Nightfall (Devil's Night #4) - Penelope Douglas Page 0,220

in their beautiful dresses fit for the Oscars.

Rika smiled at me. “It fits you perfectly.”

“I’ll take up the hem a little, I think,” the tailor, with the brown bun on top of her head and a black blouse buttoned up to her neck, said.

“Do you have time?” Rika asked.

“I’ll get it done.”

Rika nodded at her, and I stepped closer, spinning around in front of the mirrors.

“Is this for the wedding?” I asked her.

“If you like it.”

I definitely like it.

I beamed at her. “I love it.”

Her excited eyes darted from me to Winter. “Does it feel good, Winter? Not too tight?”

The other girl, her almost white blonde hair falling over one shoulder in beautiful waves grazed her fingers over the white feather gown, looking like a swan. “I love how it feels,” she said, her voice wispy. “I almost don’t want to wear it. He won’t have patience for the buttons, and it’ll end up in shreds on our bedroom floor.”

Banks laughed, and I snorted. How does someone so soft and gentle fall in love with Damon Torrance, for crying out loud.

But…I guess after seeing him completely under her spell in the train kitchen, she was exactly his type.

Rika looked to Banks and Banks shrugged a little, apprehensive to admit that she liked her black gown with the off-the-shoulder straps and a bodice that made her breasts damn near bulge out of the top. She looked regal, though.

“It’s perfect. You did perfect,” she told Rika. “It’s totally me.”

“Good.” Rika nodded, looking around at all of us with a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “Because I have an idea.”

Will

Present

I’m gonna kill her. She’d had Emmy for the last thirty-six hours. No warning. No discussion. No explanation, other than some excuse about needing one last girls’ night as a single woman.

I hadn’t talked to Em, because Rika took all their cell phones, hiding with Alex, Banks, Winter, Emory, and Ryen at Delcour since yesterday morning.

I mean, what the fuck? I just got her back, and fear was nipping at the corner of my brain, worried that she’d change her mind about marrying me if I couldn’t periodically remind her of how hot I was.

Lev and David carried in six packs, handing them out as Kai shined his shoes, and Michael fixed his hair in front of the mirror.

We all loitered in the den of St. Killian’s, the grandparents and parents shouting downstairs and trying to wrangle everyone as they piled into the limos, the sun setting outside as some old DMX played on the speaker next to me.

Micah pulled a bottle of bourbon out of Rory’s hand, downing a shot, before Damon yanked Misha back in by the collar, fixing his tie and then grabbing his head, inspecting the stripe in his hair.

“What…?” he barked. “Is this blue? Ughhh.”

Misha slapped him away, and Damon shoved him off, grabbing a beer and rolling his eyes. “Watch your back,” Damon told him.

Misha plopped down next to me, and I took a swig from my water bottle.

“You’ll see her in an hour,” he assured me.

I took another drink. “Rika could’ve warned us she was taking all the women overnight.”

“It gives you a chance to miss her.”

“I’ve missed her long enough,” I retorted, watching Michael tie his shoes and then tip back the bottle of Kirin. “I’m done missing her.”

“You think if you don’t see her enough, she’ll have time to change her mind?”

“No.”

Yes. My cousin was smart.

I smirked at him, and he smiled, finishing his own bottle of beer.

Kai walked over, grabbing another for himself, but then he halted, eyeing me. “Does this bother you?” he asked. “We don’t have to drink.”

His hand was paused on the bottle, his eyes dropping to my water.

“No.” I exhaled. “I want to be all here for her. I’m good.”

He took the bottle and uncapped it, the sweat streaming down the sides looking like bliss at one time, but not this time. Bile rose up my throat, remembering the feeling when I drank. Of time moving too fast, of waking up feeling like hell, and feeling paranoid of saying the wrong thing or facing the music the next day after I’d done something stupid.

I could do so much more with myself. I was tired of who I used to be.

But I could have a vice.

If Damon got to drink in front of me, then I got to smoke in front of him. Shooting out of the chair, I dug a pack out of Rory’s breast pocket with his lighter,