Emily POV

The dress was black and simple.

Dario had left it on the bed that morning without a word.

Just the box, the tissue paper, and a small card that said tonight, eight o’clock in his handwriting.

That was how it worked in his world. Things appeared and you wore them.

I put it on and stood in front of the mirror. Practiced my face until it looked like someone who belonged.

The car pulled up to a townhouse on the Upper East Side that had no visible signage.

No line ...