VALERIE GREENWOOD HAS OWNED a lot of dresses. She's been to so many galas, balls, costume parties in her life that she has a closet in the penthouse just for gowns.

    Never in her life, however, has she felt so like herself in a dress.

    It's a starry night sky wrapped up in a gown, all black tulle with silver flecks laced within the layers of fabric. Sleeves, billowing and loose around her arms, drape down from her shoulders and cinch at her wrists, the cuffs not too tight around her. Through the translucent fabric, all of her scars and tattoos are visible, even the brand, obscured just enough to not be entirely distinguishable.

    With her bronze-brown hair braided and wrapped around her head like a crown, silver star pins woven through her hair like constellations in a molten metal sky, she resembles a goddess, born out of darkness but shining like a falling star.

    Josslyn is her antithesis, it seems—where Valerie is all smoke and silver, Josslyn is radiant sunshine, gowned in gold and glitter. Her blonde hair is slicked back, away from her face, and a crown of braided, gilded gold rests upon her head. Clara wears a dress of emerald lace, green gemmed earings sparkling in her ears. And Eloise is a vision in sapphire, with her dark hair hanging down her back in curls and wearing a ballgown that could rival any princess.

    It feels nostalgic to be with her sisters in black tie formalwear, something they did so often in their childhoods. They've been to so many fancy events that this should feel like just one more in a long line, but it's clear to all of them that something is different, something is missing.

    Valerie and Josslyn glance at each other as they gather in the hallway between their childhood bedrooms, and the thought is clear on their faces—Noelle would have loved this.

    It's bittersweet, and although the action hurts like a knife through the ribs, Valerie reaches out a hand.

    Josslyn takes it, squeezing three times before letting go.

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    Travis Stoll is a fish out of water, a middle class boy-turned-man in a hotel full of people who are richer than god and have more money than they can ever spend. He stands in the hotel lobby, next to Josslyn's husband, in a suit that he wouldn't have been able to afford if he worked every day of his life.

    The Greenwood girls—both the daughters and their mother—are late. They were due in the ballroom five minutes ago, and the hundreds, if not thousands, of guests are waiting impatiently for the birthday girl and her family behind the double doors to Travis's left.

    It's nearing ten past seven when the elevator dings to their right, and as the door opens, a mosaic of jewel toned gowns is all he can see, until a blur of night-sky darkness steps out.

    Travis nearly falls to his knees when he sees Valerie Greenwood, her bronze-brown hair pulled away from her face in a way that shows off her bone structure and her heavily pierced ears. She glitters as she walks, shining like silver and obsidian with every step towards him.

    And when he meets her halfway, one arm crooked for her to loop her own through, she's smiling. At him. It's not a kilowatt smile, not by any means, but there is something wolfish to it that is so uniquely Valerie that his knees threaten to buckle again.

    Gods, he's in love with her. Every facet of her, every side of her—from the parts of her that are sharp and mean and cruel to the parts that she only lets him see when they're totally alone: the parts of her that are soft and vulnerable and tired. The parts of her that are unexpectedly funny, those that are cynical beyond reason. Whether she's covered in monster dust or clothed in designer, the feeling in his stomach, behind his ribs, remains the same.

    Valerie's forehead crinkles. "You good, Stoll?" She asks, eyebrows pulling together. Her molten metal eyes are inquisitive, and when a phantom hand strokes along his brainstem—testing, searching, listening—those eyes widen, and her nose wrinkles. Something in her face shifts from questioning to soft, kind and open. "I know."

    He's torn between whisking her back upstairs to listen to her say I know until it's all he can hear, and letting her drag him into the ballroom so he can dance with her until the sun rises.

    Josslyn's blonde hair doesn't budge as she whips her head around to face them. "It's time. You ready?"

    Valerie loops her arm through Travis's. "Let's get this over with."

    The flashing lights of the cameras are blinding as they walk into the ballroom, press and paparazzi desperate to catch a photo of the elusive Greenwood Girls and their partners. Amid the blinding light, Valerie grips Travis like a lifeline, her face smiling but her eyes screaming for help.

    There are so many people in the ballroom that the entire space smells like Dior and Chanel. The crowd is overwhelming, even to Travis.

    He looks at Valerie, eye-level with him due to her heels. "How many weapons do you have on you right now?" He asks, half distraction and half genuine curiosity.

    Her eyes flit from her sisters to him. "Thirteen, but if you don't count the hair pins, two."

    Something hot and molten swirls in his stomach, and for the thousandth time that day he is reminded that he loves her. "You're a menace. You know that, right?" He asks her, blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

    "I know. Come on, I need a drink."

    Travis allows her to drag him by the sleeve of his suit towards the bar, where she gives the waiter a beaming, sweet-as-sugar smile. "Can I get two glasses of merlot, please?"

    The bartender flushes under her gaze, nodding silently as he pours far more than the traditional six-ounce serving into each crystal wine glass. He slides them over the counter to her, and his blushing cheeks only go redder when she whispers a thank you.

    Her smile falls the minute she spins away from the bar, dress twirling around her legs in a midnight sparkle. "The entire city knows how old I am, but I haven't been carded since I was seventeen. So enjoy your illegal merlot." She says in a low voice, taking a sip of her wine.

    "So what do you do at parties like this?" Travis asks. "Back home, we'd have house parties with cheap beer and loud music in someone's basement. But this doesn't seem like that kind of party."

    Valerie's lips turn up around the rim of her glass. "It's a lot of superficial small talk. Lots of people are going to ask me how college is going—that's my cover story. Reporters are going to ask if Valerie Greenwood is finally settling down. But other than that, we drink, we dance, we make sure my sister doesn't sneak off to go hijack my knives."

    "We dance, huh?" He smirks, pulling her in by her waist. The wine sloshes in her glass, and she makes a small noise of protest. "You're gonna let me dance with you, Sandman?"

    If she was capable of blushing, she would have, for her face heats. "Yeah, but not yet. There's a dinner and toasts to Eloise, and then dancing."

    His smirk turns into an impish grin. "Can't wait. That dinner better be good."

    "Oh, it will be." She says, the tips of her ears bright red. Her hair and eyes seem to glow under the ballroom lights, and she has never looked more divine. "It's catered from a Michelin star kosher restaurant, so it's going to be great."

    She takes another sip of merlot, and the red wine tints her lips a dark shade of crimson. His eyes are drawn to her mouth, and he wants to kiss her more than he's ever wanted anything in his life. That almost-kiss in the hotel room last week wasn't nearly enough—he wants to be able to kiss her, properly, in the way that she deserves to be kissed.

    After everything she has done and gone through, he wants to give her everything that she deserves: happiness, peace, love.

    "Stop staring at me, Travis."

    "No can do, Valerie."

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    Eloise leans her head onto Valerie's shoulder after dinner and toasts. "Vally." The middlest Greenwood whispers.

    Valerie raises her eyebrows. "You haven't called me that since you were eight. What do you want?"

    Travis laughs from his seat on the other side of Valerie, but he stays quiet.

    "Your boyfriend's cute. Is he rich?" Eloise asks in a hushed tone, brown eyes wide as she stares up at her sister.

    Valerie can't help but snort. "No, Eloise. He's not rich." She elbows Eloise in the ribs. "And he's not my boyfriend."

    The thing that exists between her and Travis, the thing that beats with its own pulse and seems to breathe and thrive on its own, is complicated and difficult to name. Dating doesn't encompass all that they are to each other, not when they've known each other for longer than they haven't. Not when he's pulled her out of the darkness of her own mind more times than she wants to acknowledge. But to describe them as friends seems to do a disservice to both of them.

    They love each other, a fact that they both are well aware of. Putting a title on it terrifies Valerie—it makes it real, makes it breakable. It turns from something she dreams about, fantasizes about, to something that can slip through her fingers like sand.

    As if he can read her thoughts, he reaches across the miniscule distance between them and laces his fingers through hers. "You want to dance?" He asks, knowing the answer as he looks into her molten eyes.

    "Yeah. Let's dance."

    She allows him to help her stand, his hand still in hers, and he leads her gently towards the dance floor, where dozens of the Greenwood family's rich and privileged friends waltzed around each other.

    One of his hands drifts to her waist, fingers and palm long enough to curve halfway around her back, while the other remains holding her own. She can feel the heat of his skin through the gauzy fabric of her dress.

    "I don't know how to waltz," he admits, his smile never faltering. "You'll have to show me the ropes."

    Valerie can't help but stare at him, pure adoration written clearly across her face. She's never had someone be so tender with her, so kind, so willing to work around the walls she has put up. No one like him has existed before, and no one like him will exist again. He treats her like she's delicate while also understanding the power that rests just under her skin.

    When she smiles, it's radiant. "I'll teach you. It's just six steps, over and over again."

    And she does teach him, whispering where and when to step before each beat of music. Despite the fact that she's leading, showing him the steps, he holds her with a graceful strength, looking only at her in a room of a thousand other people.

    It's the way he holds her that gives her the confidence to do what she's been itching to do for years:

    Valerie Greenwood kisses him in the middle of the ballroom. Unlike the barest brush of lips that occured in the hotel room, this is a real kiss, her mouth slanting against his.

    It's fitting that her first kiss is with him. She wants all of her firsts to be with him, and all of her lasts, too.

    He makes a noise of surprise against her lips, and for a moment she feels fear grip her like an iron vice—fear of rejection, fear of losing the only person she's ever wanted, fear of making a fool of herself. She pulls back before he can do it for her.

    Travis's eyes are closed, and his face is pulled into an expression that looks pained. "Val—"

    "Don't. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

    His eyes open, and his face shifts into alarm. "No. Shut up. Go say goodbye to your sisters, okay? We're going upstairs."

    He's going to leave. He's going to pack up his things and leave me here. He doesn't want me like that. He loves me, but as a friend.

    The unshakable Sandman has been rattled yet again.

    Tears prick at her eyes as she turns her back on him and walks with unsteady legs towards her sisters. They still sit around the same table, and when she approaches, they smile at her.

    "I'm going to head out." She mutters, reaching for Josslyn's hand and squeezing twice, then pulling Eloise into a hug. "Happy birthday, bumblebee. Enjoy your party, and the gift that I left on your bed. And Clara, go to bed soon, okay?" She whispers the last sentence into Clara's red hair, hands trembling.

    They don't protest as she walks away.

    She keeps her back to Travis as she stalks towards the lobby, ignoring him when he calls her name. Every step she takes is full of self-hatred, shame, for how badly she misread the situation. Gods. Her once-in-a-lifetime perfect night has been ruined by her own stupidity.

    Valerie stabs the elevator button with a finger tipped with a black-painted nail, still shaking from embarrassment.

    She can't bear to look at him. It will cleave her in two.

    In the second that she closes her eyes to take a deep breath, he has wrapped his hands around her waist and pushed her into the elevator wall, his forehead pressed against hers.

    "You aren't allowed to walk away from me like that," he says in a hissed whisper, and he smells of expensive cologne and wine. His voice shakes, like it's taking every ounce of his self-control to maintain his composure. "You don't get to kiss me and then bolt."

    Holy gods above and below.

    Her heart has stopped. She's dead. That is the only reasonable explanation for what she is hearing. "You didn't kiss me back." She manages, eyes still squeezed closed. She can feel the entire length of his tall body pressed against her, the weight of him warm and strong.

    He laughs mirthlessly, and she feels his thumb sweep against her cheekbone. "Would you believe me if I told you that I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that the girl of my dreams was kissing me?"

    Her eyes shoot open. "What?"

    And then he's kissing her, pressing his mouth to hers like his life depends on it.

    She's really dead. This is Elysium. The way he's gripping her waist, lips moving against her own, filling up every inch of her brain, has to be what the other side is like. Every nerve is sparking at the same time, lighting her on fire from the inside out.

    He pulls back, just long enough to whisper, "I should have told you how beautiful you look earlier. Took my godsdamn breath away."

    She has reached nirvana. Whatever the Christians consider heaven, this is it. She wraps her arms around his neck as if he can get any closer. She'll burrow him into her ribcage if she can.

    They only break apart when the elevator reaches the fifty-sixth floor, and even then, his arm is around her waist and keeping her close.

    Travis is shaking as he unlocks the hotel door, but he still pushes her against it and kisses her lips, her cheeks, her temples, her jaw. She's melting against him, unable to stop the free-fall she feels within her chest.

    "I've wanted to kiss you for so long," he mumbles against her skin, a wicked smile pulling at his mouth. "But this stops when you say the word, Val. I'm serious. We can go to sleep, if you want."

    She loves him. She loves him. She is in love with him. "Unzip my dress, Travis." She tells him sternly, turning in his embrace so her back faces him.

    He's still grinning as he kisses her shoulder. "I want to rip it off, but I know it's expensive as hell."

    "I can buy another one."

    The room is silent, other than their heavy breathing and the sound of fabric tearing, and then she is standing before him, showing more skin than anyone else has ever seen.

    The scars across her body look silver in the moonlight, and her tattoos are a stark contrast against the paleness of her skin.

    He doesn't know what to touch first. His hands instinctively reach for the black ink on her shoulder, bicep, and hip, crests and snakes and, surprisingly, flowers, etched into her body.

    He laughs lowly at the sheath wrapped around her thigh, two tiny daggers strapped to her. "You weren't kidding about carrying weapons tonight."

    She can't help but smile, too, as she takes the pins out of her hair. With each one that she removes, locks of her hair fall around her shoulders, molten bronze in the dark room. She glows in the same way that a celestial bronze sword does, as if radiating light from the inside.

    His fingers skim the bite marks on her thigh and hip while she unties his bowtie and unbuttons his shirt.

    "Are you sure?" He asks, tracing patterns against her ribcage.

    She's never been more sure of anything in her life. "I know I don't say much, but I hope you know that I mean it when I tell you that I think I'll die if you stop touching me."

    Travis is positively beaming as he pulls her into his arms, and she knows for certain that this is the happiest she's ever been.