Chapter 13: Cream Gown

"Hold still," Lily said. "You're worse than a patient."

"Patients don't wear zippers."

"Patients don't wear this."

She had a pin between her teeth.

We were in my room at the penthouse, the deadbolt open for once.

The gown hung from the closet door like a held breath.

Cream silk, a plain fitted line, no jewels.

It belonged to a stylist Damien's office had called.

I had been told to keep it clean and send it back.

"Arms up," Lily said.

I raised them.

The silk came down over my head, cool as water, and slid along my ribs.

She tugged the zipper up my spine, slowly.

I felt every inch of it.

"There."

She stepped back.

Her eyes went bright.

"Ava."

"Is it bad?"

"You look like Mom in the wedding photo."

I turned to the mirror.

Chestnut waves loose past my shoulders.

A bare neck.

A woman I didn't quite know, standing very straight.

"I'm a fraud in a borrowed dress," I said.

"You're my sister in a borrowed dress."

She came up behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist.

Her chin rested on my shoulder.

We looked at ourselves together.

"Are you scared?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Good. You can be scared and still go."

"Where did you learn that?"

"From you. Every shift you've ever worked."

I put my hand over hers.

For a moment neither of us said anything.

"The guest list," I said. "Marcus checked every name twice."

"Rourke's on it?"

"Not by name."

"That's worse."

"I know."

She squeezed once and let go.

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