Page 2

TWO

ROSE

My guards, Theodore and Sidney, stand silently on the porch of Molly Kwon’s mansion, one eyeing me through the window, the other monitoring the front yard. They’re huddled together, instead of patrolling like they usually would, in an effort to keep dry. I avert my eyes, succumbing to a pang of guilt for causing them to stand out there, stranded. They’re sheltered from the heavy rain, but not from the unseasonal cold.

If I thought it would make any difference, I would insist they come inside in shifts to watch from the warmth of the kitchen with a cup of tea. The problem is, they don’t much respect what I have to say when Father’s given a direct order. Today, Father’s orders were to watch from the front yard, and remain there unless I’m in imminent danger, and that’s that. Their comfort doesn’t matter, and I certainly don’t have the authority to issue supplementary or contradictory commands.

Although, to be fair, I don’t expect they would relish the opportunity to take a cup of tea from me, even if they were free to. The last time I made them tea, I was so high I mistook the salt for sugar.

I watch the scene with lazy eyes from my usual vantage point, the nearest leather armchair to the entranceway. Eleanor Kowalczyk, one of my closest friends, drapes herself over the top of my chair. She dangles a half-smoked joint in front of my face as though I’m a horse she’s enticing with a carrot. I swat at her hand, disguising my rush of irritation with an easy laugh.

“You’re serious about it, then?” Eleanor asks me, nodding at the joint in her hand.

“When have you known me to break a promise?”

On a nearby couch occupied by a handful of guys, a tall boy with thick dark curls climbs onto his knees and holds out a hand to Eleanor. Alfie Paget-Harrington. Alfie clicks at Eleanor, who takes a drag before handing the joint over. He rolls it between his fingers and cocks his head at me. “Luckily,” he says in his slow, deep voice, “the rest of us made no such promises.”

“The rest of you,” I remind him, “had no incentive to.”

“There are no cameras around, Rosie,” Alfie says. “You know everyone in the room.”

I hold his gaze steadily until he relents. “More for me,” he says, bringing the joint to his lips.

“For us,” Eleanor protests, and Alfie cries out as she darts forward to wrestle it from his grasp.

Across the room, Molly glances up at Alfie’s laughter. At first, she looks everywhere but at me. Eventually, however, she cracks and steals a peek, only to find me staring right at her. I raise a single brow the moment our gazes lock. It’s all that’s necessary. Should she continue to snub me now, there won’t be any plausible deniability left for her, and Molly certainly isn’t as confrontational as all that. Even if she is trying to prove a point.

And she is trying to prove a point, I’m quite sure of it, as she hasn’t spoken a word to me since I arrived, other than to greet Eleanor and me as one.

Instead, she’s spent the entire gathering by the side of a girl with long, dark blond hair I can only describe as a peculiarity. She’s wearing an ill-fitting puffer jacket, and jeans that fit her worse still. Her shoes are muddy, her skin is shockingly pale, and she hasn’t unfolded her arms in about half an hour. I should know. I’ve been watching her.

She’s clearly uncomfortable, and unsurprisingly so. She looks so out of place, I could almost believe she stumbled upon the party by accident. I can’t imagine where Molly found her. Or why, for that matter, my best friend is apparently so taken by this awkward stranger that she can’t find a spare minute to introduce her to Eleanor and me.

Even if it’s just to convince anyone watching that everything is fine between us.

Molly says something to the stranger, and the two of them head in my direction as Alfie leaves us. Molly selects a flute of champagne from a refreshment table as she passes it, and then holds it out to me. “Rose,” she says as I accept the glass. “This is Danni. She’s in fifth year, too.”

“Oh,” I say. “Which school?”

Molly shoots me a look as though I’m being purposely obtuse. While it’s possible I am being obtuse, in my defense, it’s certainly not on purpose. “Bramppath,” she says, and I realize my misstep too late. This girl must be attending under one of the music scholarships. They’re the only scholarships available that offer a fully funded place. They’re quite competitive, too.

“A musical prodigy,” I remark. “I’m sure we’re lucky to gain you. What do you play?”

Danni opens her mouth as though to answer me, but then she falters. “Piano, but… how do you know I’m a musician?”

Two mistakes in a row. It’s a blessing Mum and Father aren’t here to witness this, or I’d be in for a lecture. Remarking upon class differences is classless; those would be Mum’s exact words.

Molly watches me with curiosity, apparently in no hurry to save me. So, I make my best effort to recover myself. “You have piano hands,” I say. Stealing a glance at Danni’s fingers, it’s not a word of a lie—they are long. “Have you had the chance to meet everyone here, then?”

It’s a dig at Molly that goes right over Danni’s head, as it’s designed to. Molly meets my eyes but says nothing. At least I’ve let her know I noticed her speaking to practically every person at the party except for me.

“I think so,” Danni says. She speaks with a thick American accent, untouched, as far as I can tell, by any Hennish cadence. A recently immigrated scholarship student, no less. “I’m never going to remember all these names.”

“Well, if you can remember anything, try to focus on surnames,” I say. “They’re generally more important in this crowd. And if all else fails, remember Kwon and Kowalczyk, and you’ll be in good hands.”

Eleanor climbs onto her knees to hang over the back of the couch and nod at us. “Kowalczyk would be me,” she says to Danni, reaching out for a handshake.

“Got it,” Danni says with a nervous smile. “And who’s Kwon?”

“Who’s Kwon?” I repeat, unable to keep the bafflement from my tone. I point a helpful finger at Molly. “That’s Molly Kwon,” I stage-whisper.

“Okay, Rose,” Molly snaps. Defensive of her new best friend, it would seem. “I didn’t tell her my surname yet.”

“I hope I didn’t just give away a secret, then.”

Does Molly not want Danni to know she’s a minor internet celebrity? Or does she not want Danni to look her up for another reason?

I realize, too late, that this might very much be the case. If Molly’s new friend doesn’t know what happened in Amsterdam yet, perhaps she’s hoping to keep it that way for the time being. I may not have many lines I wouldn’t cross when it comes to stirring someone up, but even I know Amsterdam is off-limits.

“It’s not a secret, it just didn’t come up.” Molly’s tone is about as tense as I’ve ever heard it, and I must not be the only one who notices, because Danni jumps in with a hasty subject change.

“So, everyone here is from, like, a mega-rich family?” she asks.

Eleanor and I exchange an incredulous glance. Even Molly cracks a reluctant smile.

“Quite,” I say faintly, and Eleanor chokes on her laughter.

Molly jumps in. “All Rose means is, surnames are how we figure out our mutual connections. It’s not all snobbery.”

“Only ninety percent or so,” Eleanor adds with a mischievous grin.

“Like,” Molly goes on, “Eleanor’s a Kowalczyk, and half the families at school are represented by Kowalczyk and Nought. The law firm,” she adds, when she notices Danni isn’t following along. “Or Alfie over there. His mum’s Helen Paget-Harrington, and the Harringtons are one of the oldest families in the country.”

“And the Pagets are… nobody in particular,” Eleanor says. She shoots me a guilty glance—she is, after all, talking about close family friends of mine—but I give her a curt nod of agreement, so she continues. “Alfie’s dad immigrated from London ages ago and clawed his way up the ladder here.”

Danni gives an uneasy laugh. I’ve only just met her, so it’s possible I’m misreading her expression, but she appears to be studying Eleanor and Molly as though they’re an alien species. “Huh,” she says. “I don’t even know what most of my friends’ parents do for work.”

Molly touches her arm gently. “You don’t need to know this stuff. You’re not getting quizzed on it or anything.”

Danni tilts her head. “I guess I’m pretty much like a Paget. My last name doesn’t really mean anything.”

“Maybe not,” I say with a shrug. “Best to share it anyway. You’ll stand out less that way.”

She locks eyes with me so sharply I wonder if she somehow forgot I was sitting here. “Fine,” she says. “Whatever. Then I guess I’m Daniela from the nobody-in-particular Blythes.”

“Well,” I say, “it would seem you’re now Daniela from Bramppath. That’s something, at least.”

Molly glares at me, apparently objecting to my teasing tone. Danni, however, appears to take it as I mean it, because she breaks into a deeply dimpled grin. Suddenly, all traces of nervousness have vanished. She’s blossomed into a different person. “It’s something,” she agrees. “Now, I already know your name, but maybe you could introduce yourself anyway?”

“Rosemary.”

“Rosemary or Rose?”

“That depends how much we end up liking each other,” I say.

“I’ll monitor it. You didn’t give me your surname,” she points out.

“I don’t have one.”

“Do you just like to stand out? Or are you not important enough for one?”

I rest my cheek on my balled fist, surprised at her gall. “Both, actually.”

Molly jumps in before we start having too much fun. “I ran into Danni when I got my senior cape,” she says. “She’s from America.”

My annoyance with Molly is at the forefront of my mind again, and it seeps into my tone as I grip the wet flute of champagne with the tips of my fingers and sit up straighter. “Oh, you’re from the American Blythes,” I say, feigning recognition. “Why didn’t you say so to begin with?”

“Rose, don’t be a shit,” Molly says blankly. “She can’t tell when you’re joking yet.”

“Do you get to pass off digs as a sense of humor when you don’t have a last name?” Danni asks.

If I was surprised at her gall before, it’s nothing compared to how shocked I am right now. I’m rather used to strangers and acquaintances politely pretending to find my jibes hilarious. “It’s one of the many perks,” I say finally.

Molly turns to Danni. “Well, we’d better finish getting everyone to tell you their surnames,” she says in a tone that tells me she thinks I’m being unfathomably rude. I would argue Danni seems perfectly capable of dishing out just as much as she’s served, but I keep that argument to myself. I am, it’s rather apparent, on considerably thin ice with Molly as it is.

I raise my eyebrows in place of a goodbye. Danni moves to follow Molly, but then she pauses and glances at me. “Nice to meet you, Rose,” she says, before turning her back to me. I stare after her for several seconds.

Eleanor flips around on the couch again and follows my gaze. She gives a knowing “hmm,” and I jump, embarrassed to be caught staring.

“What?”

“She’s definitely acting odd,” she says. It takes me quite a bit longer than it should to realize she’s referring to Molly.

“I told you,” I say. “I think she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Eleanor says, but it’s far from convincing. “She’s just grieving.”

Yes, that’s how I’d justified it, too. She’s just grieving, I told myself when she avoided me at the funeral. She needs space, I reasoned when she kept to herself throughout the end of the school term. She’s distracting herself, I rationalized when she started posting on social media again while ignoring my messages over the summer holidays.

There does come a point, I think, where denial starts to feel an awful lot like lying.

“You should just ask her what’s going on,” Eleanor says when I don’t reply, and I give a curt nod.

“I will,” I say. Unlike Eleanor, I’m well-practiced in the art of sounding just as convincing as I mean to. “Just not here. There’s no reason to ruin her party.”

Of course, I know deep down what the matter is, even if I don’t want to know. She blames me for what happened in Amsterdam in June, and so she should. I would hate me too if I were her.

By the window, Harriet Tomas grabs onto Danni’s arm as she and Molly pass, tugging them into the group conversation. Harriet was there that night, but Molly seems perfectly amiable when she says hello to her.

Something acidic and dark bubbles in my core, and I shove it back down before the emotion fully announces itself.

Alfie, who’d been watching us from afar with a measure of curiosity, saunters over to join Eleanor and me once more.

“Who’s that, then?” he asks, without any other indications. It’s obvious enough who he means.

“Her name’s Danni,” Eleanor says.

“Right, but who is she?” Alfie presses.

And Molly thought my surname advice was mere snobbery. I have half a mind to reach out to Molly later and tell her what Alfie just said, to prove my point. Only, she wouldn’t reply to my message, would she?

Danni glances over and catches the three of us staring at her. She tears her eyes away while her long piano fingers fiddle with the cuff of her sleeve.

“Nobody in particular, apparently,” I say to Alfie.

As though she somehow hears me across the din, Danni looks back. This time, her eyes land on mine.

I hold her gaze until she tears it away only a heartbeat later.

Poor little blossom. Our world is going to break her.