He cocks his head, one corner of his mouth curving upward. “Are you afraid of a little pain?”

I see the scars beneath the ink again and wonder how much those hurt.

“Are you?” he prods.

“Just tell me.”

His mouth moves into a smirk as his gaze moves over my face, hovering at my lips before returning to my eyes. “Your answer is written all over your face, Ivy. So easy to read.” He shakes his head like he’s disappointed, but a moment later, that smirk is gone. “I like you scared, actually. You’re very pretty when you’re scared.” He wipes his thumb across my cheekbone, and we both look down at the smear of black. Mascara. I must look a mess. “I like your tears too, and I’ll have more of those.”

He wraps his hand around the back of my neck. The intricate twist his sister forced my hair into is tight enough to give me the beginnings of a headache.

I gasp when he jerks me to him, fingers rough on the bare skin there like he’s testing it. They mark the back of a woman’s neck. It’s how the stories went at school, at least. I imagine a barcode there so male members can scan to see who they can touch and who they can’t.

I hate everything about The Society from what it’s done to our family to what it requires of women. What it requires of me.

“You’re mine. And tonight, you’ll bear a mark for all to know exactly that,” Santiago says.

Abruptly he lets go of the back of my neck and turns, fingers digging into my arm as he pulls me forward. I stub my toe on a stone, stumble and hear a woman’s gasp. I look in the direction of the sound and see a flash of color, a rustle of leaves, and behind the half-faced sculpture I can’t name, I see a woman. She’s young, my age, I’d guess. It’s just for a moment that I see her, but when I meet her wide eyes, she quickly puts a finger to her lips, urging me not to give her away.

She’s not supposed to be here. The women, if they’re on the property, would be cloistered inside. Is she afraid I’ll tell?

Santiago stops, turns in the direction of the sound. He heard her too.

I mean to take a step away from the sculpture to distract him but he tugs my arm and I end up bumping into his chest. I bounce off and he looks down at me.

“Are you always so clumsy?”

“I—”

“There they are, the bride and groom,” someone calls out from the courtyard. “You’ve kept us waiting, Santiago.”

Men laugh.