awkward.
Young.
Quietly, she says, “I feel like I just spoiled the surprise. You’re not supposed to see any of this until the wedding night.”
My heart actually stops for a moment.
The wedding night.
She closes the distance between us and twines her arms around me, freeing me from my momentary paralysis. My heart beats faster with her here, so close. And though I don’t know how she knew that I suddenly required the reassurance of her touch, I’m grateful. I exhale, pulling her fully against me, our bodies relaxing, remembering each other.
I press my face into her hair, breathe in the sweet scent of her shampoo, her skin. It’s only been two weeks. Two weeks since the end of an old world. The beginning of a new one.
She still feels like a dream to me.
“Is this really happening?” I whisper.
A sharp knock at the door startles my spine straight.
Ella frowns at the sound. “Yes?”
“So sorry to bother you right now, miss, but there’s a gentleman here wishing to speak with Mr. Warner.”
Ella and I lock eyes.
“Okay,” she says quickly. “Don’t be mad.”
My eyes narrow. “Why would I be mad?”
Ella pulls away to better look me in the eye. Her own eyes are bright, beautiful. Full of concern. “It’s Kenji.”
I force down a spike of anger so violent I think I give myself a stroke. It leaves me light-headed. “What is he doing here?” I manage to get out. “How on earth did he know how to find us?
She bites her lip. “We took Amir and Olivier with us.”
“I see.” We took extra guards along, which means our outing was posted to the public security bulletin. Of course.
Ella nods. “He found me just before we left. He was worried—he wanted to know why we were heading back into the old regulated lands.”
I try to say something then, to marvel aloud at Kenji’s inability to make a simple deduction despite the abundance of contextual clues right before his eyes—but she holds up a finger.
“I told him,” she says, “that we were looking for replacement outfits, and reminded him that, for now, the supply centers are still the only places to shop for food or clothing or”—she waves a hand, frowns—“anything, at the moment. Anyway, he said he’d try to meet us here. He said he wanted to help.”
My eyes widen slightly. I feel another stroke incoming. “He said he wanted to help.”
She nods.
“Astonishing.” A muscle ticks in my jaw. “And funny, too, because he’s already helped so much—just last night he helped us both a great deal by destroying my suit and your dress, forcing us to now purchase clothing from a”—I look around, gesture at nothing—“a store on the very day we’re supposed to get married.”