Page 102 of Because I Killed Him
Instead, she strolls back toward her phone, hips swaying, and says coolly, “That’s an interesting choice. A lot of people think Ernest Prew died a coward.”
The claim hits me sideways. “What do you mean?”
“The Hellion saved many lives during the Shield War. Everyone agrees on that. But on the day he died, a shield breach left his unit caught in a ground assault. Some survivors say Ernest ran, abandoned his men, and was shot in the back while trying to escape. Others insist he died protecting them, taking the shot straight to the chest.”
“Well, which one was it? Wasn’t there an investigation?” I ask. A single forensic analysis of his flight jacket would end the argument instantly.
“No.” Vivian shrugs. “The Prew family refused to have Ernest’s uniform examined. I think they believe he was a hero, but they’re terrified of what might happen if the evidence says otherwise, so they leave it to rumor. Now half the Civilized World thinks the Hellion was a legend, and the other half thinks he wasn’t.” She looks at the badge and gives a faint smile. “ButIthink he was.”
I wonder if Edmund feels the same way. Could part of the reason he wants to be a pilot be to emulate his grandfather? Or is it the opposite, to restore honor to the Prew legacy? I can’t be sure. All I know is that giving Edmund a flight badge belonging to a man he might believe disgraced his family could backfire. The badge could be a priceless gift or a painful reminder.
Vivian brushes her fingers over the badge. “All right, Lore. We have a deal.”
“W-Wait,” I stammer. “Really?”
“Yes, but in exchange, I wanther.”
“Her?”
“That’s right. I wantCoquette.”
I stare at Vivian, sure she can’t be serious. This has to be a joke, a cruel one. But then she lifts her phone, smiling hopefully at the screen, and I feel the curse slip out under my breath. I stagger from my desk, and in a single, blinding flash, my whole body floods with heat.
Vivian could’ve asked for anything, even my 18-carat emeraldnecklace, and I would’ve agreed. But Coquette is different. It’s the Lemon gown Mom gave me after my weapons restriction, handed to me like a whisper that said,I still believe in you.
The gown’s green shade is as deep as a forest at dusk. Ivy lace climbs the bodice in a tangle of embroidery, and the skirt flows in layers of delicate tulle that feel like mist against your skin. Diamonds are sewn by hand into the fabric, soft as dew before morning, in a one-of-a-kind pattern. Lemon never repeats a design. That’s part of the prestige and why their clothes cost more than Vivian’s prized thoroughbred.
But the bank-breaking price isn’t why the dress matters.
Coquette matters because when I opened that box, I made a promise to myself. I swore I wouldn’t wear it until the day I was finally allowed to hold a saber again.
Every time I felt like giving up, I’d picture myself in that dress, the blade flashing at my side. I’d picture how the layers of tulle would shift as I lunged and how the diamonds on the sleeves would sparkle as I lifted my arm in a high-line parry. I clung to that thought through every doubt, every secret training session in my room, every moment I had to stand on the sidelines and watch others live my dream.
Vivian doesn’t know this. She doesn’t realize that if she takes Coquette, she’ll take my hope with it. But shedoesknow I haven’t worn the dress yet because I was saving it for something special. And she doesn’t seem to care.
“No,” I say, my voice hoarse. “No fucking way.”
“Please, Lore.” Vivian presses her hands together as if casting a spell to change my mind. “I don’t have a dress for the rehearsal dinner. It could be a wedding gift.”
“I’ll give you another one,” I say, hurrying into my bedroom and yanking open the wardrobe, where silk, chiffon, and velvet gleam under the lights. “Any dress you want.”
“I don’t want another one.” Her gaze slides past me and lands on Coquette, hanging in a muslin garment bag. “What if I just wear it for the rehearsal dinner and then give it back?”
“No.”
Her jaw drops. “Seriously? Not even toborrowit?”
I shake my head. If she wears Coquette before I do, it’ll destroy the symbol.
Vivian’s expression ices over. Her top lip curls, the way it always does when she’s about to unload on Hillaire. “Then you’re not getting the Hellion. In fact, none of the badges are up for trade.”
“What?” I whirl around. “Then what am I supposed to give Ed—”
I bite down on his name.
Vivian smirks, her eyes glinting. “Guess you’ll just have to go dumpster diving.”
Then she hangs up.
