Page 11 of Sadistic

"Worth more than most people's houses," he says casually. "Man doesn't drop that kind of money unless he's serious."

"Or unless he's marking his territory," Dalla mutters, slumping into a chair.

Regnor doesn't argue, just carries Eira off.

Everly waits until we hear the bathroom door close before sitting across from us.

She pours herself tea—chamomile, I notice.

The coffee must make her nauseous, or she’s watching her caffeine input.

"So. How are we doing this morning?"

"I have go out to my car," I say instead of answering.

"In a minute." She reaches across the table, takes my hand. Her wedding ring catches the light—modest compared to mine, but earned through blood and choice rather than arrangement. "Talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about. It's done. Ring on my finger, wedding in two weeks instead of four—oh, didn't mention that part. Doran texted at 3 AM. The timeline's been moved up."

"What?" Dalla's coffee mug hits the table hard. "Why?"

"Cartel stuff, probably. Does it matter?" I pull my hand back. "It's happening either way."

"Rev—"

"I need to go out to my car." I stand abruptly.

But Everly doesn't let me escape that easily. "Sit down, Revna."

Something in her tone—maternal and commanding—makes me obey her words.

"When I was where you are," she begins, "pregnant, terrified, trying to convince everyone including myself that I had it handled, you know what helped?"

"What?"

"Admitting I didn't have a fucking clue what I was doing." She smiles at our shocked faces. "What? Eira's outside. I can curse."

Dalla laughs. "I can’t remember the last time I heard you drop an f-bomb."

"I save them for special occasions. Like when my sort-of nieces are about to make the same mistakes I did." Everly stands, moves to the stove. "French toast?"

"I can't eat," I tell her honestly.

"You can and you will. Dalla, you're on egg duty." She starts pulling out ingredients. "And while we cook, we're going to talk. Really talk. Not this surface bullshit where you pretend you're fine."

"I am fine?—"

"You're so full of shit your eyes are even getting browner." Everly cracks eggs into a bowl. "You just found out you're marrying a man you barely know in four weeks. Your boyfriend?—"

"He's not my boyfriend?—"

"Your whatever-he-is wants to talk, probably declare his undying love now that it's too late. Your sister's freaking out. Your parents are probably losing their minds. And you're 'fine'?" She whisks the eggs with unnecessary force. "Honey, I've been 'fine.' Fine almost got me killed."

The words land heavy.

Dalla and I exchange glances.

"So what do I do?" I ask quietly. "How do I... how do I become someone's wife when I don't even know who I am yet?"