✦ ✦ ✦
WHAT'S YOUR FAVOURITE COLOUR? Hers was silver. His was blue, dark blue, he said, like the sky a little after the sun sets, a never-ending blue.
He liked tea more than coffee, preferably with sugar and milk while she had hers black. He'd wrinkled his nose at that. That's not very British of you, he'd commented.
One place he'd never been to but wanted to go before he died was Greece. She'd blinked at him then, You've never been to Greece? She'd grown up staring at those Grecian statues in his yard, grown up hearing his mother tell her stories about Greek mythology with an adoring light in her eyes.
His mother didn't look like him, she'd always thought that. Atalanta had her genes, the dark gold hair and genius mind. Matthew looked like his father. Elias al Nassar came from an Egyptian family who formerly dwelled in the oil business. He gave his son his dark nest of hair and startling gold eyes.
Freya's memories of him were vague. The image of a warm-faced man leaning over the open bonnet of an expensive car, uncaring that his Italian leather shoes were stepping in car oil.
She hadn't been at his funeral.
However, Freya's memories of Minerva al Nassar were bright and clear in her memory.
Whenever Freya was over by his house as a child, via Atalanta's invite, Minerva al Nassar would have her sit in the kitchen as she baked biscuits for her and Atalanta and tell her stories.
She would always remember the time she told her that the name Freya was also the name of a goddess. Freya had gone home and told Victoria excitedly and her mother had chuckled, saying, "It was just my grandmother's nickname. Frances-Laura. Her brother shortened it when he was a toddler because it was too long for him to say."
In their game, Matthew asked her questions too.
What was her favourite movie? When she said Titanic, he looked surprised. She'd poked him with a pen at that but he'd shaken her off with another question.
His favourite movie was the last of the Harry Potter movies. It was then Freya's turn to wrinkle her nose and tell him that the best one was easily the fifth one and that he had bad taste.
It became a routine. A week passed, where she would attend classes, avoid Amelie and Karsyn on a daily basis, and after it all, look forward to seeing Matthew in detention where they were in their own little world.
Each day, they asked each other twenty questions. It was only twenty. Yet somehow, the hour flew by fast, when they got lost in conversation. And then they would part ways outside the library, in the shadowed hall by the side door.
The things they'd discussed, however small, floated through her head hours after they'd walked away from those towering shelves of books. They carried her through her day.
She would remember it as she scribbled answers onto her Maths worksheet. What's your favourite subject? Definitely not Maths, he'd answered with a playful scowl.
Or as she walked by the art room, glancing in on the sculptures and paintings and drawings done by students. He said that he painted, or used to. Not so much anymore. She hadn't asked why for the same reason he hadn't yet asked about her admission in the hall or the line of discoloured skin and healed puncture marks that flashed one day when she'd accidentally rolled up her sleeves.
The track marks, the scars on her skin from her drug use, hadn't healed completely, despite the expensive creams that her mother had bought. Concealing them was easy for Freya, since she lived in England, where the weather often demanded long sleeves and since Arrowsmith's uniforms wholly consisted of long sleeves. She'd also invested in a hefty supply of expensive full-coverage, waterproof foundation for the occasions where long sleeves weren't necessary.
She'd felt his eyes lurk on them and had pulled the sleeve down immediately. She couldn't believe she'd slipped up like that, but he didn't comment, just grinned lazily at her and delivered her next question.
They had a strange understanding. One she valued.
When they were in the library, there was nothing else. Freya could forget about Amelie and her secret, forget about Julian and his worry, forget about Karsyn and his overwhelming desire to keep her from the world. She could forget about the dead lawyers even.
A quick Google search on Beverly Hills news told her what she already suspected. She'd delayed that search. When she'd finally gotten her answer later on Monday night, she almost threw her phone out the window and taken off for the woods, for the dealer in the dark. Almost.
She could not break.
They wanted her to snap.
She wanted to snap.
But she couldn't.
So, she bore through Tuesday, and later her mind was taken off of it momentarily in detention. And she repeated that pattern through the rest of the week.
She didn't want to think of him as a distraction. He was more like a breath of fresh air.
When came Saturday, she almost regretted that they wouldn't have detention.
It was early in the morning, the sun had just risen and most of Arrowsmith's secondary students were still sleeping off their hectic weeks. Hence, the dining hall was nearly empty when Freya and her friends walked in for breakfast.
They filed to the various stations serving breakfast foods. Amelie and Raina threaded over to the cereal dispensers at the side of the room, the latter already piling Froot Loops into a white bowl. Juliet and Maye had more mature breakfast tastes and were walking over to the station serving the breakfast of the day. By the smell, Freya surmised that it was something along the lines of pancakes. Arrowsmith, fortunately, served rather edible food, nothing like the foul things she'd heard about from other schools. The tuition to attend here was certainly high enough for them to serve good food.
This early in the morning though, Freya bore no interest in food. Her feet ritualistically guided her to the coffee station.
Her hand was curling around one of the white ceramic mugs when the familiar scent of vanilla invaded her senses and a body slid beside hers.
"Up early, aren't we?" Matthew chimed, reaching beside her hand for a mug of his own.
Freya glanced up at him. She wasn't wearing any heels, just a comfortable pair of boots, leggings and a sweater. She realised it was the first time she'd stood around him without heels on. He was usually towering above her, even in heels, but the distance seemed larger now.
"I could say the same about you," she told him, with a glance over her shoulder. The dining hall was still scarcely packed, with only a smattering of fourth years near the door, giggling over plates of buttered toast, her friends, and some boys from her year, who were coming in and out, fetching bottles of water. "Early morning rendezvous, Matthew?"
He dropped a green tea teabag into his mug as she stuck hers under the coffee machine. "We don't have detention today, princess. No questions." The nickname had passed between them so often at this point that Freya didn't blink in surprise anymore.
"Fine. Guesses, then." She grinned up at him, pleased as he smiled to himself at that. "London? To meet your friend without the hairbrush?"
Matthew huffed a laugh, shoulders shaking as he did. He was wearing a dark red t-shirt today, the sleeve low enough to hide the butterfly tattoo.
She was aware that the fourth years were looking at them, undoubtedly keen on gossip material on Ebony House's ice princess. Her friends too were probably watching.
"Nice try," Matthew commended her. He slowly poured hot water into his mug.
She watched coffee spill into her own, in a steady stream. She pursed her lips, head tilting. "I'll be in London too today, maybe I'll meet this friend of yours and tell them all your little secrets."
Matthew continuously dunked his teabag, holding it between his artist's fingers by the thread. "I know I said no rules for our little game, but I said that hoping you'd have some honour." He cast his playful dancing gaze to her. "It seems I've been mistaken."
"Greatly mistaken," agreed Freya. "Honour and I live worlds apart."
Matthew took a sip of his tea, eyeing her over the rim of his mug as he leaned against the counter, facing her. "I believe you, Freya."
"Wise."
The coffee machine gave a hum as her cup filled. She lifted it, meaning to take a much-needed sip, when it was snatched abruptly from her hands and into her now empty hands was shoved another mug.
Freya blinked.
Matthew grinned at her, taking a long sip of her coffee. "Today felt like a coffee morning for me. But you should try that tea, princess. It's good."
Her confusion turned into anger, the rage of a woman separated from her coffee.
She was half-tempted to throw the steaming green tea at him but he was already walking away, out the door, mug in hand, shoulders shaking as he laughed. She settled on yelling a Russian curse after him, attracting all the eyes in the dining hall now. He laughed harder.
She recalled that time she'd thought of him as a breath of fresh air. Nope. He was evil. Pure evil.
She was still cursing him in her head as she moved over to her friends' table, green tea in hand, biting back a ridiculous laugh.
She shouldn't be laughing. He was a vile, evil coffee-stealing asshole.
Juliet's green eyes affixed upon her. "What was that?"
"Poshlaja svenja," muttered Freya in response, taking a vehement sip of tea, but she was smiling. She hated to admit it, but the tea was good. That didn't make Matthew any less of a chauvinistic pig.
Maye's eyebrows rose as she cut into a pancake. "I believe she just called Matthew al Nassar a pig."
Freya took another sip of her tea and nodded at Mayella. "Your Russian's getting good. Ten more years of me swearing like a sailor and you'll be fluent, Maye."
At that, Maye rose her own glass of orange juice in salute.
Juliet smiled a smile that didn't touch her eyes as she asked, "So, what are our plans this weekend, ladies?"
Raina stirred her dry cereal. "I'm going to Seth's tennis match today."
Juliet quickly squealed, as if on instinct. Freya's heart throbbed. She had noticed that every reaction her friend made of late, seemed robotic, empty. She made a mental note to send out the private investigator she'd been meaning to have look into Juliet's problem. He was one of the best. Freya knew from personal experience. Investigating royalty was nothing compared to what she'd had him do last year.
"What're you wearing?" Maye questioned Raina, eyes boring into her, as if the state of the world relied upon it.
"Um. . . A dress?" Raina was already blushing.
"My dad's in London this weekend so he asked me to drop by for lunch," Freya said, saving Raina for once, rather than teasing her. Heaven knows she was going to do a lot more blushing later once Seth showed up.
As for Freya's father. She knew why he and her mother were in town. For Blackburn's funeral. A heart attack, the news and medical reports say, just like the lawyer from Beverly Hills. But she knew better. No one would even link them. No one would think twice.
Freya was suddenly aware of Amelie's stare on her. It hadn't been there before. In fact, they barely looked at each other this week, things frostier then they'd ever been. She met her gaze only for it to dip back down into her bowl, contemplating.
Whatever.
Freya knew her rant in the hall had been too much. And her victims hadn't deserved what she'd served. Which was why she planned to apologise to Julian. And also, clear the air about things. As for Amelie, Freya would do no apologising when she was still hiding things from her for foolish reasons.
The girls were chatting about Raina's date when Freya's gaze caught upon another boy from their year dart into the hall as if on cue. She stood, telling her friends, "I have to do something."
She walked over to the boy, Gregory Redford, as he pulled five bottles of water into his arms. She was positive he had a crush on Juliet, like most of the boys. She couldn't blame him. Juliet was a catch, all curves and kind eyes. He wore designer athletic clothing and a thin sheen of sweat coated his skin. His cheeks were red and his eyes widened as he turned to face her.
"Take me to where you guys are playing," Freya ordered him.
He gave a loose nod and motioned for her to follow him as he led her out the hall, past the administrative building and the library, past the car park where she spotted Persephone's black hood, to one of Arrowsmith's stretches of greenery.
Boys littered the grassy field as Freya walked below the covered, concrete walkway, glancing among them, between the columns, for the familiar tousled brown-headed boy. Greg made himself scarce, handing out water to the sweaty boys.
Julian found her first. His green eyes widened and he was jogging across the grass to her. He was shirtless, the morning sun illuminating every inch of his skin to her. A few boyish jeers followed him as his companions noted what or who had garnered his attention off-field, but Julian waved them off.
The goalie shouted across the field at her from where he stood in front of a large steel goal, "Hey, Freya! Your boyfriend's losing this game!"
"Fuck off, Chase!" Julian roared over his shoulder, but he was grinning as he turned back to her.
She'd know him in darkness, in the brightest of lights. She knew him more than she knew herself. And she knew it was love in his eyes.
"Early morning football, huh?" Freya asked, with a small smile as he stopped before the column she leaned against.
"Soccer, for our American friends," chimed Julian, smiling at her. His voice softened, so did his eyes, going from stones of emerald green to swaying forestry in the wind of her storms, "Are you okay?"
Freya smiled too, despite the lurch in her chest. She hated getting asked that question but she was sure it was the question she got asked the most.
"I'm holding on," Freya said, which wasn't a lie. "But I came here to talk to you, Jules."
He peered down at her curiously, lips twitching almost subconsciously at the childhood nickname.
"About the party," Freya began, eyes tracing to the grass beyond him, "and what I said, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. I know you're just trying to help."
Julian's hand was on her cheek, tilting her face up, to look him in the eye. His eyes were earnest as he said, "There's nothing to be sorry for, Freya."
She swallowed.
Slowly, Freya brought her hand up to place over his. And slowly, she pulled his hand away.
She wasn't breaking up with him. She'd done that already, a dozen times before. She was breaking up with him. An end to a cycle.
She'd thought long and hard about it over the summer. And this week, she'd returned from detention each evening, thinking long and hard about it.
She and Julian loved each other. They always would. There were a thousand strings tying them together. But, Freya knew, that the constant cycle of disagreements they endured was because the love they had was not the type of love made for the relationship they had.
"Jules," she started, seeing his face fall as she pulled his hand away, "I love you." A frown pulled at his lips at this. "But I don't think we should. . . get back together. Ever. I love you but I don't love you as your girlfriend."
She didn't know if that made sense. She tried again. "It's just, there's a reason we've been together all these years. But there's also a reason we don't stay together." She knew she was to blame for most of it. Lying, keeping secrets, and then suffocating when he worried.
Julian's hand fell from hers. He didn't pull away. It just fell.
"Are you sure?" The calmness of the words didn't match the storm in his eyes. Freya felt like she could hear his heart pounding in his chest, like the strings that tied them together happened to connect her heart to his.
She inhaled.
"I am."
She let loose a breath.
Julian worked his jaw. Then, he ran a hand through his hair, telling her he was stressed, and that she caused it.
His football companions were shooting glances their way now. Freya ignored them, half wanting to comfort him, half knowing better than to do that at this point.
"Freya," he said her name in an exhale, running another hand through his chocolate-brown hair.
"Jules, it's okay. You don't have to say anything."
He merely looked at her, all the unsaid things dancing in his eyes.
"We— we can talk about it whenever you're ready," she told him.
Then, she gave him the courtesy of walking away first. And she also gave him the courtesy of not glancing over her shoulder. Even though she wanted to.
✦ ✦ ✦
AMELIE KNEW IT WAS TIME TO tell Freya.
She'd known since Thursday, actually.
Monsieur Caron had swamped them with French homework for Friday. Usually, she and Freya would sit together at the kitchen in Ebony House or in Freya's room, with Amelie splayed across her bed and Freya curled atop her armchair, and finish the workload for French together. But Freya and she weren't on speaking terms.
In fact, Freya barely even looked at her.
Which is why, when Amelie entered the library on Thursday evening, in search of a French textbook, she'd stopped short, shocked, when she heard a familiar laugh.
She hadn't heard Freya laugh, her genuine laugh, not even with the others in Ebony House, since the term began.
Amelie followed the sound, glanced them between bookshelves, feeling rather like a stalker.
They sat at one of the tables in an empty corner of the library, opposite one another. Freya's knees were brushing his beneath the table. They both had their hands folded atop the desk and were leaning treacherously close to one another as they spoke.
"So, your favourite song is Dancing Queen? By ABBA?" Freya giggled at him.
Matthew's retort came fast, a crooked smile tracing his lips, "It's a classic, princess. What can I say?"
"Sing it," she dared him, eyes dancing with glee.
"We live in England. It already rains. You want it to rain more?" He didn't break her stare.
"I don't mind the rain if I can get the life time's worth of entertainment I'll get if I hear you sing it," chimed Freya. "Sing it, Matthew."
"Fine," relented Matthew.
Amelie turned away just as he started singing, cheeks red.
She walked down the hall, the sound of Freya's tinkling laughter at his awful performance following her.
She didn't think they knew how they looked, or how close they sat, or even that they were staring at each other like they each were made of stardust. It was like they were in their own little bubble. And in that bubble, Freya seemed happy.
She knew then that Freya could take it. The truth.
And she knew for certain after this morning, when Freya walked back to their table, a smile playing at her lips, Matthew al Nassar's tea in her hand.
She'd deserved what she'd gotten in the hall. Freya wasn't fragile.
And Amelie should have known too, from the hall, the things brewing between her and Matthew. She should've known after they'd shared a long stare as he beat Theodore Altringham, or after, when she'd brought him, bleeding, to Ebony House.
But she didn't have Freya's friendship these past few weeks and she'd underestimated her.
So, when Raina finally finished her Froot Loops and Maye and Juliet we're getting ready to leave, just as more students piled into the dining hall, Amelie stood. She didn't see his familiar platinum hair.
She shot Raina a meaningful look and said, "I'll meet you guys at the house."
Raina's eyes had widened and she'd made to say something around her mouthful of sugary cereal but Amelie was already breaking for the door.
She felt it was right to tell Karsyn that she was going to tell Freya, perhaps as a warning should his sister's unholy wrath turn his way.
She passed students on their way to the dining hall, just blinking sleep from their eyes.
Cyan Hall swam into her view. The door was wide open so she entered, ignoring the boys in the foyer who shot her curious stares as she crested the wooden staircase.
She became intensely aware that her outfit was not as glamorous as it had been when she'd last been in Karsyn's dorm. She was wearing an oversized orange hoodie that fit her like a dress with the words New York written in bold and a pair of Uggs and her hair was a stray array of blonde waves around her face. She'd dressed for breakfast, after all. Even the students who wore Dior for breakfast made sure it was comfy Dior.
She knocked at Karsyn's door, remembering it from the mess of the party.
A mumbled, "Come in."
Amelie pushed open the door, praying to herself that he did not sleep naked because if there was anything that was going to disintegrate her resolve, it was naked Karsyn Arsov on this early Saturday morning.
He didn't, in fact, sleep naked. Just shirtless.
Christ.
He sat up amidst a mess of dark sheets, hair rumpled, eyes wide. "Amelie."
He hadn't expected to see her. She couldn't blame him. She hadn't planned to visit.
She ignored the pounding in her chest as he rose from the tangle of sheets, revealing a loose-fitting pair of white Calvin Klein pyjama pants, and a muscled chest. She glanced away as he rummaged for a shirt, returning her gaze when he'd thrown one over his head.
Christ.
Willing her voice to stay steady, Amelie sat on the chair she'd sat in last time she'd been in here.
"Remember that conversation we were supposed to have but never had?"
Karsyn shifted a lock of light blonde hair out of his face, pale eyes roaming her.
"You want to have it now?"
"Preferably," said Amelie.
Karsyn sat back down on the edge of his bed, angled so he was facing her. "Alright."
"I'm going to tell Freya," stated Amelie.
Karsyn leaned backwards, then nodded. "Okay."
"I just, uh, wanted to warn you, in case any thunderbolts come your way this evening."
Karsyn chuckled, resting his elbows on his knees. "Sounds like my sister." He rubbed sleep from his eyes. "So, what will you be telling her?"
Amelie hadn't thought that far ahead. She blanched.
"That we, uh, slept together," she said, suddenly nervous beneath Karsyn's steady gaze.
Karsyn glanced away too, eyes skirting the carpet beneath his bed with interest. "Just like that?"
"What do you mean? Just like that?"
"We slept together, Amelie," his words came at her soft yet they fell onto her brain like bullets. "Why is it such a big deal that we had to lie to Freya for two months?"
We. We had to lie.
She glanced up at him sharply.
He was still staring at the damn carpet.
"I didn't know that we were lying," Amelie said.
He looked up then, eyes meeting hers.
"What do you mean?"
"I thought you forgot or something," admitted Amelie.
Karsyn looked appalled, even insulted. "I didn't forget."
"Okay."
"I didn't."
"Okay," repeated Amelie, fidgeting under the weight of his gaze and the unfamiliar things burning there.
"I couldn't forget," Karsyn said, after a moment.
She willed her jaw to stay put.
Softly, he admitted, "I tried a page from my sister's book this summer. Rash, I know. But I thought if I get drunk enough, I could ignore it. It didn't work."
"Ignore what?" Amelie felt like a stupid idiot and her control over her jaw dropping to the floor was lessening as the seconds ticked by.
"I like you," Karsyn breathed out in one exhale.
Amelie's jaw fell then.
"And I know that's a bit messier than our current situation, so I was trying to hold it back," he yammered on, "but now you're here, looking adorable, and kind, and I have zero control whatsoever. Maybe I should stop talking, but it's been two months and一,"
Rash, she knew.
She leaned forward, bridging the distance between them, and pressing her lips to his.
A shocked second passed.
Then, warmth.
He kissed her back tenderly, just like last year, hands moving to curl in her hair.
Amelie could not ignore the butterflies and the fireworks and all that jazz.
But she pulled away, only an inch, to murmur, "I like you too."
A breathy laugh.
"Okay," she said, gathering her wits, which were, understandably, all over the place.
He leaned back, as if giving her the time to do exactly that. He licked his lower lip.
Christ.
"I will tell Freya that we slept together and that一 that we like each other."
Karsyn's responding grin was all mischief.
Christ.
"You tell her that," Karsyn mused, "and I'll see you around."
Wasn't he a babbling wreck two seconds ago?
Christ.
"See ya around," replied Amelie, slipping from his room, afraid that she might kiss him again and forget her mission entirely.
The walk from Cyan Hall was a basically Amelie thinking about Karsyn Arsov.
That was, until she heard a familiar sound. From an unfamiliar voice.
She paused.
Russian. Someone was speaking Russian.
The courtyard around her was empty.
Skin prickling on the back of her neck, Amelie silently padded toward the Russian speaker's voice. It was coming from between two teaching buildings on her left.
She had no idea what the person was saying.
She tip-toed around the front of the building, hoping whoever stood on its side didn't see her as they spoke.
Freya and Karsyn were the only students at Arrowsmith who spoke Russian. And the voice was neither of them.
Amelie balled her hands into fists, and dared a covert glance around the side of the building.
Anakin Graves stood in a leather jacket, a burnt-out cigarette between his fingers at his side, and in his other hand, a cellphone, to which he spoke. And at his side, Matthew al Nassar stood, arms crossed, surveying the conversation.
Amelie turned away before either of them could notice her. But she couldn't move from the side of the wall yet. Her heart clamoured in her chest as she recalled Freya laughing with him less than an hour ago.
She didn't even know that Anakin and Matthew were friends.
"Dasvidaniya. Spasiba." Amelie knew what that meant from years around Freya. Goodbye. Thank you.
A click as the phone conversation ended.
Then, Matthew's voice, harder than she'd ever heard it, cold even, "What did he say?"
"He says he's coming to London."
A swear fell from Matthew's lips, very English, very filthy, very understood by Amelie's ears.
"Do you think he's coming for her?" Anakin asked.
Matthew was silent for a long while.
"If he isn't coming for Freya, he's coming for us."
That was when Amelie knew it was time to go. Go away, very fast. Before she started screaming.
What on Earth had she just overheard? And why on Earth did it involve Freya?
✦ ✦ ✦
JULIET WAS STARTLED WHEN AMELIE bounded down the stairs after Raina and Freya had left, eyes wild, and said to her and Maye, "We're going to London."
Maye who had been walking toward a pile of textbooks she'd accumulated on the kitchen island over the week, stopped to peer at Amelie on the staircase. "In what vehicle?" She asked, cynical.
Juliet had to admit it was a good question. Raina had gone with Seth, whose parents had sent a car. Freya's father had sent a car for her too. Neither of them had cars parked in Arrowsmith's car park, and neither of them had family in the country to send them cars to remote parts on the outskirts of London.
Amelie held up her phone. "I borrowed one from a friend."
Juliet realised she was absolutely serious. She was even dressed.
"Why are we going to London?" She asked, brows drawn together.
Amelie didn't answer her. She just bounded down the rest of the stairs, shoved her phone in her pocket and said, "Get dressed. We're running out of time."
"Whose car?" Mayella asked.
Neither she nor Juliet made a move.
Amelie swung her hands up in the air. "Karsyn's!"
"Why would Karsyn lend you a car?" Juliet frowned.
"I'll tell you on the way. Get dressed. Maye's driving."
They still didn't move.
"Please," begged Amelie. "It's important. I need you guys."
Something about the wariness in her eyes, and the steel lurking there too, made Juliet move.
"Alright," she said, whisking up the stairs, "you better explain."
Mayella balked after her. "Are we really going to London?"
Juliet paused on the step, turning to them.
"Yes!" Amelie snapped.
Maye shot her a glare. "I'm the driver. Be nice to me, Perrin."
"I'll be nice when we're in the car," Amelie said, impatient.
Juliet, confused, went upstairs and quickly threw on some sufficient clothing, hurriedly braiding her hair over her shoulder.
She slid downstairs to view a pacing Amelie.
"What's the matter?" Concern peppered her tone.
"I don't know," said the girl.
Juliet blinked at her. "You don't know why you're making us go to London on a whim?"
Just then, Maye came downstairs, scowling, but dressed in a sleek black coat and fitted jeans. Juliet probably should've worn pants too but she'd just thrown on a pale peach dress and held a coat in case she fell prey to English weather.
"Come on!" Amelie said, as she stopped pacing only to make a break for the door.
She was flying out the door, leaving Juliet and Maye to glance at each other worriedly in her wake.
"I always knew she was batshit," Mayella muttered to herself as they walked outside.
They trailed after Amelie's rushed steps toward the car park.
Karsyn Arsov was leaning against a cherry-red Porsche, eyes glinting as they approached.
"Nice car," commented Maye, pulling her coat closer to her.
"Thanks," said Karsyn, swinging the keys between his fingers.
Amelie glanced over her shoulder. Juliet followed her gaze but there was no one there.
Perhaps Maye's observation wasn't that off concerning Amelie's state of mind.
Karsyn looked to Amelie, a wicked smile curving his lips. "I told you I'd see you around."
Juliet watched Amelie's shoulders stiffen and the girl chewed her bottom lip, almost nervously.
"Christ," Juliet swore she heard Amelie mutter to herself before she accepted the keys from smirking Karsyn.
"Do I get to know about this secret mission of yours?" He asked Amelie, brow risen.
"Oh, so you don't know either," mused Maye sarcastically.
"No," Amelie told him.
Karsyn traced his gaze between them and Amelie. It was always disconcerting for Juliet to be around him. He looked so much like Freya and shared so many of her mannerisms.
However, when he lifted his hand, almost hesitantly, and tucked a stray strand of Amelie's hair behind her ear, that was nothing like his sister. She didn't need to look at Maye to know she was balking when Karsyn said, with a grin that was full of mischief and much like his sister, "Then, be safe." Amelie blushed. Juliet hadn't ever seen Amelie blush. That was something reserved for Raina. His grin widened as if he'd accomplished something he didn't think he would. "And I'll see you around."
"Christ," she definitely heard Amelie mutter as Karsyn sauntered away.
For a second, it was like she forgot her rush, standing still, staring after his retreating form. Then, she returned and was tossing the keys at Maye and climbing into Karsyn's Porsche.
Juliet slid into the backseat, her confusion returning. Though now she was confused for an entirely different reason.
They shut the doors and Maye turned to Amelie, not missing a single beat. "You and Karsyn?"
Amelie sunk into her seat.
"Don't tell me," Maye spoke, pointing a finger at Amelie, "this is the big secret that has haunted us all summer."
Amelie sunk further into her seat.
Juliet stuck her head between their seats, leather upholstered. "Details, Amelie. You owe us many details," she intoned with a meaningful look in the blonde's direction.
"Not yet," Amelie said, shooting suddenly upright in her seat.
"What?" Juliet and Maye asked in unison, trying to follow whatever Amelie was looking at.
"Okay, start the car, Maye," she ordered, sitting up in her seat, eyes narrowed. She pointed to a matte black car rolling out of the car park. "Follow that car."
✦ ✦ ✦
*dramatic music starts to play*