Gilded Rose (Where Roses Rot #3)

Chapter 1

ONE

DAKOTA

The brush scrapes against my scalp as the makeup artist yanks my hair into submission. Another pin jabs my skin.

I don’t wince.

Ladies don’t show discomfort. Mother’s words, not mine.

“Hold still, please.” Tammy, the makeup artist my mother found on Craigslist, tightens her grip on my shoulder. Her acrylic nails are worse than the pins pricking. “Almost perfect.”

Perfect.

The word follows me like a shadow.

I’ve spent twenty-six years learning, trying to be perfect, and I still don’t know if I’ve gotten it right. Perfect daughter. Perfect student. Perfect bride for a perfect business arrangement that will save my perfect family.

“There.” She steps back, admiring her work. “What do you think?”

The woman staring back has my blue-tinted eyes, but they are bigger now, framed by false lashes and subtle smoky shadow. My lips are a pale pink.

“Nothing too bold,” Mother said. “We want Cameron to see refinement, not desperation.”

My long black hair is swept into an elegant low bun, not one strand out of place. And three nights without rest, lying awake thinking about today, erased through some brush strokes.

The pearl earrings, a gift from Rosa, Cameron’s grandmother, catch the light when I turn my head.

At least someone in the Mora family doesn’t look at me like I’m here to rob them blind. She was always kind to me, even when I was a kid.

“It’s lovely,” I say. “Thank you.”

Tammy beams, pleased with her creation. She fusses with my veil, spreading it carefully over my shoulders, the delicate lace a web that will trap me if I stay too long.

A young woman, Tammy’s assistant, rushes in, her face flushed. “I can’t reach Mary. She’s not answering texts or calls.”

Tammy barely looks up from adjusting my veil. “I’m sure she’s fine. Probably stuck in traffic.”

“But she was supposed to be here an hour ago with—Mrs. Levine will—”

“Mrs. Levine has bigger concerns.” Tammy waves her hand dismissively. “The ceremony starts soon, and we’re finishing up here.”

“I’m worried.” The assistant shuffles her feet, then holds out her phone again. “Have you seen this? It’s all over social media.”

Tammy sighs and takes the phone. Her professionally maintained eyebrows shoot up as she scrolls through whatever she’s seeing. “This younger generation really is mad, huh?” She hands the phone back. “Calling it a protest. Looks more like a riot to me. Costumes? Is this real?”

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing for you to worry about, dear.” Tammy pats my shoulder, giving me a big smile. “Today is your big day. Nothing is going to spoil that.”

I force a smile in return, the muscles in my face stiff from practice.

How many times have I manufactured this exact expression? In family photos, when Father’s hand gripped my shoulder too tightly. Or at charity galas, we don’t belong, where Mother paraded me like a prize poodle.

The assistant’s phone chimes, and she glances at it, her eyes widening. “Um, Tammy? There was an emergency alert in another city. They’re saying people got hurt. The police are—”

“Enough.” Tammy’s voice has an edge now. “Go check if the flowers have arrived for the reception tables.”

Pouting, the assistant stomps away.

Is it bad of me to want this protest here? So that we’d have to cancel the wedding? So that I’d be free?

The door opens, slower this time. My sister Amelia stands in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame.

Her face is pale, almost translucent, with dark brown circles like bruises beneath her eyes, matching her hair color. The silk dress she wears as my maid of honor hangs from her thin frame, emphasizing how much weight she’s lost in the past month.

“Meli!” I stand, nearly knocking over the makeup chair. “What are you doing here? You should be resting.”

“And miss seeing the beautiful bride?” She smiles, and for a moment, I see the Amelia from before. Who am I to complain? I should be as strong as her. “I wanted to see you before everyone else.”

I’m disgusting.

My sister is dying, and here I am wanting something she might never have?

“You’ve already seen me in the dress.” I cross the room and take her arm, guiding her to the small sofa in the corner. “The final fitting, remember?”

“Not the same.” She eases herself onto the cushions, breathing slightly labored. “Today you’re really a bride.”

Tammy glances between us. “I’ll give you two a moment. Need to check on the mother of the bride’s makeup anyway.” She slips out, closing the door softly behind her.

I sit beside Amelia, careful not to wrinkle my dress. We sit in silence for a moment, the kind of silence that’s only comfortable with someone who knows all your secrets. At least almost all of them, anyway.

“You look beautiful,” she says.

“So do you.” It’s not a lie. Even gaunt and exhausted, Amelia has a grace about her that makes people stop and stare.

“Dakota.” She takes my hand, her fingers cool against mine. “Are you really in love with Cameron?”

Of all the things I’ve prepared for today, this wasn’t one of them.

How can I tell her the truth?

She thinks Cameron and I fell in love last year. Childhood friends to lovers. A fairy tale romance to distract her from the sterile hospital rooms, endless medications, and keep her from worrying about the bills piling up on Father’s desk.

“I—” I’ve lied so easily to everyone else. Even myself, sometimes. But lying to my sister. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? He’s… everything I could want.”

She studies my face, and for a terrifying moment, I think she sees through me. But then her expression softens. “I’m glad. I was worried about how quickly it all happened.”

“When you know, you know.” I parrot the line I’ve rehearsed for nosy relatives and Father’s business associates.

“He’s a good man,” she whispers.

“I’m lucky.” I am. Cameron is not a bad man. He is just not the man I love, but he could be.

“I remember when we were kids playing in their garden or sneaking to the arcade. Julien and I—” A shadow passes across her face, and her eyes get distant. “We were going to—Doesn’t matter now.”

She and Julien were friends once, before his parents died. Before everything changed. She cried herself to sleep for weeks. Maybe even were in love?

There it is again.

Love.

Hate is more familiar to me. Especially when it comes to Julien.

The few times I’ve been in the same room as Cameron’s older brother since the fallout between our families, his cold assessment made me feel like a counterfeit bill being examined for authenticity and found lacking.

She opens her mouth, but the door flies open. My mother bursts in, a vision in pale blue silk and carefully controlled fury.

“Amelia, sweetie. You okay?” Her eyes linger on my sister, who nods, softening slightly before hardening again as they land on me. “Everyone’s waiting. The Moras are already seated.”

“Coming, Mother.” I help Amelia to her feet, steadying her when she sways.

“You look beautiful,” Amelia whispers. “Like something from a fairy tale.”

The wrong fairy tale. One where happily ever after means paid medical bills.

Amelia straightens her shoulders, summoning strength she doesn’t have, to walk down the aisle before me.

For her, I’d make the same choice again. And again. And again.

For her, I’d marry a stranger. For her, I’d give up any chance at love.

For her, I’d smile through my own funeral.

Mother points at me. “The veil needs adjusting. And stand up straight. No one wants to see the bride slouching.”

I correct my posture, shoulders back, chin slightly lifted. “Sorry.”

“There’s some nonsense happening in the city. So the cake’s going to be late. And your father had to take a detour.” Mother checks her diamond watch. “Police barricades. But he’s here now, and we need to start. The Moras are not known for their patience.”

Especially Julien, I think, but don’t say.

“Come along, girls.” Mother holds the door wide, expectation radiating from her like heat.

Amelia squeezes my hand one last time. “Ready?”

I pull her into a careful hug. “I love you,” I whisper, and mean it more than anything I’ll say at that altar.

I’m going to make sure she’s okay. That she can be a bride one day and marry the love of her life. That she’s getting healthy and is able to continue the BC—

“Girls!” Mother’s voice, sharper. “Places. Now.”

Amelia draws back, her eyes shining. “See you at the altar.”

She takes her place at the beginning of the procession, steadying herself with one hand against the wall.

The bridesmaids, distant cousins, and business associates’ daughters who barely know me, line up behind her, adjusting dresses and checking makeup in compact mirrors.

Father appears beside me, offering his arm without meeting my eyes. “Ready?”

There’s only one acceptable answer. “Yes.”

The music changes, and Amelia begins her slow walk down the aisle. The bridesmaids follow, one by one.

Then it’s my turn.

I take a deep breath and step forward on Father’s arm.

The church falls silent except for the swelling notes of the wedding march. Heads turn. Smiles form on faces I recognize but don’t really know. Business partners. Social connections. The carefully curated guest list of my mother for maximum exposure.

I focus on breathing. On putting one foot in front of the other. On not tripping over the borrowed dress.

And then I see them. Standing at the altar beside the reverend.

Cameron and Julien Mora.

Cameron, the groom, my soon-to-be husband, looks handsome in his tailored tuxedo, in that gentle, non-threatening way.

Sandy brown hair styled perfectly, green eyes catching the light as he watches me approach. He’s tall, lean, with a runner’s build and an open face that always seems ready to break into a genuine, heartfelt smile. But today, the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

And beside him, Julien. His best man. His older brother.

Where Cameron is sunshine and handsome, Julien is shadow and… devastating.