Taking hold of the bottom of her dress, Perron gave Oriana a bracing smile. “Arms up.”
Oriana put her arms up. Her face was sickly white.
Sloan couldn’t take it any longer. “Perron, stop. She can’t—”
“Yes, I can.” Oriana took a deep breath. “Do it, Max.”
Perron started lifting the dress but paused when she winced. He knelt and looked at something on her thigh. “Ouch. Why didn’t you tell me you got hurt?”
“It’s just a little burn.”
“It’s pretty red.” Perron didn’t sound so sure of himself anymore. He stood and took her hand. “Come on, we’ll go to my place. I’ll take care of this, and then—”
“I want it off!” She twisted her hand free when Perron shook his head and grabbed the hem of the dress like she wanted to tear it from her body. “I wore this for him and I hate it! Like my father
