Renna Rose Lancaster is the girl people stare at like she belongs in a glass case, a life airbrushed into unattainable perfection.
But Renna knows her life is nothing but a golden prison coated in pretty lies that keep her muted and small.
Her day...
"If you are heaven, I would love to die; If you are tears, I would love to cry; If you are pain, I would love to get hurt;
You think i’m gonna leave you. But darling your name is my favourite word.
If you are the ocean, I’ll be the wave; If you are the moon, I’ll be the closest star;
I’ll always love you, no matter where you are...."
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The first thing I clocked was how still she was.
Renna was pressed back against the side of her car, chin tipped up, throat in the curve of my hand like she'd been carved for the exact purpose of being held there. Her earrings—long over-the-top things that caught the lights—brushed her jaw whenever she breathed.
And she stared straight at me like I was meant to feel embarrassed for handling her like this in front of an audience.
She clutched the hem of my tux jacket like she thought she could haul me closer if she tried hard enough. She was shorter than me by a stupid amount, so when she tugged, she didn't move me.
Not even slightly.
But she tried anyway, just to annoy me.
"Don't blink," I muttered.
"If you poke my eye I'll actually scream." she fired back.
"You scream at everything."
"I do not."
"You shouted at your heels, Renna."
"It deserved it."
I didn't bother replying. Her lashes trembled as I brushed the mascara wand along them in slow, steady strokes.
The car park wasn't empty. Tobias was posted near the boot, pretending to secure something but obviously supervising us. Magnus stood a few feet away, checking the time every ten seconds, unimpressed with how dramatically late she was.
And then there was the French Fucker.
Neil leaned his shoulder against the black SUV opposite us, eyes locked on Renna. He was usually composed with that ex-DGSE detachment like he'd been trained to show zero reaction to anything short of an explosion.
But today his jaw was tight, and his gaze flicked between my hand on her throat and the mascara wand.
I felt smug enough to want to drag this out, so I ran the wand over her lashes again.
