Alessia Stocklin and Ezra Withers are polar opposites, but they can certainly agree on one thing: their mutual hate for each other.
He's an Alpha deadset on killing every rogue he comes across, while she's a vigilante - known as Nightshade - intent...
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"Did you bring them?" My head instinctively snapped toward the door. Link stood in the doorway, the light of the room casting dull shadows over his face. He stepped further into the doorway, holding one arm behind his back.
Link was dressed in a dark gray suit. A small white flower was pinned over his suit pocket. From my distance, I could see his golden watch flickering in the light. His shoes were bright and shiny — brand new.
The silent anticipation was killing me, my knees jittering up and down. My eyes bulged as my head slashed side to side.
I didn't see it.
"Would I ever let you down?" Link asked, and I wanted to say yes — yes, you would. Instead of letting my thoughts run rampant, I held my tongue and managed a sorry excuse for an attempted smile.
"Show me."
Without further adieu, Link fully stepped into the room. I was currently holed up in one of Ezra's guest rooms. While I had spent every night of my stay in Solaris in my brother's hospital room, it was not ideal for getting ready for the party. With Apollo breathing down my neck and scrutinizing my every move, I knew I would not be able to get dressed in peace. Moreover, I knew I would not be able to get away with slipping a knife under my dress unnoticed if Apollo was in proximity.
Never before had I prepared myself for such a formal event. I did not know how much makeup and hairspray were too much. So, to be safe, I applied a little, and then I applied a little more until I was certain there was a cloud of fumes looming over my head and enough layers on my face to make the world's largest cake.
Link swiftly pulled out a black garment bag from behind his back. Even after all these years, the faint trace of daisies lingered on the bag; it smelled like Mom — like home. Taking a deep breath, my fingers gingerly reached out for the bag, smoothing over the surface.
"Thank you, Link," I whispered, carrying the bag over to the king-sized bed. Plopping the bag on the white sheets, I unzipped the bag and had to refrain from gasping. The dress was exactly how I remembered it.
The top of the red dress was embezzled with sparkling diamonds — fake, of course. It was well-fitted at the top with a plunging neckline. On the midsection, a thin ribbon differentiated the top of the dress from the flowy bottom, where a subtle slit was cut on the right side.
Taking the dress over to the vanity, I placed it in front of me. As I smiled in the mirror, it was almost as if I was glimpsing at the past — at my mother. Not wasting any more time in fantasies, I glided over to the closet, shut the door, and started to put the dress on. While I was able to pull the dress up, I was not ambidextrous enough to zip it up completely.
Returning to Link, I asked, "Can you help?"
Silently, Link came around my back and helped zip up the dress.
