Zeth makes a growling noise at the back of his throat. “Fine. Then get moving.”
I take the dress from him—I’m assuming it’s a dress—and I head for the bedroom. When I unzip the bag, I see it is a dress. A beautiful one, made from Irish-green silk with a huge split up the front. There are matching silk covered heels, too, and a lovely art deco hair comb to match. I get dressed, feeling incredibly seductive as the material whispers over my skin. I haven’t felt like that in a very long time.
At the thought of seduction, I suddenly remember what the concierge told us when we first arrived here: that there were celebrations happening soon. The kinds of celebrations Zeth used to attend before he came back into my life. The concierge had even asked if we wanted to book a booth. My heart is suddenly galloping in my chest. Is he…is he planning on taking me to some sex party? I remember the last one all too well.
I stride out of the bedroom and into the lounge, getting ready to lay into him, but then I catch sight of the man, and I lose any and all ability to speak coherently. In a beautiful black suit, white shirt and black tie, Zeth is magnificent. The small cuts and scrapes on his hands and face only seem to add a savage edge to his beauty. He’s fastening his cuff links, smirking at me as he makes eye contact.
“Everything to your liking?” he asks.
Am I to your liking? He knows damn well he is, the arrogant bastard. I scowl at him. “Are you planning on taking me downstairs to some freaky sex club, Zeth?”
He looks genuinely surprised. I watch the moment when realization dawns on him. “Oh, you think...” He laughs. Actually has the audacity to laugh. “No, angry girl. No more sex clubs for you. Or for me. That is, unless…”
I throw a couch cushion at him, but he sidesteps out of the way, still adjusting his cufflinks. I shake my head, going to him and holding out my hands. He places his in mine, and I carefully thread the silver button through his cuff.
“There.” When I look up, Zeth’s grinning at me.
“What?”
“You’re disappointed, aren’t you?”
“That you’re not taking me to a sex club? No!” I can feel myself blushing, though. I can hear how ridiculous my denial sounds. Zeth’s grin vanishes in a heartbeat. He leans down to me, so that his lips brush my ear when he says, “I can tolerate people watching, Sloane. I can tolerate you wanting to watch others. But we have new ground rules now. No one’s ever allowed to touch you again. And I will never touch anyone else, nor allow anyone to touch me, either. So…all you have to do is say the word.”
A cold, anxious shiver runs down the length of my body, but I’m not anxious because I think he wants that. He’s telling me that because he thinks I might want it. And…I’m anxious because of how the prospect of it makes me feel.
“I don’t want that,” I say breathlessly.
Zeth nods, though I can see the flicker of dark amusement in his eyes. “Come on, angry girl. We have a ride waiting for us downstairs.”
Our ride is Michael, of course. And our car is a sleek, black limo. Neither of them caves and tells me where we’re going as we glide silently through the city. I still haven’t guessed, not even when we pull up outside yet another church.
Zeth helps me out of the car, a small smile playing over the corners of his mouth. He looks so entertained by my confusion.
“What are we doing here?” I can hear music inside—the sound of violins and cellos, and the music of many voices all talking at once. Tea light candles light the path up to the church entrance, and small fairy lights have been wrapped around the branches of the trees in the courtyard. It’s stunning.
Zeth looks slightly bashful as he reaches into his pocket and produces a square of dirty, battered card. There’s blood splattered on the back of it, and the corner is torn, but I instantly realize what it is: the invitation to Suresh’s wedding. He told me…Zeth told me weeks ago he would take me. I’d forgotten all about it. So much has happened in between now and then. So much to change and shape us. Zeth unfolds the invitation and holds it out to me.
“I thought they were getting married in a hotel. In the morning?” I whisper.
“The bride’s very Christian parents were delayed,” Zeth explains. “They pushed back the time and changed the location on account how scandalous not getting married in a church was, apparently.”
I look back up at the church, struggling to cope with the sheer rightness of the moment. “I can’t believe it.”
“I was hoping you’d still want me to be your date?” Zeth says softly.
My eyes are stinging. I can’t believe, in amongst all the fighting, running, violence and pain, he remembered this. “I would love for you to be my date.”
I can’t believe this man. I can’t believe how much I love him. I can’t believe how lost I would be without him in my life. I would definitely have been safer these past few months, but in retrospect, it seems as though Zeth was right. This has all been blood and roses—pain and heartache, but also bittersweet and beautiful, too. There are plenty of things I’d change, losing Lacey being one of them, but I’d still have him. I’d still have this, and this is perfect.
“Want to go inside?” he asks.
I nod, yes. “I definitely want to go inside.”
The ceremony is wonderful. The inside of the church is decked out in a million tiny white flowers, decorating the pews and the aisle. Rebecca, Suresh’s bride, is radiant in a sea of white lace and silk, the same tiny white flowers tied into her hair. I’m surrounded by faces I know from the hospital—Oliver’s sitting at the front of the church with a date, a slim blonde woman with a knockout smile. He notices us halfway through the ceremony and gives me a hesitant smile. Once the vows are over, the whole church full of people walk down the street, not caring about the cold or the wind that ruins their hair. Zeth links his arm through mine and we walk with the rest of the crowd, surrounded by laughter and smiling faces.