Aria walked toward the library, the heavy midnight blue velvet of Diana's stolen gown swishing silently against the marble floor.
She felt good. Dangerous. The dress fit her better than it had ever fit Diana—mostly because Aria had the spine to carry the weight of it. She caught her reflection in a massive gilt mirror hanging in the corridor. The dark fabric made her skin look luminous, and the vintage cut gave her an air of untouchable, old-world authority.
She stopped. It was too good not to document.
She reached for her clutch, intending to grab her phone, but her fingers met empty silk.
"Damn," she muttered.
She had left both her personal phone and the secure line charging on the nightstand back in the East Wing.
She sighed at her reflection. It was a shame. She even had the perfect caption ready: "Something borrowed, something blue. #VintageDior #FindersKeepers"
Diana would just have to see it in person to scream.
