ASTRID
The house reeks of Luca’s blood. I doubt any amount of scrubbing will get the metallic stink out. Not that it particularly matters. I have no idea when—or if—I’ll return. What’s there to return to?
My mother’s wedding dress still hangs in the wardrobe she shared with my father.
Luca and I could never bring ourselves to empty it out, not for any sentimental reason but because we couldn’t afford new clothes for ourselves.
We were both still growing; we needed the hand-me-ups. I’ve never worn my mother’s dress before, though.
I’d been saving the pale green, A-line design for the moment I promised myself to Everett.
Now, I pull it on without a second thought, simply noting the way it compliments Prince Cayden’s bracelet, which I’ve fastened around my wrist.
I could buy a new dres
