I nearly laughed at the absurdity.
“Did Teresa volunteer that information?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“My sister complained for twenty minutes about the buttons.”
I leaned my forehead against the door.
“I can manage.”
Silence.
Then, “All right.”
His footsteps moved away.
I returned to the mirror and fought with the buttons for another five minutes. The satin tightened around my ribs. My arms began to ache.
Finally, I marched back to the door and unlocked it.
Niko stood in his room wearing black trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. His tie and jacket were gone.
He looked less like the man at the altar.
That did not make him less dangerous.
“I need help,” I said.
His eyes moved to the impossible row of buttons.
“I gathered.”
“Do not sound pleased.”
“I’m not.”
I turned my back to him.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
