"Where am I?" I said, because saying it out loud sounded better than thinking it. A gloved hand brushed the groom's sleeve and a jag of electricity licked between us. The chandelier flashed. My gown rustled like a warning. "Do you mind?" he said, voice flat and cold. He was beautiful in a way that made people step back and hand him power without asking. "You?" I said, because the mirror told me I was in a bridal gown and the room smelled faintly of smoke and perfume. He looked down at his sleeve, then at me. "You are not allowed in my room." "I'm not supposed to be anywhere," I said. "I'm not even sure who I'm supposed to be." "You woke up in my bed," he said. "Explain." "There's a wedding cake in the lobby and the guests are real. That counts for something." I leaned back against a chaise and let the absurd roar around me. The world I remembered—another life—arranged itself in thin slivers, then disappeared. I had rules tucked under my ribs and a name that didn't feel like my own. I kept those to the edge of thought. He took a step closer. Closer enough that I could see the faint bruising at his collarbone. Closer enough that the air pressed at my skin. "You're sweating," he said. "Do you have a fever?" "Do you have a pulse?" I asked. He actually laughed, and the