I don’t know what I’m going to do with it.
“Well, don’t throw it away,” she insists with a laugh. “In fact, if you’re ever feeling generous just make sure to keep me in mind.”
I know Amelia well enough that I don’t think she’d come back here with a crew and try to roll us over. She isn’t like that, and not just because her family is religious. Amelia is a straight shooter. If she was thinking about robbing me, she would give me fair warning to keep my belongings locked up.
Which is why she is the only person I feel comfortable coming to for help. I trust her to tell me precisely what she’s thinking, just because I asked.
Jake is taking me to the Founder’s Ball. I need you to help me get ready. Like really ready.
“Sounds like you’re hoping to turn heads,” she comments. “Or maybe just one head in particular.”
I shrug as I gesture toward my closet. Even though I rarely have more than two quarters to rub together, my closet is full to bursting. My mother didn’t take much with her when she blew out of town. Initially, I told myself that meant she had to be planning to come back eventually. But with each passing year, it seemed more and more likely that she just didn’t want to waste the time it would have taken to pack up her stuff.
So I still have everything. From the “lucky” jean shorts she’d always wear on Saturday nights at the bar to the wrinkled uniform the Cortlands gave her that is still covered in grass stains and smells like glass cleaner.
Amelia lets out a surprised gasp when she opens the door and a cascade of fabrics in every possible color burst from the closet. Julia Milbourne’s tastes trended toward the cheap and flashy, but nobody could fault the variety of her wardrobe.
“Holy forking shirt balls. I feel like I’m in the wardrobe department at the theatre. The only thing missing is a space man costume.” She sifts through the hangers so quickly that dresses move like flashes of colored light. “You should have told me to bring my sewing machine so we could alter some of this stuff. Although, I do love a good vintage item.”
I already knew Amelia makes her own clothes. Her father buys yards of plain fabric from the farming supply store with the only instruction to cover everything below her neck and above her ankles. The way she eyes the mini-skirts and slinky tops in the closet, I wonder what she would do if given free reign.
Amelia pulls out a flaming red dress, so bright that it practically glows stoplight. It’s low-cut, lower than anything I’ve ever worn outside of the house before, with a slit up the side that stops at mid-thigh. She holds it up to herself and lets out a low whistle. It’s one of the few dresses in the closet that is classic instead of dated. “If you want to make a statement, this one will get the job done.”
I take it from her with shaking fingers, unsure why I suddenly feel so nervous. She turns her back as I pull off my sweatshirt. It isn’t necessary to try the dress on to know it will be a perfect fit, but I do anyway. I inherited my build from my mother, curves that don’t disappear even when I don’t get enough to eat and wide hips that I’ve always hated.
My body always seems like an invitation thrown out to the world for all the wrong things.
“Wow.”
That’s all Amelia can say when she turns back around and sees me standing in front of the mirror. My reflection is that of a fully-realized woman with the world in the palm of her hand, not a little girl who won’t speak up for anything, including herself. The dress hugs my hips, which only highlights the gentle taper of my waist. Even without a bra, the bust creates enough cleavage to be sexy without crossing the line into the obscene.
I look amazing in this dress, not something I’m used to saying about myself.
Amelia comes up from behind, her gaze meeting mine in our reflection. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
My motives still aren’t completely clear, even to me. But I know that I when I step foot inside of Cortland Manor for the first time in years, I have to be ready for battle.
Maybe it’s not fair to Jake, but tonight he’ll be my shield.
A flattering dress will be my armor.
Makeup will be my war paint.
And like always, Vin will choose our weapons.
Sixteen
Friday morning finds me sitting in a full cafeteria wishing I could make everyone inside of it disappear, including my closest damn friends.
I had made it clear with as few words as possible that Zaya was completely off limits. Most people probably assume I’m planning something truly diabolical, but none would dare ask me that directly.
Cal won’t stop giving me a shit-eating grin from across the lunch table as he shoves way more food than any one person should consume down his throat. From the way Iain refuses to meet my gaze as he stares meditatively down at his phone screen, I can only assume the news about my inheritance has already been shared.
I’d be pissed if not for the fact that we’re the Vice Lords.
We don’t keep secrets from each other, especially not about something like this.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t wipe the knowing smile off Cal’s face if he lets anything annoying come out of his damn mouth. Just because I’ve decided to accept the inevitable, doesn’t mean I want to hear anything from the peanut gallery about it.
Seriously, fuck Cal for thinking anything about this situation is funny.
And fuck Iain for telling him about it in the first place.
Elliot is the only one who displays anything approaching sympathy, and it isn’t even for me.
“That poor girl,” he says, taking
