✫✫✫
WHEN RORY WOKE THE NEXT morning, there was still snow in her bra.
But the shaking of her fingertips, the anxious stutter of her heartbeat—it was gone. Last night had taken the edge off.
There was something still and silent and soft in her chest.
Was that what they called peace?
And then Simon said, "Where were you last night?"
Rory froze.
Her bodyguard was standing, arms crossed, at the foot of her bed. Simon's dark-lashed eyes weren't amused, or charmed, or entertained.
He seemed . . .
"Infuriated!" Simon hissed. "I am so furious with you right now I'm ready to wring your neck."
"If you could break my neck instead, that would be nice," Rory said thoughtfully. "I'd probably get to spend another six weeks with—"
"Where were you last night?"
Rory's heart stammered against her chest.
I was out on the ice in the middle of the night with the girl I think I'm in love with. I confessed my feelings. I lost a snowball fight.
Shit—she had lost that snowball fight.
"Have you looked outside recently?" Simon seethed, yanking open the curtains. "Because if I tell the king what you—"
Through the window, a white storm raged.
Heavy flakes of snow lashed against the wind. Great howls of wind rattled the window pane. And the world outside . . . it was so thick with winter snowfall and frozen rain Rory couldn't even see the lake below, only the white peaks of the mountains in the distance.
"It wasn't like that last night," Rory said.
Last night . . . a clear sky. Northern lights. The gentle kiss of light snow on their hair.
The calm before the storm.
The storm had arrived.
"Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?" Simon snapped. "Going outside exposed when there is a chance Amanda is coming our way?"
"You said Amanda was coming next week!"
"You have no shortages of people who would hurt you."
"What? Like when I was kidnapped in Spain?" Rory scoffed. "Different story altogether. And besides, our location is secure. The people here signed a contract."
"If someone leaks the truth, the paparazzi will be here no matter if there's a Class-5 hurricane outside. You have to be more careful, Rory!"
Rory was ready to snap, I am careful! But there was real concern, real worry, in Simon's dark eyes as he looked at her.
And she knew, then, that maybe he was her bodyguard. But he was also her friend.
"You're right," Rory admitted. "I'm sorry. I'll try to be more careful."
Simon softened, almost fractionally. "Thanks, Rory. And in the meantime, I want you to have this." He held up a circular black pin. "All you have to do is press it, and I'll come and find you. Just in case."
Rory took the offered pin. "Just in case," she agreed.
✫✫✫
"YOU DIDN'T TELL TASHA HER MOM is dead?"
Paris shook her head listlessly. Sitting down on the couch next to Rory, they both sat in the rec room. The lights were off, but the faint glow of candles flickered on the game tables.
Lovely, upbeat piano music was playing.
Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle all the way . . .
Tasha and Gloria were so close they were barely a breath apart. Their hands skimmed against each other's, weaving together to create the song.
Rory glanced at Tasha—a lovely, quiet smile caressing her mouth.
That would disappear the moment she realized her mother was dead.
Evelyn Tribeca had committed suicide.
"She left a note behind," Paris whispered in a raw voice. "Saying . . . saying it was Tasha's fault."
Rory balled her fists. Clenching her jaw.
"That bitch," she swore. "She did this to hurt Tasha . . . and you."
"Me?"
"Think of it," Rory said. "She put you as her emergency contact. As soon as she died, the hospital contacted you. You were the first one to be told she had committed suicide. It's a fucking blame game, and Tasha—"
Tasha deserves no part of this.
And neither did Paris.
"It happened less than twenty-four hours ago," Paris said. "But I have a duty to tell Tasha. She needs to know, but . . . is it wrong that I don't want her to be a part of this?"
"No," Rory said fiercely, and without thinking, without hesitating, she took Paris's hand. Squeezing her fingers. "If you want, I can be there with you. While you tell her."
Paris was looking at her, then—with something like . . . admiration.
"Thank you," Paris said quietly. "But . . . no. It's my responsibility. I have to do this one alone."
She stood up, her hand slipping out of Rory's. But before she could turn, Rory said, "Paris?"
Paris looked back.
"This is not your fault," Rory said viciously. "Don't you dare think that. Not for one second."
And the look Paris gave her—Rory knew she had been right.
"Thank you," Paris said softly.
And then, so quickly it took Rory by surprise, she leaned down and took Rory's face in both hands. Her lips still tasted like cinnamon and sugar. Gently, Rory rolled Paris's bottom lip between her teeth. Paris let out a soft, breathless moan.
"What was that for?" Rory asked as Paris pulled back.
"That was for understanding," Paris said.
When she walked away, Rory traced the outline of her mouth with a fingertip. Still staring at the same doorway Paris had disappeared through.
"Close your mouth," Gloria said, and Tasha giggled.
Rory's eyes narrowed. "My mouth isn't open."
"You look like a frog."
"A frog?" Rory said. "I have never been so insulted in my entire life."
She was only partially kidding.
Giggling to each other, both girls turned away and began another song. Baby, It's Cold Outside.
How much longer until that smile disappeared from Tasha's face?
How much longer until she withdrew into herself?
Something about Tasha was so familiar that it cracked Rory's chest wide open. The song, the music, the nightmares Tasha had . . .
Rory shook her head. She had to find Simon.
✫✫✫
SUSPICIOUSLY ENOUGH, DHONIELLE AND CAT WERE sneaking into Paris's office.
Rory rolled her wheelchair towards them. "Hey! You two."
"Who, me?" said Dhonielle.
"I don't see anyone," said Cat.
"What are you two doing?"
"We're covering Paris's office in Twilight posters," said Cat cheerfully.
Dhonielle poked her. "You can't tell her that. What kind of spy are you?"
Cat frowned. "I thought she was in on it."
"She hasn't paid us four million dollars yet."
Rory pushed her wheelchair backward. "Just so you know, Twilight used to be Paris's favourite movie. She had a crush on Alice."
"Thanks, we don't care," said Dhonielle.
"Don't be rude!" Cat squeaked out.
Dhonielle gave a small, sharp, mischievous smile. "Somebody loves Paris."
"No, I—I . . . don't."
Rory had never been so unconvincing in her life.
Where was her game?
She was going to blame it on the painkillers.
"I hope you're excited," said Cat. "We have a special plan for you."
"A special plan?"
"Yes, we're going to—"
Dhonielle elbowed Cat. "If she pays us five million dollars, she can know about it."
Rory groaned. "Both of you are pests."
"That's not a pretty insect," Dhonielle said. "I prefer to think of myself as a monarch butterfly."
✫✫✫
WHEN RORY FOUND SIMON, he was talking to Alec.
Those blue eyes, the strawberry-blonde hair, and that white smile? He looked just like an old American movie star. And Simon next to him, with the deep brown skin and the chocolate eyes and the high cheekbones . . . Simon looked like a model.
He probably should have taken up her offer of becoming a Victoria's Secret model.
Alec was grinning, and Simon's head tipped back. A rumbling chorus of rich laughter.
Rory had never seen Simon that happy before.
And she hated to interrupt, but she said, "Simon? Can I borrow you?"
"What is it, Princess?" Simon said, after Alec had kissed his cheek goodbye.
"I'm going to attend the Charity Ball on December 23rd," she said confidently. "And I . . . I want a plus one."
"You mean, you're bringing Paris back home?"
Rory's grin had both dimples. "Yes."
✫✫✫
I just got butterflies, and I know what's going to happen.
Guys, I know exactly how this story ends, and I don't know how to feel about having this power. Might break a few hearts in the process, but it's okay, right?
From the moon and back,
Sarai