I look from the closed door of the confessional to the mesh behind which the priest would sit and back as my brother roughly yanks the rickety door open, making it rattle on its hinges. He then grabs my arm.

“You’re hurting me!” I cry out.

“Why are you hiding? You think I’m so stupid I won’t find you?”

“I wasn’t hiding, you jerk!”

“Christ. You’re a fucking mess.” He wipes what I guess is mascara from under my eye, then takes a breath in. He pulls the veil down over my face and seems to collect himself.

It’s almost time.

12

Santiago

In The Society, weddings are typically a large affair. Members of the upper echelon are held to higher standards, and it is often a competitive sport between the women to see who can outdo each other at these events. They will commission ice sculptures and designer gowns and custom-cut diamonds because they have the wealth and power to do so.

There will be none of that fanfare at my wedding. The only men here to witness the event are those who are required by IVI as witnesses. If it were completely at my discretion, it would just be the two of us with the priest, but we must all abide by the rules, and this is one of them.

A strange undercurrent of tension runs through my veins as I study my reflection in the mirror. My leather oxfords are polished. The custom black Brioni tux is flawlessly pressed with a crisp white dress shirt underneath. Ink on my arm peeks out from beneath the cuff. But it’s the ink on my face that has my attention. Ivy is probably aware of my scars, but she hasn’t seen me with the half skull yet. I can only imagine her reaction as she reaches the end of the aisle. What will she do? Will she try to run? Will her brother have to drag her back up to the altar and force her to quiet her grievous sobs so she can choke out her vows to the likes of me?

The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

Once upon a time, women in The Society were falling at their feet to marry me. Now, I can’t be certain my bride won’t just impale herself with a candlestick rather than give herself to me.

How Ivy feels about it doesn’t matter. She is a means to an end. I won’t tolerate her disrespect, no matter how disgusted she may be. The same can be said for her brother. And it isn’t but a moment later that he appears in the doorway with my guard behind him.

“You called for me?” Abel asks.