The invitation arrived on Monday.
Heavy cardstock. Gold embossing. Formal language requesting the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Killian Archer at the Annual Mayor's Charity Gala.
"You don't have to go," Killian said, studying the invitation. "These events are performances. Everyone pretending to be legitimate while sizing up their enemies."
"Sounds like my kind of party." Isla took the invitation from him. "Plus, I need a dress. I've been wearing tactical gear and business suits for two weeks. I miss feeling pretty."
"You're always pretty."
"Sweet. But I want to feel like your wife instead of your lieutenant for one night."
Killian pulled her close. "You're both. That's what makes you terrifying."
"Good terrifying or bad terrifying?"
"The best kind. The kind that makes my enemies underestimate you right before you destroy them."
The gala was Saturday. Five days away.
Isla spent Tuesday shopping with Mara, who'd taken a day off from college classes to help.
