What Daddy Left Behind
It was short, fitted, with long sleeves and a square neckline that showed off my collarbone but hid the bruises on my neck—and the collar, which I covered with a thick gold choker that matched the dress’s hardware.
I held it up against myself in the mirror.
"Red," Maya noted, raising an eyebrow. "Bold. Stellan hates red."
"Exactly," I said.
I dropped the towel and pulled the dress on. It zipped up the back, hugging my figure without being overly revealing. It was fun. It was youthful. It was a dress for a twenty-one-year-old going to the Village, not a ward attending a gala.
I sat down to do my makeup. I skipped the heavy eyeliner Stellan liked. I went for a softer look—rosy cheeks, a glossy