Page 117 of Because I Killed Him
I smile, the weight behind it full. “Yes.”
Vivian kneels to scoop up the gown, and the silk folds into her palms like water as she runs her fingers along the bodice and the embroidery. She holds it up, eyes wide, taking in the sweep of the train, the constellation of tiny diamonds, and how it glows against her skin even when held, not worn.
“I’ll never forget this, Lore,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Never.”
She clutches the dress to her chest, squeezing the fabric with both hands as if grounding herself in it. Then, slowly, she lifts her head, and I get what I’ve been waiting for. It’s not her usual sly grin or the curved-lip expression she pulls on Harrison when she wants something. This is her real smile, soft and lit from within.
“Try it on,” I say.
Vivian drags the dress free of its wrappings with a laugh that makes it feel like we’re in the same room. The Pinkie steps forward to assist, already tugging gently at her suit jacket. But just as the first button slips free, Vivian stiffens, and her eyes snap back to the screen.
“Lore,” she says, hurrying closer. “I’m sorry—I completely forgot to tell you. You didn’t already give the Hellion to your friend, did you?”
“No.”
Vivian’s shoulders drop in relief. “Good. When you do, make sure they don’t say a word. The badge has to stay under wraps.”
“Why?”
“Because thePrewsare looking for it.”
“The Prews?” I push up from the sofa so fast my head spins. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she says. “One of the sons—Edmund—is obsessed with it. He’s been searching for it for years. I don’t know how the family lost ownership of it, but Edmund has issued press releases and offered rewards. He even sent collectors to the low-citizen Districts, desperate to turn up something.Harry almost came forward once, but when he realized how badly I wanted the badge, he gave it to me instead.”
I stare at her.
And for a moment, the whole room tilts.
“I’ve gotta go,” I say.
“Why? What’s wrong?” Vivian reaches for the phone, her hand outstretched. “Lore, talk to me. I thought you wanted me to try on—”
“Later.” I’m already moving, unlocking the door and flinging it open. “I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
The lavatory is empty when I step out, but the hallway is a sea of blue. Every booth, every barstool, every inch of space overflows with silk and satin. Between now and my call with Vivian, dozens more high-citizens have arrived. The line toward Edmund’s booth has reformed, winding through the cafe like a current, glistening with rings, canes, and watches.
I shoulder through the crowd, trying to be gentle yet quick. The faster I move, the sharper the irony cuts, the sheer luck of what I pulled off. And I’m not even there to guard the badge. It’s alone, at risk of being lost or ruined.
When I finally push through the door of Edmund’s private booth, Rosamund is no longer narrating the backstory of her gifts. The room is so quiet I can count the heartbeats. Jack, Dickie, Rosamund, and Charlotte are hunched over the table, all eyes fixed on something.
I don’t need to see it. My gut already knows. But I step forward anyway.
And there it is, the Hellion badge, glinting in Edmund’s open palm. He looks at it the way you might look through a scope, the whole world narrowing to a single point. His thumb moves across the metal slowly, almost reverently, until it rests on the name,Ernest Prew. Edmund’s throat works, his jaw locking tight. He blinks once, then again, as if something fierce is burning behind his eyes and he’s struggling to hold it back.
He grips the badge like it’s both a relic and a wound.
My heart swells, pressing painfully against my ribs. I step back without meaning to. My T-strap heel catches the hem of my dress, nearly pulling me off balance. I brace a hand against the wall and steady myself, careful not to ruin the moment.
That’s when Edmund’s eyes lift and meet mine. The cold blue has softened, as if the badge in his palm is drawing out every sharp edge of him, leaving an echo of something gentle. Someone gentle.
Then he lifts a hand and signals something I don’t understand.
Before I can ask, Edmund looks away. I slide into the seat beside Charlotte as the others look up.
Jack lets out a low whistle, squinting as if the sun just broke through the clouds. “Well, shit, darling. You really did it.”
“Golly, broad,” Dickie breathes. “That’s the real cat’s meow.”
