The air inside the Hawthorne Grand suite tasted like cold peppermint and leather. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Lake Michigan was a slab of gray slate, reflecting a winter sky that looked bruised and low.

I stood on the raised pedestal in the center of the room, staring at my reflection in the triple mirror.

The dress was exquisite. Hand-beaded French lace, an illusion neckline, and a train that stretched six feet behind me. I looked like a bride. I looked like a woman who was three weeks away from the happiest day of her life.

Behind me, my mother sat on a velvet settee, a glass of Veuve Clicquot resting in her manicured hand. Her gray hair was styled into an immaculate chignon, and her double-strand pearl necklace caught the light with every soft breath she took.

"It really is divine, Nora," Eleanor said, her voice dripping with that familiar, motherly warmth that used to make me feel safe. "Although... don't you think the waist could be pulled in just a quarter-inch? You look a bit... soft around the middle, darling. Stress eating?"

In the reflection, I saw Lydia step out from behind the curtain. She was holding a tray of pearl-headed pins. She wore a ice-blue silk blouse—the exact same shade as the tie Arthur had worn to our engagement party.

"Oh, leave her alone, Mom," Lydia said with a soft, breathy chuckle. She stepped onto the pedestal behind me, her small hands reaching out to smooth the lace over my shoulders. "Nora’s had a stressful week. Planning a three-hundred-person wedding without a coordinator would make anyone look a little tired."

Her fingers touched the skin of my collarbone. Cold. Calloused from her ring.

I didn't flinch. I looked at her in the mirror—her bright blue eyes, her perfectly highlighted blonde hair, the faint reddish mark on the left side of her neck that she’d tried to cover with concealer.

Arthur's mouth had been there, I thought. Thirty-six hours ago.

"Lydia," I said, my voice smooth as glass. "Is that my silk camisole under your blouse?"

The room went entirely still.

Lydia’s fingers froze against my shoulder. Eleanor set her champagne glass down on the side table with a faint, sharp clink.

"What did you say, dear?" Eleanor asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

I didn't turn around. I kept my eyes locked on Lydia’s reflection. "The cream silk camisole from Agent Provocateur. The one Dad bought me for my twenty-first birthday before he died. I couldn't find it in my closet this morning."

Lydia’s face flushed a deep, ugly red, but she recovered with terrifying speed. She forced a light, melodic laugh. "Oh! Nora, really? I borrowed that months ago! You said I could borrow it for the gallery opening in River North, remember?"

"I don't remember," I said softly.

"Well, you were very busy with work, darling," Lydia said, stepping back and taking a pin from her tray. "You know how your memory gets when you're overwhelmed. Besides, it fits me much better anyway. You always were a bit broader in the shoulders."

"Nora, don't start drama today," Eleanor chimed in, her tone shifting seamlessly from sweet to stern. "We have the florist arriving in twenty minutes. Arthur called me this morning, by the way. He sounded terribly upset. He said you stayed at a hotel last night?"

I turned slowly on the pedestal, the heavy silk train sweeping around my feet like a white wave.

"I needed space," I said.

"Space?" Eleanor scoffed softly, shaking her head. "Darling, men get nervous before weddings. Arthur is working very hard to build a future for you two. If he seems distant or irritable, it’s only because he’s carrying the financial burden of this family on his shoulders."

Financial burden.

The forty-one thousand dollars from my house fund burned in my mind like white-hot iron.

"You're right, Mom," I said, forcing my lips into a small, submissive smile that I had practiced in the hotel mirror for two hours. "I was just tired. In fact, I called Arthur this morning. I told him we're going ahead with everything."

Eleanor’s entire body seemed to relax. A look of profound, greedy relief passed over her features before she smoothed it away with her handkerchief. "Oh, thank goodness. You always were the reasonable one, Nora. Your father always said you had a good head on your shoulders."

"Speaking of flowers, Mom," I added, looking straight at her. "I changed my mind about the peonies."

"Oh? What do you want instead?"

"White lilies," I said. "Three hundred arrangements of white lilies. For every table, every altar, and every doorway."

Eleanor froze. For a split second, the color drained completely from her face. "Lilies? Nora... lilies are so... somber. They’re for..."

"For new beginnings," I lied smoothly. "Arthur loves them."

Before Eleanor could object, the glass door of the salon opened, bringing in a gust of cold wind and the sound of Michigan Avenue traffic.

A tall man in an immaculate charcoal suit walked in. He wasn't the florist. He carried a large box wrapped in black velvet, tied with a silver satin ribbon. Behind him were two imposing men in dark overcoats who positioned themselves quietly on either side of the entrance.

My heart pounded against my ribs.

"Miss Nora Vane?" the man in the charcoal suit asked, his voice crisp and official.

"Yes?"

He bowed slightly, placing the black velvet box on the small table next to my mother’s champagne. "Compliments of Mr. Dante Moretti. He requested that you wear these with your dress."

Lydia gasped. Eleanor stood up, her eyes wide with shock.

The courier untied the silver ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside, resting on dark silk, was a vintage diamond collar necklace. The stones were enormous, catching the light like frozen tears, and at the center hung a dark, teardrop-shaped black diamond the size of a pigeon's egg.

"My God..." Eleanor whispered, stepping forward instinctively, her fingers reaching out. "That’s... that’s the Moretti Tear. It was auctioned at Christie's five years ago for four million dollars..."

The courier gently intercepted Eleanor's hand with a gloved palm. "Please do not touch the jewels, madam. They are insured under Miss Nora's name only."

I looked down at the velvet box, then up at the mirror.

My phone, resting in my purse on the settee, buzzed once.

I stepped off the pedestal, ignoring my mother and sister, and picked up the phone.