chapter Thirty-Six
I wasn’t dressed for the council.
Jeans and a hoodie with thumbholes ripped in the sleeves didn’t scream authority figure, and I already had a hard enough time getting the council to respect my authority.
It didn’t help that when I said “respect my authority” in my head, it was in the voice of Cartman from South Park.
I needed to put on something more appropriate or I risked making them change their minds about letting Brigit become a warden. If my holey-kneed jeans were the reason she didn’t get the position, my a*shole status would be assured.
I barged into my apartment, texting Lucas with one hand to tell him he’d have to see Kimberly without me, while my other hand pulled my clothes off. I was topless and halfway out of my pants before I realized I wasn’t alone.
“Don’t let me stop you,” Holden said from his place in the armchair. “I was enjoying the show.”
I threw my hoodie at him. “Make yourself useful. I need to be dressed for council in three minutes.” If I had a fashion editor in my living room, I was going to put him to work.
We went opposite ways, he into my bedroom where he would make himself at home in my closet, and me to the bathroom where I would attempt to scrape off last night’s booze-induced pity party and the exhausted patina it had left on my face.
He mumbled something from the other room.
“Are you bitching about my wardrobe again?” I would be pissed if he was. I’d spent a lot of time and money making it into something respectable since I’d joined the Tribunal. Nothing in my closet was comfortable, but at least I looked hot in it.
I splashed cold water onto my face, and when I straightened, his reflection was next to mine in the mirror. I yelped. “Christ, Holden, do I need to put a little bell on you?”
He continued to speak like I hadn’t even opened my mouth. “What I said was, I was here to see if you’re doing all right. After…you know.” His eyes drifted down to the gray scar on my side. It would whiten over time like the sword wound it was next to. But they’d never heal completely. That was silver for you. I had another white line on my arm and a second star-shaped one on my shoulder from the first assassin’s highway attempt.
For someone who was supposed to be able to heal anything, I was starting to show a lot of permanent damage.
“I’m fine.”
“Where’s your pet dog?”
With those four words he undid all the healing I thought I’d done, proving once and for all there were plenty of wounds I couldn’t keep from reopening.
“What did I say? Jesus, stop crying. I don’t do crying.” He ripped a wad of toilet paper off the roll and shoved it in my face. “Especially women crying. It makes them ugly.”
I hiccupped and almost laughed.
“You would find an insult funny, wouldn’t you?”
I wiped away the tears and threw more water on myself, taking a few shaky breaths to get myself back under control. I’d managed to stop before I got all raw and snot-nosed. There was no Kleenex left in my apartment after last night, between the tears and the tear-induced boogers. God, he was right, crying made people hideous.
“Sorry.”
“You should be, that was awful.” But he was smiling in a worried way.
“What did you find me to wear?”
“Well, I picked this, but I think I might need to go back and get something more absorbent.” He held up a bundle of red satin straps that bore no resemblance to anything that would cover me, but I knew better. I’d bought it, after all.
“Get out so I can change.” I shoved him towards the door.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“Nothing you’re going to see again.” I slammed the bathroom door in his leering face.
When I came out a minute later I had made my hair into something resembling a French twist, I was wearing enough makeup to cover my swollen eyes, and had managed to make the puffiness work in my favor by emphasizing it with a lot of smoky eyeshadow. I looked squinty and mysterious.
The dress, too, had been transformed. It was no longer a motley collection of fabric strips. Once the dress was on it was a plunging V-neck with straps crisscrossing from front to back in a woven tapestry that would all come undone if someone were to pull the tie at the nape of my neck.
It was a dangerous dress, but right then it was what I needed.
Holden let out a whistle and handed me a pair of silver stiletto sandals. “Now there’s the Secret I know and…know.”
I tried to smile, but it didn’t quite work.
“Come on.” He wound his arm around my shoulder and pulled me towards the door. “Let’s get you to your adoring fans.”
I snorted. “Oh yes, they can’t get enough of me.”
“Well at least you’ll be dressed and ready for after.”
“After?”
He handed me the hot pink card that had been stuck to my fridge. Oh God, Sig wasn’t kidding. I really did need a f*cking agenda. I think my stupid new fancy phone had a calendar. The card in my hand had clip-art images of martini glasses and handcuffs on it and said, She’s still single…but not for long.
Mercedes wasn’t exactly a Photoshop wiz, but the invitations were cute.
And I’d totally forgotten about it in the excitement and near-death of the last week and a half.
Tonight was my goddamned bachelorette party.