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“I’ve only got one pep talk, and that was it.” With a wink, I release her and cross to the drinks cabinet in the sitting room nearby, coming back with two generous glasses of scotch. I hold one out to her. “To family—the one you make.” My gaze slides meaningfully toward the door, encompassing the rest of our Syndicate beyond.
Hadria gives the faintest of smiles as she accepts the glass, clinking it against mine. “To family,” she echoes. The drink does seem to settle her nerves as she sips it. “I’m glad you’re with me on this, Lyssa. As my best…well, bitch probably is accurate, isn’t it?”
I throw back my head with a laugh and then down the rest of my scotch. “We should get moving. Aurora will be making her grand entrance soon and we don’t want to cross paths.”
Hadria sets down her glass and smooths her hands over the sleek lines of her jacket. Just like that, the mask of control has slipped securely back into place. My Hades is back.
As we walk out of the house and around to the night garden, I catch sight of the other wedding guests gathered around. The whole extended Syndicate family is here, from the most grizzled seniors to the greenest recruits. And Juno Bianchi makes an imposing figure in a dove-gray shift dress, her flame-haired wife next to her in emerald green.
We head down the aisle to whistles and cheers. The wedding isn’t exactly what you’d call formal, and it’s in Aurora’s favorite place in Elysium, this night garden that is starting to open up as the sun sets in the west. At the end of the aisle is a large arch covered in white flowers.
And in the front row—my plus-one, after all—I lay eyes on the most gorgeous woman here tonight.
Scarlett.
She smiles and claps even louder as she sees me, and gives a sneaky little thumbs up at the dress she and Aurora somehow talked me into wearing: red satin with a long skirt that would only get caught up in a fight. I would have been more comfortable in a suit, like Hadria’s, but Scarlett begged me.
“You know what you’d have to do to get me into a dress?” I’d growled when I opened that dry cleaner’s bag hanging up in my bedroom.
“I know exactly what I will do,” she’d said, and then suggested something so dirty-hot that I would have turned up in fucking tinsel if she’d suggested it.
And hell, I think it actually looks pretty nice. Scarlett is wearing a cocktail dress in the same color, and even put some of her lipstick on me. When I looked in the mirror, I had to admit I still looked badass even in red lips and a skirt. And Scarlett looks completely fucking edible in her shorter outfit, a thought that I plan to act on later tonight.
Mrs. Graves is in a similar color down the front as Matron of Honor, though a little more muted. She’s already dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. And Sarah, in the front row seated very near to her mother…
Well, she looks as blank as always, but she does give me a nod when she catches me looking at her.
It’s not that I don’t trust her. I just wonder exactly what is going on in that head of hers. Anything? Blood and death?
Or fluffy pink rugs and teddy bears?
I can’t deny I’ve had a peek into her bedroom here in the Elysium. It looked normal enough—no pink, anyway. And we’ve been in touch with Alessa de Luca, who has promised to find the names of some Syndicate-friendly psychologists who should be able to help.
But the radiant vision at the entrance to the night garden stops my thoughts in their tracks. Aurora has appeared on her mother’s arm and she looks…well, she looks like a Goddess descended from Olympus. The ivory lace gown drapes around her slim figure, delicate embroidery glimmering like diamonds in the fading sunset. Her dark blonde hair is flowing freely over her shoulders, studded with tiny white flowers, and topped by a shimmering tiara. Her eyes are alight with joy and love as she looks straight at Hadria.
But no matter how undeniably beautiful Aurora is, as she walks down the aisle I can’t stop myself from turning my eyes to a dark-haired beauty instead, her hazel eyes glowing.
Scarlett.
My Scarlett.
The thought still amazes me at times, that this deadly assassin who once would have done anything to see me dead is the woman I want by my side for the rest of my days. But strange as the path has been to reach this point, I have no doubts about that.
Catching her eye across the crowd, I wink. She grins back, and I make up my mind then and there to make sure she comes at least three times tonight.
Returning my attention to the bride, I watch as Aurora glides forward to join Hadria, Sylvia Verderosa putting Aurora’s hand into Hadria’s with a warm smile, and then finding her seat.
And my battle-hardened boss is utterly transfixed, Hadria’s expression one of pure wonder.
As the vows are exchanged, I’ll admit I feel a little tightness in my throat that has nothing to do with the scotch I downed before. These two found family through bloodshed and violence, yet they’ve forged an unbreakable bond of devotion from the ashes.
If that’s not a cause for hope, I don’t know what is.
There’s a break between the wedding and the reception—for photographs, Aurora tells me. Thankfully, I’m only expected to be there for the first ten minutes, and then it’s time for the brides alone. I grab Scarlett’s hand and march her up to the bedroom, where I change into the same blue suit I wore to Valentino’s. “You could wear a different red dress of your own,” I say hopefully, but she just laughs.
“I don’t think that particular dress is suitable for a wedding. Come on, we should get back to the reception.”
But on the way back, as we go past the war room, I pull Scarlett inside.
