by Sarah Cross
“I don’t care what Viv wants.”
“Do you ever care what anyone wants?” Mira asked sharply.
“No,” Blue said.
Blue lowered the windows and slouched on the wide leather seat, his eyes closing, his body going limp like water—like he was determined to grab a few minutes of sleep. Mira had the urge to hit him while he was vulnerable, to get back at him for holding her down—but it seemed absurd to start fighting in front of the hotel’s driver.
The whole morning was absurd. She’d never felt so angry, or aggressive, in her entire life. She didn’t normally want to hit people, or even yell at them—because normally you could reason with people. And if you couldn’t, you could avoid them. But Blue was impossible. He was so rude and belligerent and … relentless about it.
Mira settled back and did her best to calm down. Maybe Felix would punch Blue for her later.
They rode in near silence, Freddie periodically asking the driver whether he wanted to hear their band’s CD, the driver always answering with a firm no. Tall buildings and silvery sheets of ocean gave way to roads thick with magnolia and oak trees as they left the city behind. A weedy green smell infused the car, so strong Mira could taste it.
By the time they reached the Deneuve estate—a white mansion located on the edge of a wooded golf course—Mira had gone from furious to annoyed, and was heading toward hopeful. Viv sounded like a girl’s name. Viv probably wouldn’t jump on her or order her around; she might even take her side and yell at Blue and Freddie—especially since they were bothering her so early in the morning.
As they climbed out of the car and headed toward the house, Mira saw that a well-built, dark-haired teenage guy was pushing a lawn mower across the sloping yard, easing it around the oak trees that punctuated the front lawn. Sweat slicked his chest, and bits of cut grass flecked his light brown skin. He wore a pair of maroon basketball shorts with a T-shirt tucked into the waistband.
He shut off the mower when he saw them—and scowled.
Mira hoped that wasn’t Viv. But on the bright side: someone else was unhappy to see Blue and Freddie. The world was already making more sense.
Blue hiked up the hill as if the guy’s pissed-off expression had energized him. Mira hurried to keep up.
“Would you like me to carry your bag?” Freddie asked. He looked a little guilty—but hopeful, too.
“No.” She twisted the strap around her wrist so he couldn’t take it from her. “Don’t do me any favors.”
“But I’d like to do you favors.”
She glared at him. “No.”
As they drew closer to the house, a woman rose into view on the veranda. She wore a sheer pink robe trimmed with marabou feathers, and held a martini glass full of what looked like orange juice. Her large, very perky—probably very expensive—breasts rose from the neckline of her negligee. They didn’t so much as wiggle when she waved hello.
“Is that Viv?” Mira asked.
Blue burst out laughing. “You’re lucky she didn’t hear you say that.”
“That’s Regina, Viv’s wicked stepmother,” Freddie said. “Er, stepmother,” he corrected. “Normal stepmother is what I meant.”
“Um … okay,” Mira said.
“And that’s Henley,” Blue said as they rounded the hill, gesturing to the lawn-mowing guy. “He works here as a gardener. Among other things.”
When they reached Henley, he was wiping the sweat from his face with his T-shirt. He was their age, seventeen or so, but his forehead was already creased, like he’d spent years being on guard, waiting for something bad to happen.
“Why’d you have to bring Knight here?” Henley asked. His voice was deep and gritty, like the boys’ at school who flunked everything but auto shop and were perpetually pissed off.
“Relax, Silva,” Blue said. “Don’t be paranoid.”
“Henley thinks I want to date Viv,” Freddie whispered to Mira—a bit too loudly to be subtle. “But I don’t. I haven’t made a single overture.”
“Who’s this?” Henley asked, eyeing Mira now.
“No one important,” Blue said. “Just a random seduceable girl I’m protecting.”
“I’m Mira,” she said, sticking her hand out.
Henley’s hot, sweaty hand engulfed hers. His eyes were narrowed and he still looked angry, but it didn’t seem directed at her. “Nice to meet you, I guess. Too bad it’s in the company of this asshole.”
“Viv’s alive, right?” Blue said. “You didn’t cut her heart out?”
“What is wrong with you?” Mira snapped. “That’s disgusting.”
Henley’s eyes were hard, his gaze heavy. “You’re lucky I don’t have an axe, Valentine.”
“Aren’t we all,” Blue said. “So: Viv?”
“What do you want with her?”
Henley was the gardener, but he behaved like a gatekeeper. Mira wondered what that was about. Maybe he was Viv’s boyfriend—or wished he was.
Blue shrugged. “I needed to get Mirabrat out of the hotel. Felix latched on to her and she thinks he’s dreamy.”
“Oh, shut up,” Mira said. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Anyway,” Blue went on, “she doesn’t have a place to stay, and I felt like bothering Viv. It seemed like a good idea when I first thought of it.”
Blue glanced toward Viv’s stepmother, who was leaning over the veranda, dipping her finger in her martini glass and peering at the group. “Is Regina watching to make sure the lawn gets done, or is she standing by in case you need her to lick the sweat off your chest?”
Henley bristled. “She just likes having breakfast outside.”
“That’s what I figured,” Freddie said amicably. “She seems like a nice woman. Aside from the wickedness.”
“Shut up, Knight,” Henley growled.
Eventually, the four of them went around back, where Viv’s balcony was.
The balcony overlooked a small garden made up of a stone well flanked by fruit trees. Birds dotted the branches like ornaments on a Christmas tree—until they saw Freddie, at which point they rushed to surround him, flapping above his head like a floating crown. Chipmunks emerged from the underbrush to squeak at his feet.
Freddie held out his hand, and a sparrow perched on his finger. He laughed a pure laugh, and called, “Mira, look!” Then he beckoned her closer, saying, “Don’t worry, this one won’t peck your eyes out.” But Mira kept her distance, too stunned to move.
The woodland creatures ignored Henley and Blue, but they couldn’t get enough of Freddie. It wasn’t a scary sight, but it was wrong. It went against nature. Mira squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that the adoring swarm of animals would disappear.
But when she opened her eyes, the animals were still there. Freddie was still laughing that sweet, ticklish laugh. And Henley was scowling at him like Freddie was a being of pure evil.
“Different mark, different destiny,” Blue was saying to Henley, his voice low and calm. His eyes cut quickly toward Mira—then away.
“Oh yeah.” Henley snorted. “Like she doesn’t notice.”
The French doors that led to Viv’s bedroom were wide open, a breeze sucking the filmy white curtains in and out.
Henley cupped his hands around his mouth and barked, “Viv! Wake up!”
A minute later, a girl stepped onto the balcony. The sunlight revealed her slowly, like it was reluctant to touch her.
Her skin was chalk white, her lips were red-pink like pomegranate seeds, and her hair was as black as a stroke of Chinese calligraphy. She wore a nightgown that lay almost flat against her petite, boyish figure, and a red satin sleep mask that was pushed up on her forehead.
“Hey there, Vivian,” Blue said.
Viv leaned her elbows on the balustrade, and three doves fluttered down from the roof to join her. “God. First the lawn mower and now this. I need my beauty sleep, you know.”
“You’ll have plenty of that soon enough,” Blue said. “Might as well stay co
nscious while you can.” He grinned crookedly up at her, and Viv rubbed a hand across her face, looking miserable.
“If I could control these birds, they’d be shitting all over you,” she said.
“Too bad you own their hearts, not their minds,” Blue said. “Can we come up?”
“I guess,” Viv said. “You’re not going to leave until I say yes.”
Henley led them through the back door and into the kitchen, grass clippings dropping to the floor as he tugged his dirty T-shirt on. He looked uncomfortable in the elegant house. Like he didn’t belong there, and he knew it.
When they reached Viv’s bedroom, Viv was dressed and sitting on the edge of an enormous red and black bed, her body standing out starkly against the bloodred sheets. Viv took a drink from a half-empty Coke bottle and grimaced. “It’s flat,” she complained. “And warm.”
“Because you’re too damn lazy to go downstairs and get a new one,” Henley said.
“Because I don’t want to see the bitch,” Viv snapped back.
Blue flopped down on the bed and grabbed a pillow to get comfortable. “Hey, at least it’s a breakfast she can’t choke on.”
“Shut up,” Viv and Henley said at once.
Mira wondered what that was supposed to mean. Maybe Viv had choked on something once? And now they made fun of her about it?
Sighing, Mira sat down in Viv’s desk chair, next to a Mac laptop. It was too hard to keep up with these people and their inside jokes; she didn’t know what they were talking about half the time.
The laptop’s Apple logo was covered by an X of black electrical tape. Mira narrowed her eyes at it. Weird.
“So what’s up?” Viv asked, causing Mira to swivel around in her chair. Viv was staring at her, her dark eyes shining. “Is she ours?”
Blue shook his head. “Out-of-towner. Just doing guard duty.”
Viv nodded, like that made sense to her. “Cute. But you need to get a new hobby.”
A dove fluttered in from the balcony and landed on Viv’s shoulder, cooing sweetly. A chain of blue butterflies followed, then drifted toward Freddie.
Freddie laughed again, and Henley grunted and hurled Viv’s Coke bottle through the open French doors. The bottle failed to clear the railing, and brown liquid spilled all over the balcony.
“You’re cleaning that up,” Viv told him.
“Anything else you want me to do?” Henley snapped.
Viv rolled her eyes. “Take anger management classes? Stop being an idiot?”
“I vote for all of the above,” Blue said, hugging Viv’s pillow and rolling over so his back was to them. “You guys make it impossible to sleep.”
“Says the guy who woke me up at seven in the morning!” Viv grabbed her pillow and wrenched it from Blue’s grasp, then hit him with it until he finally sat up.
They were all quiet for a moment. A mouse with a daisy clenched between its teeth took advantage of the stillness to scurry across the floor. It dropped the daisy at Viv’s feet, then darted beneath the dresser before anyone could step on it.
Mira wanted to ask, Why is this place crawling with animals? Cute little animals that act like they’re in love with Viv? But the fact that no one else was asking it made her hesitate.
“You should come out with us,” Viv said to Mira, bending down to dig a pair of sandals out from under her bed, and unearthing a tiny white rabbit in the process.
“I really just want to—” Mira started to explain why she was in Beau Rivage, but Viv interrupted before she could finish.
“Don’t worry,” Viv said with a smile. “We won’t let anyone hurt you.” She turned to the others. “You guys feel like going to Gingerbread?”
“Fine with me,” Blue said. “Felix won’t set foot in that place.”
“That’s because you guys own, like, five fancy restaurants. I wouldn’t go either if I had my own sushi bar downstairs.” Viv slipped on her sandals, winding their red ribbon laces around her ankles. “Just give me a minute.”
Straightening, Viv went over and stood in front of a black-framed mirror. The mirror caught her reflection from head to waist, and Viv looked nervous as she stared into it. Twisting her hair into a messy spiral, she blinked at the glass as if waiting for its approval.
“You look beautiful,” the mirror said. “exquisite.”
The mirror … spoke? Mira squinted to see if there was a speaker box attached. Like … maybe you could buy a mirror that came with preset phrases: press a button and it would say, “You’re gorgeous!”
But Viv seemed upset, not flattered. She swore and yanked the pins from her hair, black waves spilling to her shoulders, then flipped her head upside down and mussed her hair with her hands. “Worse?” she asked, with a pinched look on her face.
“Still beautiful,” the mirror replied. “More beautiful than she is.”
Mira made a choking sound, and Blue kicked his way off the bed, knocking another pillow down as his boots hit the floor.
“Could you stop playing with your mirror?” Blue asked. “You’re freaking out our guest.”
“I was just checking,” Viv said defensively.
“Why bother? You already know what the answer will be.”
“I know. But—” Viv shook her head. “Never mind.”
Freddie got to his feet, sending the butterflies into a frenzy. “We’ll go to Gingerbread House, Viv. Pancakes will make you feel better. And maybe you’ll gain some weight and Regina will be happier for a while.” He tried on a shining smile, but it didn’t seem to improve Viv’s mood.
“Regina’s never happy.” Viv sighed and left the room, her platform sandals clunking down the stairs.
Mira noticed that Henley watched Viv—watched the space where she’d been, once she was gone—with the same admiring gaze the mirror had fixed on her. The naked longing on his face made Mira shiver.
She felt like she’d stumbled into a world of strangers’ secrets—into wonderland, instead of the city where she’d been born—and their secrets were like dynamite waiting to explode. She wasn’t sure how much she wanted to know.
“I held her life in my hands.
And then I took it away from her.”
CHAPTER FOUR
GINGERBREAD HOUSE was a kitschy café, housed in a cottage that had been decorated with candy. The window frames were red and white striped, and lacquered strawberry squares, butterscotch medallions, rainbow-swirl lollipops, and peppermints stuck to the walls.
The early morning crowd was trickling in: a mix of solo diners, couples, and cops. A dozen girls in party dresses walked barefoot through the parking lot, carrying their worn-out shoes—like they’d spent the night clubbing and were reluctant to go home.
A party of middle-aged tourists, dressed in T-shirts that bore the name of a lighthouse they’d visited, was turned away at the door by a woman in a Bavarian barmaid costume, with the explanation that they needed a reservation.
Viv didn’t meet the same resistance. She claimed an eight-person table in the middle of the cramped café, then took out her phone and started inviting people. A waitress hustled over to hand out menus, and poured them all cups of sludgy black coffee.
Mira found herself seated near the end of the table, next to Blue and across from Freddie. She’d had a moment in the car—crammed in the backseat with people she barely knew—when the situation had overwhelmed her. She’d felt a sudden burst of loneliness and helplessness—despair that she wouldn’t find her parents’ graves after all—and hot tears had slipped down her cheeks. She’d quickly turned toward the window and wiped them away. She didn’t think anyone had noticed she was upset—and she didn’t want them to.
“The pancakes are really good here,” Freddie told her. “So are the waffles.”
Mira scanned the menu. She tried to keep her voice light. “I’m looking for freedom with a side of restraining order, but everything just comes with bacon.”
“The restraining order costs extra,” Blue said, tearing open
two sugar packets and dumping them into his coffee. “No substitutions.”
“That sucks. I guess I’ll go with bacon,” Mira said.
While the others ordered, Blue brought his coffee cup to his lips and asked quietly, “Why were you crying before? Were you scared?”
Mira shook her head, not sure how much to say. “No. I was … thinking about something that makes me sad.”
“Okay. I wanted to make sure we didn’t scare you.”
“You weren’t thinking about that when you broke into my room.”
Blue shrugged, looking guilty. “I did want to scare you then. But only to warn you. I never wanted to make you cry—that takes things to a different place.”
“What place?”
“A place where I’m hurting people, not helping them.”
“So you still think you’re helping me?”
“Whether you know it or not.” And then he went quiet, shifted his attention to the waitress, laughed at some joke Viv made. He stood up to wave at a big, barrel-chested guy who was heading toward them. The guy looked like he hadn’t gone to bed yet. He wore a wrinkled Hawaiian shirt and had lipstick-print kiss marks on his neck—in two different colors. His shaggy golden hair tangled around his face, and he managed to look smug despite his dishevelment.
“That’s Rafe,” Freddie said. “He’s the one who broke your door down. He would have come in with us, but he had to … ah, escort some ladies home.”
Mira nodded, eyeing Rafe warily. He had one strike against him, and she had a feeling there would be more.
Rafe flopped down next to Viv and slung his arm across the back of her chair—then proceeded to peer down her shirt. “Viv still doesn’t have any boobs,” he announced.
Henley smashed his fists against the table, rattling the plates and silverware. Then he muttered something about leaving before he killed someone, and left the café.
Viv sighed. “Stop talking about my boobs, jackass.”
“Rafe, please show some manners,” Freddie said. “At least pretend to have them.”
Rafe ignored them both. “You lost the puberty lottery, Viv. Get your dad to buy you a pair. The same set your stepmom has.”