Page 183 of The Next Lie

Her eyes widen. Then she scrambles off my lap so fast Shiloh and I both have to catch her.

“Christ on a cracker.”

Shiloh laughs.

I do too, once. The sound surprises me.

Reva looks at me like she caught it and plans to keep it.

Maybe she can.

Outside, the house remains quiet. The city keeps moving. The gala sits two nights away like a blade under silk.

I pick up the hairpin and set it in the pouch again.

Eyes. Ears. Signal. Backup. Not enough. But closer.

And for now, Reva is laughing while she yanks on her leggings, Shiloh is irritating her on purpose, and my hands have stopped shaking.

For now, I’ll take it as a win.

CHAPTER THIRTY

REVA

Sonny arrives at Blackwood House with three makeup bags, a garment steamer, a curling iron, two coffees, and the expression of a woman preparing for war.

“Where’s the dress?” she asks the second I open my bedroom door.

“Hello to you too.”

“Hello. Where’s the dress?”

I step aside and let her in. “You’re kind of scary, you know that?”

“Look. I have a limited window to make you look hot and bulletproof.”

My lips twitch. “That sounds like Shiloh and Ever had a baby.”

“Shiloh wishes he had my vision.”

Homer darts between her ankles and immediately tries to climb inside one of the makeup bags. Sonny gasps, scoops him up, and holds him in front of her face.

“Is this the famous shower kitten?”

“He is not famous.”

“He should be. Look at him. Lil orange chaos biscuit.”

Homer nuzzles in and bites one of her earrings.

“See?” I say. “Chaos.”

She kisses the top of his head anyway, then sets him on the bed, where he attacks the drawstring on her hoodie with the seriousness of a trained killer.

The dress hangs on the closet door.

I’ve avoided looking at it for most of the morning. That has not made it disappear. It waits there in a long garment bag, delivered two hours ago with shoes, a mask, and a note from Shiloh that said only: