“Aw, you’re just bitter because Brady dumped you the second he got to Yale,” Daniel teased his sister.
Paige’s eyes flashed angrily. “Excuse me, I did not get dumped.
I
broke up with
him
.”
Everyone glanced around the table. They all knew that Brady Flynn had booted Paige. Several Yale-bound Easton alums had witnessed the dumping and instantly texted their friends about it. But of course no one would contradict Paige—to her face, anyway.
“So what’s the Lange family’s Christmas protocol?” Isobel asked Noelle, deftly changing topics before Paige exploded. The last time Paige lost her temper, it had not been pretty. During chores one morning post-breakup she had reduced the normally tough Leanne Shore to tears, demanding she remake Paige’s bed ten times until the hospital corners were at perfect ninety-degree angles. Afterward Leanne had spent an hour in the nurse’s office with her inhaler, fighting off a panic attack.
Ariana was proud that she had never broken down like that during hazing. Not in public, anyway.
“The ballet, cocktails with my father’s miserable excuse for an attorney and his overstuffed wife. The usual,” Noelle said. “My parents will probably try to sneak in a little face time with the extracurriculars and write it off as Christmas shopping, meaning they have to buy me more presents. They get a little ass, I get a little Armani. It’s a win-win.”
Noelle talked about her parents’ affairs like she was giving an oral report on the Industrial Revolution. As if there were nothing in the world that could have been more mundane. Ariana fingered one of her aquamarine drop earrings, envying how everything was so easy, so straightforward for her best friend.
“I can’t imagine what that’s like, worrying about when your parents are going to schedule in their ‘face time’ with their sloppy sides.” Daniel leaned back as the waiter delivered coffee cups and bowls of sugar to the table. “That’s gotta suck.”
Ariana inhaled sharply. No one at this table needed a reminder about how happy and functional the Ryan family unit was. Noelle’s dark eyes smoldered at the dig.
“Well, Daniel, not everyone can have the perfect family, perfect grades, and the perfect girlfriend,” Thomas said wryly, teasing Ariana with his eyes.
“If we did, what would we tell our therapists about?” Dash joked.
“Or pop Xanax over,” Thomas added with a short laugh.
“Like you need an excuse to pop anything,” Noelle put in.
Thomas smiled. “Touché, Miss Lange.” He snagged a sugar cube from the bowl and tossed it into his mouth. “What about you, Ariana. Popped anything lately?”
Prickly heat assaulted Ariana’s skin.
“Dude,” Daniel admonished, sitting forward to glare at Thomas.
“What?” Thomas feigned innocence with upturned palms.
Ariana forced herself to glance at Thomas. He was looking directly at her with his searing blue eyes.
Just then a camera flashed, illuminating the beveled edges of her glass with sparks of light. Ariana flinched.
“Jesus,” Noelle snapped, waving her napkin in the direction of the flash. “Sergei, enough with the stalkerazzi act already. Find new muses.”
Sergei Tretyakov stood just two feet from the table, a black Nikon
with a telephoto lens hanging from his neck. Sergei was a Latvian exchange student and an outsider at Easton. He had dark, sloping brows, coal black eyes, and a slightly crooked nose. He could have been quirkily attractive, but he was painfully shy and had a tendency to stare. Plus he always wore these old, dirty tennis shoes no matter what else he had on. He was even wearing them tonight, to a formal event. Ariana could tell a lot about a person from their choice of footwear, and Sergei’s kicks screamed “street urchin.” Still, she felt a certain reluctant affinity for him. She was, after all, a fellow observer.
“Just one more,” he said softly in his lilting Eastern European accent.
This time, he pointed the camera directly at Ariana and snapped away. Ariana blushed at being singled out.
Daniel stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the marble floor. “Dude, did you just take a picture of my girlfriend?”
The table went silent and Ariana could feel Noelle’s eyes on her. She stopped breathing.
Not again . . . not again . . . not again . . .
Ariana watched Sergei’s face go ashen. He backed away slightly, his shoulders curled forward.
“I’ve taken everyone’s picture tonight.” Sergei was like a cowering puppy in the face of an irate owner. Ariana couldn’t take it. Besides, the last thing she wanted was a scene like the one that had played out in the woods last summer. Not here. Not now.
“Daniel, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” she said in a soothing voice.
But Daniel wasn’t having it. “No, it’s not fine.” He fixed his eyes on Sergei and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you think my girlfriend’s pretty?”
Sergei blinked uncertainly. “Well . . . I . . . yes?” It came off like a question.
Daniel’s cheek twitched. Several waiters brought out tartlets and crème brûlée on silver trays, filling the room with the scent of smoked apples and nutmeg.
“So what do you like best about my girlfriend? Her smile? Her hair?” Daniel’s eyes gleamed. “Her cleavage?”
Thomas and Dash hid smirks behind their hands. Noelle and Paige stood up, rolling their eyes at the display of testosterone, and headed toward the bathroom. Isobel whipped out her Sidekick and started texting, probably alerting the other students in the room to the main event unfolding at table one.
“Daniel, stop,” Ariana said quietly as Sergei stared at the floor.
“And do you take pictures of all the pretty girls?” Daniel asked, a condescending smile playing on his full lips. “Or is it just my girlfriend?”
“I think I’ll go now,” Sergei said, backing away from the table.
Ariana flinched as Daniel grabbed Sergei’s arm. “Just a second, buddy.”
With one quick motion, he lifted Sergei’s camera over his head and started scrolling through the stored images. Sergei made a swipe for the camera, but Daniel held it out of reach.
“Oh, here’s a picture of Ariana, and another and another. Isobel—you’re
in here too. And that’s a nice one of Natasha. Hmm. No guys in any of these. Interesting. You know, you’re lucky I don’t call the cops on you, pervert.”
Thomas snickered quietly.
“That’s enough,” Ariana said firmly, her cheeks flushed and heart racing.
Daniel stared at her for a second, his eyes hard, angry, empty. Then his whole body went slack and he punched Sergei in the shoulder. “Kidding, man. I’m just giving you a hard time.”
“So can I have my camera back then?” Sergei looked bewildered.
“A little later,” Daniel said with a wink. “I think it’s best if I keep it for now.”
The band switched to a slow song and the air suddenly smelled like hazelnut coffee. Sergei held out his hand. “You can’t just take my camera.”
Daniel sat back down and cocked his head to the side. “Dude, you can’t just take pictures of my girlfriend.”
Sergei looked torn for a second as he stared longingly at his Nikon, then turned away. In his haste to leave he nearly knocked over a waitress refilling water glasses at a nearby table. She glared at him and sopped up the spill with a napkin.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” Ariana took a sip of champagne, hoping Isobel’s message hadn’t reached too many people. Hoping they hadn’t noticed that her boyfriend had just senselessly humiliated the awkward exchange student.
Daniel held his hands up and laughed. “Hey, I was just messing
with the guy. Besides, he shouldn’t being taking pictures of you. Not without asking, anyway. Guy has to learn a little respect.” His voice turned serious, and he put his hand on her knee. It felt cold and heavy. Possessive. “You know I’d do anything for you, Ari. Anything. Don’t forget that.”
Ariana smiled tightly. “I won’t.”
Daniel’s words should have sounded sweet and loving. But as Ariana caught a glimpse of Sergei across the room, looking naked and vulnerable without his camera, she couldn’t help but hear them as a threat.
Ariana looked at her watch. Twelve twenty-seven a.m. She tried to fight the irritation that prickled along her skin. Her friends had left a half hour ago, her feet ached from her ivory Chloé heels, and the ballroom was nearly empty, save for a few stragglers and hotel maintenance workers, dutifully clearing tables and sweeping the floors.
Stifling a yawn, Ariana surveyed the damage around her. Half-empty crystal flutes rimmed with fading Chanel-lipstick pouts littered the tables. The tapered candles that peeked from the Christmasy centerpieces had melted into nothing, and the sharp smell of burnt vanilla and wilting greenery hovered in the air. The chandelier that had seemed magical earlier in the evening now cast a garish light over the tired waitstaff. The room suddenly looked ordinary. Used. Ariana felt an inexplicable pang of sadness as she sipped the last bit of flat champagne from her glass.
“Party’s over, Osgood.”
Ariana jumped at the sound of Thomas’s voice. He sat down heavily next to her on the bench near the ballroom’s exit, his arms crossed over his wrinkled dress shirt. His blue eyes were slightly unfocused, and it was clear he’d had too much to drink.
“So why are you still here?” She crossed her legs and placed her champagne flute on the floor. Thomas smelled like whiskey and something vaguely spicy.
“Well, I’m certainly not waiting for my boyfriend, who’s currently puking his guts out in the bushes. Because that’d be lame.” Thomas sniffed and rolled up one of his sleeve cuffs.
Ariana tugged on her necklace, moving it back and forth on its delicate chain. A tiny part of her agreed with Thomas. She should have taken up Noelle’s offer to ride home with her and Dash. But then she thought about how Paige had glared at the suggestion—a not-so-subtle reminder that it was Ariana’s duty as girlfriend to take care of Daniel. She just wished he hadn’t challenged Gage Coolidge to that power hour. Because then she could be home right now, tucked between her sateen sheets.
She turned to Thomas. “What were
you
doing out in the bushes?”
“Oh, you know, a little of this, a little of that. Bushes are
always
fun.” Thomas smirked suggestively. “You’ve heard of fun, right?”
“I do recall hearing of the concept,” Ariana replied flatly, trying to step up to his banter.
“Right. I can definitely see you getting stupid and crazy,” he said sarcastically.
Ariana’s face grew warm. “I’ve done plenty of stupid and crazy things.”
“True. You
are
dating Daniel Ryan,” he replied.
“Ha ha,” Ariana said, then realized with a pang how immature she sounded. Across the room a waiter dropped a wineglass. He swore, then bent down to pick up the jagged fragments. “Daniel and I are very happy,” she added.
Thomas put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “So you thought his little tête-à-tête with Sergei was, what? Gallant?”
“He was drunk,” Ariana pointed out. “And if I remember correctly, you were laughing.” She unhooked her vintage Gucci bag from her shoulder and put it on her lap. Her container of Tic Tacs rattled inside. “I was laughing at Daniel, not at Sergei.” Thomas ran his fingers through his hair. One side stuck out a little over his ear, making him look, ever so briefly, like a vulnerable little boy in his rumpled formalwear. “So, are you ready to ‘rock’ in Vermont?” he asked with a knowing grin.
Ariana felt like the words were a challenge. Even though her stomach twisted at the thought of losing her virginity to Daniel, she lifted her chin and said coolly, “I can’t wait.”
A worker in his mid-twenties grabbed an empty bottle of Perrier off one of the tables, dropping it with a clank into the recycling bag he was dragging behind him.
“Really? ’Cause you look like you’re about to join Danny boy for a group vomit in the bushes.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Disgusting, but right.” Thomas smirked. He pulled an old New York subway token out of his pocket and rolled it back and forth across the wood of the bench. It left a little black streak on the pristine oak finishing. “You do know you can do better.”
Even though Ariana knew he wasn’t serious, knew he was just teasing her as always, she couldn’t help feel a flutter at the compliment.
“Daniel is the perfect boyfriend.” Ariana met Thomas’s blue eyes with her own.
“Maybe on paper,” Thomas retorted.
And he was right. Ariana knew he was right. Daniel
was
perfect on paper, but sometimes, in reality, not so much. Like tonight. Getting drunk and treating Sergei like dirt and ignoring her when she asked him to stop. Not so perfect.
But she would never admit that to Thomas.
“Please. He just had a little too much to drink. On a normal day, he’s amazing,” Ariana told him, pressing her hands into the bench at her sides and looking straight ahead. “Like last night, he knew I had a ton of work to catch up on so he brought me dinner in my room—plus a couple dozen roses”
“Ooh. How original.”
“It was—”
“Whatever. I don’t want to talk about Daniel Ryan.” Thomas leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “I want to talk about you.”
“Me.” Ariana was nonplussed.
“Yeah. What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
“The worst thing?” Ariana leaned back too, molding her back
along the slats of the bench. She made a mental list of the things Paige and her friends had forced the new girls to do to prove their devotion to Billings. Like the time Paige had made her break into Hell Hall with a Sharpie and black out parts of the assistant headmaster’s name plaque so that it read
ASS MASTER.
He started to whistle the theme to
Jeopardy
.
“Stop it,” Ariana said.
“I want to hear something real. Something bad. Something hot.” His voice dropped to a whisper, and he nudged her knee with his. Ariana froze. The light contact sent her skin humming. Suddenly his face was only inches from her own. She could feel his breath on her neck. Her own breath caught in her throat. “Come on, Osgood. Shock me.”