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I run my hand down the shimmering blue material of the summer dress, which has feathered straps that mirror the clasp of the aquamarine pendant at my throat.
The dress matches Thomas’ blue suit.
“It’s beautiful, Tom,” I reply, meaning you’re beautiful. “And us matching is equally me being possessive and saying that I’m no longer available because I picked you. Just so you know that I’m also owning it.”
Thomas chuckles, resting his cool hand on my bare shoulder and rubbing in a soothing way. “We’ve got this today. Your cake is a work of art. Whatever happens, remember that I love you. Freeing you…setting all of you free…it’s worth everything. I’d die for—”
Terrified at his sudden earnestness, I twist to face him.
I grab him by his collar to force him to face me. “What’s going on?”
“Trust me.”
Thomas’ words stab through me.
I do trust him.
While I’ve been busy with my baking, Thomas has been working on the details of the scheme with Ghost.
I don’t know those details.
Thomas told me that my reactions would be more believable that way, as long as I follow his lead.
I agreed to that because baking is my talent, Ghost’s is to plot, and Thomas’ is to lead.
Yet this is hard.
“Okay,” I whisper, “but you’re not dying.”
“I should hope not.” When Thomas kisses me, it’s desperate and agonizingly like he thinks that it may be the last time that our lips will touch.
“You’re at it again. Do I need to spray you with water like you’re cats in heat?” Lincoln teases.
I hear Lincoln’s footfalls coming out from inside Saint Cage and onto the porch. Ghost follows him quietly.
Thomas breaks apart from me, fixing on a cool mask.
I peer around Thomas at Lincoln, who’s dressed in a sharp black suit with a silk threaded waistcoat.
Lincoln’s also awkwardly carrying Sugar in his arms, cradling her like she’s a baby. Sugar’s white hairs are already sticking to his black suit.
Sugar looks smug.
Ghost looks smugger about getting Lincoln to carry Sugar around for him like his personal butler.
Personally, I bet that he only had to bat those baby blues of his at Lincoln.
Lincoln is Omega whipped.
When Ghost catches my eye and grins like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, I smother my laugh against my palm.
Unfortunately, Lincoln catches our look and realizes that he’s been played.
“Sneaky Omegas,” Lincoln grumbles.
He drops Sugar gently to the floor. She winds around his ankles, as if to be certain that his legs are covered in her hair, before trotting off toward the delicious food smells. I’m certain that she’ll steal cheese and sausage from the stalls.
Ghost’s dressed in a sky blue suit that matches his eyes with an ace of spades on the pocket, over a white shirt that’s open at the neck. His curls are slicked back.
