Renna Rose Lancaster is the girl people stare at like she belongs in a glass case, carved with angel-soft beauty, a life airbrushed into unattainable perfection. But Renna knows perfection is nothing but a golden prison, coated in pretty lies that k...
"In your breath I found entire winters that never froze me."
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The Scottish sky had the kind of drama you usually only saw in paintings—like Turner had gotten drunk and spilled a palette of bruised purples and half-dead blues over the horizon. Clouds stretched like silk ribbons pulled too thin, fraying at the edges, threatening to tear. The Bentley hummed steady as it carved its way down the coastal road, engine low and obedient, tires crunching over sharp little pebbles scattered across the asphalt.
The scent of salt slipped in through the barely cracked window, sharp and metallic, the kind that stung the inside of your nose and made you certain the sea was close enough to swallow you whole if it wanted. I leaned against the glass, cheek pressed to its cold surface, eyes fixed on the jagged coastline. Everything here looked like it had been carved by someone with too much rage and not enough patience-cliffs sliced clean, waves battering the rocks like fists.
Scotland still didn't feel like it belonged to me. Gorgeous, yes. Raw and ancient in a way my home country could never dream of being. But it wasn't take and it definitely wasn't mine. Not yet.
And tonight? Tonight felt like standing on the edge of something enormous. Like the universe was dangling me off the side of those cliffs, whispering: jump.
I tightened my fingers in the chiffon folds of my dress until the delicate fabric squeaked in protest. My heart was racing and my thighs were locked so tightly together I could've cracked diamonds.
"Mmm. If you clench any harder, you'll pop something vital." Mama's voice floated from beside me, playful, wicked, laced with amusement.
My head snapped toward her so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. "Mama."
"Don't you dare Mama me." She leaned in closer, perfume wrapping around me like an ambush. "Your poor dress is begging for mercy. And those thighs of yours—Jesus Christ, Renna—if Aadam doesn't ruin you, you'll manage it yourself."
I nearly swallowed my own tongue. "Keep your voice down."
"Oh, please." She waved a hand, all nonchalance and glittering rings. "Your dad couldn't hear a cannon if it went off in his fucking ear. He's too busy practising his Oxford vowels to out-snob Raphael to prove he's the superior male."
My laugh slipped out before I could stop it. "You're vile."
"And you love me for it." She smirked wider. "Now, don't pretend with me, darling. You've been humming with hormones since I told you where we were headed. You think I don't see it? The way you practically salivate at the thought of that boy?"
Heat smacked me square across the face.
Not salivate. Just... okay maybe salivate a little.
"Fine," I whispered, eyes flicking toward Daddy's stiff profile. "Maybe I am excited. Maybe I can't stop thinking about him. Maybe I—"
