Page 143 of On Edge

Troy wasn’t even at Grayfleet; he was in Southwark, miles away.

He wasn’t lying.

He didn’t kill her.

A ragged breath leaves my body.

But then, what was he doing in Southwark? I rack my brain to think of what’s in that area, but I come up short.

There’s no time for me to ponder either. I have to finish getting ready for dinner. Even though I’ve curled my hair and carefully applied makeup, and I’m wearing the deep burgundy dress that looks like a slash of blood against my pale skin, which Lauren, Troy’s stylist, sent over, it’s not enough. I still look like I was thrown off a tower and then spent the night rolling around on the floor. Even my face looks permanently startled, like I’m losing my mind.

I’m still in shock from what happened. Not from the fall. Well, maybe the fall. But also everything I’ve found out and what Troy told me. But it’s okay now, right? He didn’t kill Nell. He couldn’t have. He wasn’t even at Grayfleet. And throwing me offthat tower—as horrible as it was—proved to me that Nell’s diary being found in the rocks with blood all over its pages couldn’t have happened.

My father did lie to me then, about that. Nothing new there.

But a small voice that won’t go away reminds me Troy’s still not innocent. There’s a dead body in his freezer, and he went to prison for a fire that killed his parents. Just because he didn’t kill Nell doesn’t mean he’s not a monster.

He’s a monster who turns me on and makes me come so hard I see stars.

I close my eyes, trying to push everything down so I can breathe. But the whiplash of it all ricochets around in my head, making me want to scream.

“Miss Lovett?” The hotel manager’s voice resounds through the door with a soft knock. I jerk as though shot, then get up and slowly open it.

“Yes?”

“Your party for your rehearsal dinner is waiting downstairs.”

I nod, release a breath, and quickly grab my purse. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.

I take one last look in the mirror. The girl staring back at me looks like Nell did the last day I saw her, when she was going off to marry a man she’d never met, as though she knew and might never come back. I wish I could go back in time and stop her from going. I’d give anything for that.

But it’s too late.

All I can do is right the wrongs. Someone killed my sister, and if it wasn’t Troy, who the hell was it?

When I step out of the elevator, the hotel’s dining room has been transformed. Tall, flickering candles and low chandeliers cast a warm glow over a long table covered with gorgeous white linens, fine gold-edged china, and sparkling crystal glasses winking in the light. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the picture,overlooking a glittering London skyline. It looks absolutely breathtaking.

“Sage, my dear.” My mother’s voice cuts through the murmur of other guests.

“Mum, you’re here.”

She narrows her eyes at me, calling her mum. She hates that word, but Mother seems so stiff and awkward. I don’t hug her because it’s not something we do anymore. Instead, I lean forward so she can air kiss both my cheeks. She steps back to get a good look at me, running a critical gaze over every single detail.

As usual, she looks impeccable in a long navy dress that her boyfriend must have bought for her, her hair swept up in the same style she’s worn for decades. When she was younger, she would wear it down like I tend to do. But she got sick of trying to tame the curls. In my head, the mother with loose, curly hair is the one who used to sing to me, taught me to sing, and would brush my hair until it gleamed.

When she left, it was like she forgot me, and now it’s hard to reconcile this sour-looking woman with the maternal figure in my hazy memories. Sometimes, I think I’ve got it wrong, and that it was Nell who brushed my hair and sang to me.

Maybe she did.

“You look lovely.” But in her face I can see the unspoken part of that sentence:for once. “It’s stunning up here,andyou’re not. Troy certainly knows how to make an impression.”

“Just like father.”

She flicks her eyes upward at that. “Be thankful your father made it clear there was no prenup.”

“Mum!”

But she’s already moving away, examining the view with more interest than she’s ever shown me.