The next two weeks passed in a blur. I worked long hours at Resurrection Ink, booking in as many clients as I could to fatten my coffers so I could afford some of the bigger decorating projects I wanted to do at The Prim. In the evenings, I worked on the PR for the grand opening and packed up my apartment. Luckily, the landlord had given me the okay to sublet it so I didn’t have to break the lease, and Willow was looking for a place, so she decided to take it over.

Willow was an absolute legend. I had my doubts about her ability to pull off my crazy fake-wedding, but she totally delivered. She organised all the entertainment, scoured junk shops and eBay to find me the perfect vintage blue dress, managed to find a contractor who could secure all the circus troupe’s aerial stunt equipment to the ceiling of the ballroom without damaging the period features, made travel arrangements for my friends from all over Europe, and scored me exclusive coverage with London Underground – the hottest art blog in the UK, all without raising her voice above a whisper.

And she was still fucking gorgeous, even though she never seemed to stop walking with that odd, slightly stiff gait.

Ever since he’d been all weird when we were hanging the pictures, I hardly saw Robbie. He was at the house every day, working on repainting over the hideous wallpaper and pulling up some of the more dated rugs. But whenever I showed up in the evenings, he’d disappear back to Ryan’s as quick as he could.

The day before the wedding, I was doing my last appointment in the shop. I tried to talk to Elinor about it, but she refused to discuss Robbie. “I’ve already told you what I think about what you’re doing,” she said. “I’m not going to repeat myself. If you have a problem with Robbie, you need to talk to him.”

“But—”

“Sorry.” Elinor turned her chair around and bent over her client, the buzz of her tattoo gun covering the frigid silence that permeated my usually cheery studio.

I gritted my teeth as I focused on my own client – Kurt, the new drummer of Eric’s band Ghost Symphony. Kurt had driven up from London today to be here for the wedding. Elinor and Eric’s house – a Victorian gothic manor just down the road from the studio that had been in Eric’s family for years – was already bursting at the seams with musicians here to play for my friends.

I should have been head banging with joy about all the awesome people who were showing up and pulling out all this stops for this shindig. It seemed like all of my friends were as excited about The Prim as I was. But all I could think about was Robbie. If I wasn’t reliving that amazing kiss, I was tying myself up in knots worrying what he was thinking, how he was feeling.

If I didn't know better, I’d think he was avoiding me. But why would he do that? It doesn’t make any sense. He’s still planning to marry me, and we’re still going to live together … he can’t avoid me forever.

He’s not having second thoughts about the wedding, is he? Surely he’d say something? I mean, the whole thing is planned, everything’s ready, people are starting to show up … all he needs to do is say the magic words and sign the papers. If he pulls out now, all this work is for nothing.

I’ll talk to him tonight.

When I arrived at The Prim that evening, the driveway was crowded with cars. Many of my friends were arriving from the continent. I flung open the front door, and was instantly swept up in a giant bear hug. “We have arrived,” a deep German voice boomed in my ear.

“Welcome, Hans.” I kissed his tattooed cheek. Hans was the Berlin tattoo artist who’d apprenticed me when I was an upstart teen. He introduced me to the underground arts scene in Berlin, took me out on 48-hour benders, and taught me everything I knew about tattooing. “Was the trip over a nightmare?”

“I had a harrowing brush with your British cuisine on das Flugzeug, but I managed to survive. Your friend has already made us very comfortable.” Hans gestured to Robbie, who was chatting with a particularly attractive member of Han’s female entourage. His shoulder muscles bulged with the weight of two giant suitcases under his arm.

At the sight of Robbie, my stomach twisted. “Excuse me for a minute.” I shoved past him, and tapped Robbie on the shoulder.

He turned. At the sight of me, he jumped, dropping the suitcases on my foot. “Bianca, I’m … I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay.” I grabbed one of the cases, and thrust out my boot. “That’s what steel-capped boots are for. I’ll help you with these.”

“Okay, sure.” He picked up another case, and started dragging them up the stairs. A thin blonde German flattened herself against the wall to avoid being run over. I yanked my case up behind him.

“Dammit, Hans. What did you pack in here, bricks?”

“Surely, you did not expect me to arrive without a supply of our superior Bavarian beer,” Hans yelled back at me. “Come back soon, for I have found your liquor cabinet and I am emptying it.”

I grinned. It was awesome to have this house filled with my people. Already, the Prim seemed brighter, less oppressive.

Robbie reached the top of the stairs and headed off to the pink room. “You put Hans in there?” I asked, dragging the heavy case after him.

“Don’t blame me. He begged for this room,” Robbie said, as he set down one of the cases at the foot of the bed, beside several other rucksacks and sleeping bags. “Apparently, he’ll be sharing this tiny bed with four of the lucky ladies downstairs.”

“If you knew Hans, that wouldn’t surprise you in the slightest. Who’s that one for?” I pointed to a sleek red leather satchel slung over Robbie’s shoulder.

“That’s mine.”

I whirled around, and my eyes met a slim girl leaning against the doorframe. Vivid green eyes stared me up and down, taking in every detail. The girl tucked an elegantly-styled curl of shiny brown hair off her face, revealing a slight smile with a dimple on her left cheek. Something about her face … about that dimple … looked terribly familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

The girl reached out a hand. “Serenity Jones, blogger at London Underground. Great to meet you in person at last, Bianca.”

Ah, that must be why she looked familiar. I’d have seen her photo accompanying articles on underground art shows and tattoo exhibitions. Elinor said she’d given Eric’s first show post-resurrection a rave review. She was staying in Crookshollow to cover the wedding, and I'd let her crash at the Prim in exchange for a write-up on our accommodation, as well. If Serenity gave us a good review, we’d be golden.

I grabbed her hand and shook it. “The pleasure’s all mine. And I gather you’ve already met my fiancé, Robbie. If there’s anything we can do to make you more comfortable, just let me know. Things are a bit crazy around here at the moment, so you’re getting a bit of a bare-bones look at what The Prim has to offer, but we’ve got big plans for the future. As soon as I’ve got everyone settled, I’ll give you a proper tour of the place.”

“I’d like that. From what I’ve seen so far, you’ve done a fantastic job. This whole place just screams, ‘Bianca Sinclair.’”

“What makes you say that? Are you familiar with my tattoo work?”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Oh sure, I research all my subjects. I’d love to come see you at your studio as well. My photographer is with me, we could get some shots for the piece. Maybe I could even get some ink done?”

“Sure thing. Come grab me any time over the next couple of days and we can set it up.”

“Excellent.” She held out her hand, and Robbie passed her the satchel. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m a bit tired from the drive. I think I’ll go lie down for a bit. Talk to you guys later.”

She turned on her heel and headed down the hall. Robbie made for the door. “I’d better get going,” he muttered toward the floor. “Marcus wants to do this whole stag night thing—”

I grabbed him before he could run down the stairs. Now or never. “Big day tomorrow.” I grinned, gripping his arm so he couldn’t escape.

“Aye.” Robbie’s gaze focused on the wall behind me. “Look, Bianca, I should really go. I need to get my beauty sleep so I can be your Prince Charming in the morning—”

There was a hardness in his voice I’d never heard before. My stomach churned. He’s really not happy. He’s going to bolt. “Robbie, talk to me. You’ve been acting weird for the last couple of weeks. Are you having second thoughts?”

“It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I have to go.” He tried to turn, but I yanked his arm back. I reached up with my other hand and grabbed him around the neck, locking him in place so he couldn’t look anywhere but directly at me. He squirmed, but I dug my fingers in.

“Dammit, Robbie. I’m your friend. If you don’t want to do this, you have to tell me. I’m not forcing you into anything, and I don’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable with. So go on, spill. What’s going on? Have you changed your mind?”

Robbie started to say something, then his gaze focused over my shoulder, to something in the hall. I whirled around, saw it was Odette’s painting. I turned back. Robbie squared his shoulders and sucked in a breath. His eyes bored into mine.

Energy jolted through my fingers where they touched his skin. An invisible heat rose between us, tugging my body toward his. I stared at his lips, full and hot and begging to be kissed.

Robbie blinked. “No, I haven’t changed my mind. We’ve created something awesome here, Bianca. I want to see it through.”

“Good.” My voice came out hoarse and husky. “I’m glad you agree. Could you stop being so mopey, then? Tomorrow is gonna be awesome. You’ve worked your arse off on this place, Robbie. You deserve a party to celebrate. And I’ll totally introduce you to Odette. I promise.”

“Sure. Okay.” he swallowed.

Just kiss me, dammit.

Despite how stupid it was with everything going on, I wanted it so bad. I wanted him. But he was Robbie. He wouldn’t make the first move.

I leaned forward, my lips outstretched, ready to fall into him, to feel that electric charge jolting through my body once again. But Robbie moved, and my face hit him square in his broad chest. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders.

“Goodnight, my sweet bride.” Robbie kissed my forehead, his lips lingering. A shiver of delight ran through my body, and I found myself gripping him tighter, not wanting him to move. We stayed locked like that, for several moments, before Robbie pulled away and headed for the door again.

“Wait!” I yelled.

He whirled around. “What?”

“Do you want to stay and have a drink with us? I’d love for you to get to know Hans, and Odette should be here later—”

His mouth gave a weird little wobble. “No, no. I can’t. Marcus is waiting, remember? I’ll see you in the morning.”

Before I could say anything else, he bolted for the stairs, as though he were escaping a fire or a crazy ex. I trudged down after him, clutching the doorframe while he stumbled down the porch steps, his boots not even properly on his feet. I shut the door as he sped away, my heart hammering against my chest. My eyes filled with tears.

Hans rushed into and grabbed my hands, dragging me through the house, his mouth moving a mile a minute as he filled me in on all the gossip from Berlin. I barely heard a word as I was pulled through the remodelled ballroom. Robbie had spent a whole day polishing the marble floor of the ballroom until it shone like new. Together, we’d hung strings of fairy lights across the rafters.

My house. My dream come true. My friends here to celebrate my epic party tomorrow. I should have been giddy with excitement, so why was my stomach tied up in knots? Why did the vision of Robbie’s crushed expression burned into my mind? Why did none of it feel the same without him here with me?

Why did my lips still ache for that kiss?

* * *

“Bianca,” my mother growled, her eyes glaring with disapproval. She loomed over me, harsh light highlighting her twisted face, like some monster from a B-grade horror film. “What have you done to your dress?”

I glanced down at the beautiful blue fishtail skirt and matching beaded corset, straight out of a 1920s masquerade. Horror clenched in my stomach as my eyes fell upon the dark red stain spreading across the bodice. Trails of red dripped down the corset, dribbling between the delicate beading and turning the beautiful silk fabric into a grisly pink mess.

I swiped my hand through the spreading stain, my fingers wet with the warm, dark substance. I brought it to my lips, and tasted. Blood.

But why was I bleeding? Had I been shot? Why didn’t I feel any pain?

I cupped my hands to my chest, desperate to staunch the wound. I stared up at my mother, ready to accuse her of this crime, but she was no longer there. Instead, Robbie stood in her place, naked from the waist up, the shitty tattoos on his chest blurred and crisscrossed with deep cuts. The jagged edges of the cuts hung down, revealing the muscles and bones beneath. My stomach turned as I realised the cuts appeared in four neat lines – claw marks. He’d been been mauled by a wild animal.

As though a wolf had attacked him.

“Robbie … what happened?” I tried to step toward him, but my legs wouldn’t budge. As hard as I tugged, my feet remained glued to the wooden floor of the ballroom. I stretched out my hands, desperate to see if Robbie was okay, but he remained just out of reach, his hands hanging at his sides. Pain welled in his eyes – intense, overwhelming pain that clouded his whole face.

“It’s not your blood,” he said. “It’s mine. Look.”

He pointed to his chest. A dark red dot appeared on the left side, the red spot growing larger and larger as more blood pooled from the wound.

“Robbie …” I choked out. My chest ached, the horror of seeing him becoming a physical vice that clamped around my heart.

“It’s my broken heart.” Robbie’s face drooped.

I poured my whole being into tearing my feet from the ground and propelling myself toward him. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t move. I opened my mouth to scream, but my lips wouldn’t move. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Instead, I screamed inside my head. Robbie, don’t leave me!

The colour faded from his cheeks. He teetered on his feet. Blood oozed down his chest, dribbling over his belt. “I guess … our vows didn’t mean anything after all,” he said, a sigh in his voice like he never expected anything else.

Robbie, no!

But he faded away, his body disintegrating into the air. A smear of dark blood spread across the floor. From somewhere in the depths of the darkened ballroom, the first haunting notes of the bridal march struck.

I worked my jaw open, and screamed and screamed. I tore my feet from the floor, and flung myself at the spot where Robbie had been, my hands grasping at thin air—

“Meeeeeooww!”

My eyes flew open. My hip hit something hard. I grabbed for my chest, clutching at my own pounding heart. My eyes adjusted to the bright room, and I realised I wasn’t in the ballroom, wearing a blood-soaked wedding dress. I was back in my own bedroom, at my flat. I lay on my side on the floor, the bedspread tangled around my legs. Macavity glared at me from on top of the now-empty bed.

It was just a dream.

I rubbed my eyes, and tugged my legs out of the blankets. All my stuff had already been moved to The Prim. The bare room unnerved me – I felt displaced, as though I’d never really lived here, but was just visiting. Just my bed and an empty dresser (which I’d sold to Willow), the suitcase I’d been living out of for the last week, Macavity’s orange cat bed, and my wedding dress hanging from the wardrobe door remained.

I picked up my phone from the floor. 1:03 a.m.

It’s my wedding day.

I took the skirt and corset down, checking the bodice for blood stains, but finding none. I moved in front of the open bathroom door and held my dress up to my body, admiring the beautiful beaded bodice, the flare of the skirt as it swished across my legs. The dress was a bright jet blue that drew out the blue in my eyes.

“It’s my broken heart.” Robbie’s sad words echoed in my head. I thought of everyone who’d objected to our fake-marriage, all the friends like Elinor who warned me how he felt about me, who told me that I was cruel to go ahead with it. I thought of the way Robbie looked when he left The Prim yesterday, how he avoided my eyes.

Are they right? Is Robbie really doing this just to get close to me?

Knowing that, should I go through with it?

I hugged the dress closer to me, and imagined Robbie standing beside me, wearing his traditional highland dress, his eyes sparkling with love. His hand reached for mine, and I could almost feel the tingling of his warm skin against my bare arm. I imagined Robbie’s lips brushing my neck, turning my head toward him, and his tongue exploring my mouth, the way he’d done on my mother’s front step. An ache rose in my stomach, and goosebumps flew up my arms.

Was it really possible that I might also be attracted to Robbie? He was not my type. I wasn’t usually attracted to men these days – women were soft and yielding and generally much more fun. When I did go for guys, it was the arrogant artist types – guys like Elinor’s Eric with wild hair and waifish frames who created and fucked with intensity (so I’ve heard. Sadly, I’d never managed to get Eric into the sack).

Sweet little Willow made my lips ache to deflower her, but thinking about Robbie’s kiss made my knees shake. I couldn’t deny that I wanted more of him. Maybe I’d really felt like this all along, but I’d been determined to ignore it because I didn’t want to destroy our friendship, because … deep down I knew that I might actually have a real shot with this guy, that he might be the kind of person I could be with permanently, something I’d never wanted.

And now I was marrying him. Way to get things all backward, Bianca.

I sighed, and dropped my dress on to the bed. There was only one way to find out if what I was feeling was for real. I needed to embrace it. I needed to stop playing with Robbie’s feelings and give him a real chance.

I picked up my phone, and text Robbie a short message:

I hit send, my heart pounding. He couldn’t misinterpret that.

“Time to get married.” I smiled to myself in the mirror. Feeling better already, I flung the dress over the door, and flopped back down onto the bed, where I quickly fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

“Ouch! Not so hard.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Elinor pulled back, staring at me with concern. The eyebrow pencil – in her hands, a weapon of mass destruction – clattered against the dressing table.

I clutched at my eye. “It’s going to be hard to walk straight down the aisle when I’m blind.”

Elinor tapped the empty glass and ornate silver spoon beside my makeup box. “With the amount of absinthe you’ve drunk already, I think you’re doomed either way. And don’t touch, you’ll smudge my hard work.”

My bridal party and I were all crammed into the Rose Room at the top of the turret, which was now my bedroom and makeshift dressing room. Dresses and corsets were slung over every surface, makeup fanned out across the rug, curling iron cords crisscrossing the few remaining squares of floor space. I slouched over the back of an antique dressing chair while Eleanor did my makeup. Despite some seriously misplaced jabs with the eyeliner pencil, she’d done a wonderful job – bright blue around my eyes and on my lips, a pale foundation to make my huge eyes stand out, an icy blue on my lips.

I picked up my phone to take a selfie. My eyes flicked to the message icon on my homescreen. Nothing. Robbie still hadn’t replied to my text last night. My stomach twisted with nerves. In just a few minutes I’d be meeting him at the altar, but so many unanswered questions still hung between us. Would he even show up at all? Had I just succeeded in scaring him off?

“You look amazing, Bianca.” Belinda grinned from her spot on the bed. I beamed back. She looked pretty hot herself. I’d told my three bridesmaids to just wear whatever they wanted. Belinda had chosen a black lace fishtail gown that made her beautiful Asian skin gleam.

I tried to stand up, but Alex – wearing a beautiful soft pink grecian-style dress – placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Wait. The pièce de résistance.” Alex lifted an object out of a wooden case. She placed a wreath of twisted metal and black stones on my head, pulling strands of my hair over the wire so it looked so though the crystals grew from my skull.

“It took me a whole day to make this, so you’d better like it.” She adjusted the tiara on my head and pinned it in place. “You like it?”

“I love it.” I twisted this way and that, admiring the way the stones sparkled on the light. Against my white and blue hair, the crown made me look like a fairy princess.

“You look stunning,” Elinor breathed, brushing down the red corset of her gothic-style dress. Her blood-red lips curled back into a grin. “The best fake bride I’ve ever seen.”

“Robbie is going to flip when he sees you,” Alex gushed.

“He’s not really my husband, remember.” I thought about the text, gone unanswered, and my stomach twisted in a knot. If he didn’t show up, he might not be my husband at all, real or not.

Alex and Elinor exchanged a look. I braced myself for another lecture, but none was forthcoming. Finally, Alex said, “I just meant … that you look really different, is all. You’re usually in jeans and your Docs.”

Grinning, I lifted up the corner of my dress to reveal my scuffed patent black Docs. Elinor snorted.

Noise from downstairs wafted through the crack in the door. People chatting, laughing, glasses tinkling, Eric playing violin quietly in the background. The door creaked open further, and Willow poked her head into the room. She looked particularly stunning today, wearing a black A-line dress with a white collar, her hair pinned back like Wednesday Addams. “All the guests have arrived, and Robbie’s waiting. We’re ready when you are.”

A lump formed in my chest. So Robbie did show up, after all. He didn’t completely hate me.

I actually felt nervous. But why? This was a fake wedding. I wasn’t marrying Robbie. Well, I mean, I was, but it didn’t mean anything. He hadn’t replied to my text, so everyone was obviously imagining his attraction to me. He was just a friend doing me a favour. That was all it was going to be.

I’d misread everything, and worked myself up for no reason at all. Now it was time to go downstairs and face my fake-husband and make it through my fake-ceremony without succumbing to the urge to jump his bones.

I straightened my bodice, and the girls lined up behind me. Willow ran down the stairs, her gorgeous little ass sliding around in her silky dress, and told Eric to cue the music. The first sombre strains of Ghost Symphony’s latest single, Requiem for a Dying Rose, wafted up the stairs. My stomach fluttered.

“Here I go.” I flashed Eleanor a grin, and descended the first step.