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It’s not a brilliant plan, just the first that occurs to my tipsy brain. It’s hard to hide in the underworld. Mafia families are much too practiced in tracking down traitors, thieves, and witnesses.
Zoe shakes her head for a different reason. “I have a sister. Catalina is only a year younger than me. Even if I could do it, my parents might scratch my name off the marriage contract and write hers instead. I’d only be dropping my burden onto her shoulders.”
She’s quite drunk by this point, though you wouldn’t guess it. She’s still sitting upright in her chair, her voice measured and clipped, with no hint of slurring. I only know she must be intoxicated because I watched her down ten shots with my owneyes. That, and the fact that I’m learning more about Zoe in one hour than I’ve discovered all semester.
“That’s crazy!” Chay cries. She’s much more obviously drunk, her cheeks flushed, and a button torn off the front of her school blouse from when she gestured a little too wildly telling us a story about her very first motorcycle. “What are you gonna do? You can’t just marry this guy and be fucking miserable . . .”
“I don’t know,” Zoe says quietly. “Maybe I’ll turn into a bird and fly away . . .”
A tear slips down her cheek, unnoticed by Zoe as she looks out the window to the stormy sea beyond. Maybe she’s picturing soaring away across the water. Or maybe she’s imagining leaping from those cliffs, whether she can fly or not.
I put my hand over hers, unable to think of anything useful to say.
The next morning we all wake up with raging headaches, after falling asleep in highly uncomfortable positions. I slept in the middle of the floor with a shoe for a pillow.
I think Zoe hopes we were drunk enough to forget what she said.
But I watch how she cringes every time Rocco corners her in the hallways, leaning close to whisper god knows what in her ear.
I see how she stands still as stone while he trails his finger down her cheek, seeming to enjoy his fiancée’s obvious distaste for him.
Soon, I begin to despise Rocco just as much as Zoe and Shay.
The nightof the Christmas dance, Chay, Zoe, and I all get dressed together in Chay’s and my shared room.
Our dorm is the smallest but arguably the prettiest on campus. It used to be the Solar, which was the private quarters of the lord and his family. For that reason, Chay’s and my room is much larger than normal, with an actual working fireplace and a large picture window that looks out over the cliffs.
Pippa Portnoy’s room probably belonged to the lord himself—it’s the largest and grandest of all, though I prefer ours since she only faces the Armory. Pippa doesn’t share with anyone, having successfully bullied the other female Heir in her year into taking a far inferior room. Claire Turgenev and Neve Markov, the Sophomore Heirs, room together on the next floor down.
Our room is looking a lot more homey than when we first arrived. Chay and I have hung up dozens of our sketches on the walls. Mine are mostly botanicals and landscapes—bits of the island I’ve seen while exploring. Chay’s are almost all tattoo designs that she intends to put on herself, though I’m not quite sure where she’s going to find the space.
Chay’s mother sent her a hand-knitted blanket as her Christmas package, so her bed is covered in sea-green and blue instead of the usual plain gray. Even my ballet shoes hanging by their ribbons from the armoire add a certain personal touch to the space.
Chay is rooting through her clothes, trying to decide what to wear.
She throws a dark ombré dress down on my bed.
“That would suit you.”
I didn’t think to bring any formal gowns in my suitcase, and I wouldn’t have had room anyway. I like the one Chay is offering—it looks black up on the shoulders and bust, shading down to emerald by the hem.
“Will you do my makeup, too?” I ask her.
“Of course!” She loves when Zoe and I consent to be her Barbie dolls.
Chay gives me a kind of glittery, smoky mermaid eye, and I wear my hair down, tied back at the temples with a black velvet ribbon.
She goes lighter on Zoe because she knows Zoe doesn’t like wearing too much makeup. She doesn’t need it anyway—her skin is clear and glowing, and her thick black lashes and brows look painted on in ink.
Chay is stunning in a flame-red dress with a dramatic slit up the side. She has on a pair of bracelets that looked like steel manacles, and heels that could kill a man. She isn’t dating that idiot Sam anymore, and it’s clear she’s on the hunt for a new paramour.
Zoe looks the loveliest of all in a stark navy dress that covers her from throat to wrist to ankle but can’t conceal the stunning figure underneath. With her long, dark hair pinned up on her head like a crown, she looks like a queen. If she were allowed to dance with anyone she liked at the party, she’d have an endless supply of eager boys lining up.
The Grand Hall on the ground floor of the Keep has been decorated for the party. Strings of golden lights run across the room, forming a kind of canopy overhead like a luminescent tent. A huge table along the wall groans with food, and champagne and wine are on offer, since apparently Kingmakers is honoring the European standards for drinking and not giving a damn that most of us are underage in American terms.
Bram intercepts us as soon as we walk through the door. He gives me a nod that is, for him, friendly. He’s been much more polite since I started dating Dean, which I’m not sure is an improvement.
I have to admit, Bram looks almost handsome in his black tux, with his long hair combed back and his face properly shaved.
