chapter eighteen.

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chapter eighteen  /  dirty rotten scoundrels❛ did i paint your bluest skies the darkest gray?❜

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chapter eighteen  / dirty rotten scoundrels
did i paint your bluest skies the darkest gray?

chapter eighteen  /  dirty rotten scoundrels❛ did i paint your bluest skies the darkest gray?❜

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

Eulalie trudged down the corridor, finding it impossible to show face in the ballroom again. How would she be able to show her face ever again, for that matter? Had she just ruined herself? Eulalie had convinced herself that she would die an old spinster if she even got the chance to have life weather her features, letting wrinkles creep from the corners of her eyes.

"Oh, thank the Saints." Cecily's breathless voice rang down the hall. Eulalie whipped around to find her sister barreling toward her. Cecily was never one for hugs or any sort of affection, but she wrapped her arms around Eulalie regardless. She pulled back, keeping her hands firmly planted on Eulalie's shoulders. "What's the matter with you?"

The relief in Cecily's eyes died, and the usual pragmatism resurrected in place of it. Eulalie parted her lips, took in a breath, and shook her head defeatedly, unable to answer as she had left Killian. Cecily just stared at Eulalie, searching her older sister's warm eyes for any sign of reasoning.

"So that's it? You're just going to let him go?" Cecily asked, her voice cracking with desperation.

"I... I don't know. I can't celebrate myself after freshly returning Rhiannon to the Salt. She's still gone, Cecily," Eulalie replied, tears pricking her eyes. She held her frame as if it would stifle the sob that escaped her lips.

Cecily caught the tear running down Eulalie's cheek with her thumb. "Don't cry, Eulalie. You look too pretty tonight to ruin it all."

"I already have," Eulalie cried. She felt pathetic.

"No, you haven't. All you have to say is 'yes.' It's one word, and then, it's all the fun of wedding planning," Cecily tried to reassure her sister. She shifted her posture and pursed her lips together. "You know, Rhiannon would want this for you. As vain as she was, she would want you to be happy—happy with Killian."

A swish of skirts and vibrant cherry red streaked down the corridor behind Cecily. Worry on Saoirse's face was replaced with sudden relief as she brought both of her hands to her chest. She looked like Rhiannon for a moment in that red lipstick. She must have taken it from Rhia's room.

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