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If there was someone more complicated to think about than Irene Feist, it was Helena’s freshman English teacher. Back when her parents mistakenly decided to retire from the military and settle down somewhere for civilian jobs so their daughter could “have stability during her high school years.”

Idiots.

Mr. Smith. Irene. Delia.

One of those names made her feel warmer than the others.

Get a grip. Helena was thinking like a child. As if anyone would make her rethink her stance on romance, which was essentially, it doesn’t really exist.

She peered through the crack in the door. She had to wait for a server to pass by with a platter full of empty glasses before stealing out and acting like she belonged there. Something else she was unfortunately good at after a whole year carrying a fake ID.

“Helena? Is that you, darling?”

She stopped cold in her tracks. Are you kidding me…

Excited footsteps came up behind her in the hallway. While other guests politely pushed past her to get to other viewpoints of the party, Helena Pierce occupied the center strip, her shoulders tense and the breath hitching in her throat.

Slowly, she turned.

“Well…” Dark hair in a coil. Skintight pastel dress. Chunky heels. Nude makeup. An attitude grander than her petite stature. “Look who has made it out here in time for Ms. Blake’s annual garden party. I had no idea you’d be on the guest list, Helena.”

That grin was poison. A false prophet. There was no genuine niceness behind those perfect veneers. She’s nothing but a veneer. Helena knew that now, better than ever.

Irene Feist. In the flesh. Yup, that was her.

And Helena was frozen, forever trapped in a prison of her own making. Because she would have never gotten wrapped up with Irene for so long if it weren’t for her own stupid, youthful ego.

“Irene…”

She could barely say the name without her voice cracking. Yet she couldn’t show weakness before the woman who had chased down her taxi in the San Bernardino twilight.

It had been almost three months. Not enough time for Helena to forgive and forget.

Irene closed the gap between them, a knowing look primping her face. “You look well. Very lovely. Is that an Adrianna Papell?”

Helena needed a second to realize what Irene meant. “Yes.”

“Cheap enough for you to possibly afford.” Irene brushed past her, purposely. “Or you’ve already moved on to someone else? Birdies have told me that you put on quite a display in New York a while ago. If only I could remember her name.”

Helena didn’t deign that with an answer. “What are you doing here?”

Irene feigned offense. “Why, attending Francesca Blake’s annual garden party. I’m invited every year, but rarely am I in the area.”

“Thought you weren’t allowed to leave California for a while.”

“Hmph. The FBI finally came around. They have my deposition about Candace Lister. As long as I answer any subpoenas, I can do as I please.”

“So, you haven’t been indicted…”

“Whatever would I be indicted for, dear?”

Again, Helena didn’t answer.

“You’re looking well.” That murmur came too close to Helena’s ear for her comfort. “I won’t keep you. But if you’re looking for some fun… you know what hotel chain I like. I’ll leave your name with the front desk.”

She pressed on, leaving Helena where she awkwardly stood. “Fuck no,” she whispered, barely loud enough for her lips to vibrate.

It was a few minutes before she had the wherewithal to find Delia, who was casually chatting with someone Helena didn’t recognize. A part of her was grateful that it wasn’t Irene. Another part of her wished it was, so she could slap that woman across the face.