POV: Iris Hartwell
Iris wore gray.
Not a dress, a suit. Tailored charcoal that she'd bought years ago for a foundation gala, back when the word "wedding" still meant something other than a legal maneuver to avoid criminal prosecution. The jacket fit like armor. The neutral color seemed appropriate for a transaction that had nothing to do with tradition or expectation.
Margot arrived at her apartment at 8 AM, early enough to see Iris and late enough that there was no time for Iris to second-guess the decision that could no longer be unmade. Her friend looked like she hadn't slept, and her expression when she saw Iris in the gray suit was something between compassion and grief.
"You look nice," Margot said carefully.
"I look like someone going to a business meeting."
"That's what this is."
