Page 125 of Dishonored

Aria glanced away from the mirror, and nodded at her friend. “Okay.”

She was grateful for his company—he stayed with her in the mansion’s wing even when he could have gone home, and filled in the important people with the news of everything that had happened. Instead, he stayed there with her for three days.

So far.

Caesar hadn’t come back to the wing since he left that first night, and she wasn’t even entirely sure that he was still at the Accardo estate. But she couldn’t say for sure. It was a wise move on his part to keep his distance.

Strangely enough, the wing wasn’t locked, either. Aria was allowed to leave, and wander the mansion or the grounds without much interference. Although the guard that had accompanied Nico—he called the man an enforcer—was never too far behind when she left the wing.

He didn’t speak.

Luckily.

Aria went back to her reflection in the mirror, and smoothed out her white dress. The elbow-length sleeves, and short skirt was both modest, and yet sexy. She’d managed her curls into a thick mane that fell over her shoulders, and halfway down her back. She’d done up her makeup, and wrapped a bracelet of pearls around her wrist.

Simplicity and elegance.

They asked for a De Rose—they got one.

“You don’t have to do dinner with them,” Nico said. “It was only offered.”

She shrugged. “It was offered, though. And why not take them up on it?”

If the Accardos wanted to pretty Aria up, and put her on display for their people to show what they had done and what they now had, she was more than willing to play along. At least for the moment, anyway. She couldn’t say how long it would last.

“Shame I wasn’t invited.”

She might think Nico was offended about that if he wasn’t smirking.

“Cute,” she said.

He shrugged.

“Good, you’re ready.”

In the mirror, Aria saw Nico stiffen. She, too, felt like a rod had been thrust into her spine as she turned to face the man standing in the doorway of the bedroom she’d picked to use. It was the first time she had seen Caesar in days, and yet, he still looked the same.

Like sin, and hell, and the hate in her heart.

He wore one of his tailored, black Armani suits, and Tom Ford loafers. He checked the Rolex on his wrist, and then dragged his fingers through the dark blonde hair on the top of his head. His ice-blue gaze drifted over her, and then to Nico.

“Do you want to come to dinner?” he asked.

Nico’s upper lip curled a bit. “Not particularly.”

Caesar tipped his head in Aria’s direction. “Not even to keep an eye on her?”

“Do you think she needs protecting?”

A laugh answered Nico back.

“Not at all,” Caesar murmured. Then, to Aria, he gestured for her to move with a single hand. “Let’s go—people are already sitting down to eat, and we don’t want to be rude.”

Right.

No being rude.

“I promise nothing,” Aria said, passing him by in the doorway.