Believe Me (Shatter Me, #6.5) (43)

It reads: DOG.

“That’s what you said you wanted to call him, right?” Yara is still smiling. “Dog?”

I look up at her then, meeting the young woman’s eyes against my better judgment, and her smile trembles.

Sam stifles a laugh.

“Yes,” I say slowly. “I suppose I did say something like that.”

Yara beams. “Well, he’s all yours now. Happy wedding and everything.”

I stand up sharply. “What?”

“Oh, and it looks like he’s already been neutered, so I think he’s had a family before. You made a great choice. I’m not sure what kind of dog he is—he’s definitely some kind of mixed breed—but he’s not totally wild, and I think he’ll be a good—

“I’m afraid you’ve gravely misunderstood the situation. I don’t want a dog. I merely wanted you to wash the animal, and maybe feed it—”

Sam is laughing openly now, and I pivot to face her.

“You think this is funny? What am I supposed to do with a dog?”

“Um, I don’t know”—she shoots me an incredulous look—“give it a loving home?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” Yara says, her eyes widening now with panic. “I thought he was your dog—I didn’t think he was— I mean he doesn’t obey anyone else, and he seems really attached to you—”

“Don’t worry, Yara,” Sam says gently. “You did great. Warner just wasn’t expecting you to be so generous, and he’s kind of, um, overwhelmed with gratitude right now. Isn’t that right, Warner?” She turns to me. “Yara was so kind to get . . . Dog here all washed and ready for your wedding day. Wasn’t she?”

“Very kind,” I say, my jaw tensing.

Yara looks nervously in my direction. “Really?”

Briefly, I meet her eyes. “Really.”

She flushes.

“Yara, why don’t you hold on to”—she fights back a smile—“Dog until the end of the ceremony? Maybe make sure he gets something to eat.”

“Oh, sure.” Yara shoots me one last furtive look before tugging gently on the animal’s leash. The dog whines at that, then barks as she coaxes him, one foot at a time, back toward the house.

I turn my eyes skyward. “This is unforgivable.”

“Why?” I can hear practically hear Sam smile. “I bet Juliette would love to have a dog.”

I look at Sam. “Did you know, I once watched a dog vomit—and then proceed to eat its own vomit.”

“Okay, but—”

“And then vomit. Again.”

Sam crosses her arms. “That was one dog.”

“Another dog once defecated right in front of me while I was patrolling a compound.”

“That’s perfectly norm—”

“After which it promptly ate its own feces.”

Sam crosses her arms. “All right. Well. That’s still better than the awful things I’ve seen humans do.”

I’m prevented from responding by a sudden swell of commotion. People are starting to rush around, pushing past us to scatter wildflowers in the grassy aisle. Sonya and Sara, clad in identical green gowns, take positions adjacent to the wedding arch, their black suitcases gone. In their hands they hold matching violins and bows, the sight of which paralyzes me anew. I feel that familiar pain in my chest, something like fear.

It’s beginning.

“You’re right, though,” I say quietly to Sam, wondering, for the hundredth time, what Ella might be doing inside the house. “She’d love to have a dog.”

“Wait— I’m sorry, did you just say I was right about something?”

I release a sharp breath. It sounds almost like a laugh.

“You know,” Sam says thoughtfully. “I think this might be the most pleasant conversation you and I have ever had.”

“Your standards are very low, then.”

“When it comes to you, Warner, my standards have to be low.”

I manage to smile at that, but I’m still distracted. Castle is walking toward the arch now, a small leather-bound notebook in his hand, a sprig of lavender pinned to his lapel. He nods at me as he goes, and I can only stare, feeling suddenly like I can’t breathe.

“I’ve seen her, by the way,” Sam says softly.

I turn to face her.

“Juliette.” Sam smiles. “She looks beautiful.”

I’m struggling to formulate a response to this when I sense the approach of a familiar presence; his hand lands on my arm, and for the first time, I don’t flinch.

“Hey, man,” Kenji says, materializing at my side in a surprisingly sharp suit. “You ready? There’s not much of a wedding party, so we’re not doing a processional, which means J will be walking down the aisle pretty soon. Nazeera just gave us the ten-minute . . .”

Kenji trails off, distracted as if on cue, by Nazeera herself. She saunters toward the wedding arch, tall and steady in a gauzy, blush-colored gown. She grins at Castle, who acknowledges her with a smile of his own; Nazeera takes a position just off to the side of the arch, adjusting her skirts as she settles in place.