Scene 16

Silicon Valley should have been named Saccharin Valley. That was Kam's warning as they pulled off the motorway and navigated through a series of densely wooded streets. Each brief clearing revealed a herculean estate grander than the last.

"Everything is fake here."

It seemed an odd observation from a woman who lived amidst the sparkling veneer of Hollywood, but Dillon didn't ask how one differed from the other. She was too busy trying to figure out how she'd let Kam talk her into joining her. Not because she was intimidated by her minted friends. Life as an elite athlete had given her plenty of experience navigating the circles of affluent culture. She was more concerned with how her presence was going to be received in regards to Kameryn.

From everything Kam told her about the Hallwells—about her best friend, Dani, in particular—the arrival of someone like Dillon in Kameryn's company wasn't going to be swept under the rug. She didn't want to be the cause of unnecessary adversity. Not when the evening was already destined to have Kam ill at ease.

But they were already there, pulling through the wrought iron gates and handing off the keys to a valet—hired, Kam assured her, only on the off chance Mark Zuckerburg finally accepted Mr. Hallwell's standing invitation—so there was no backing out now.

"How generous of you to decide to join us." Dani Hallwell wasted no time snarking her greeting the moment they passed through the entry archway built entirely of glass. The young woman was everything Dillon anticipated: Supercilious. Affected. Disdainful. Three things she'd found common amongst those whose wealth was vaster than their class.

Her blue eyes, disappearing behind lashes too long to be natural, flicked in Dillon's direction, sweeping her khaki trousers and white button-up blouse—the dressiest attire she'd had in her suitcase—and then immediately flipped back to Kam, the subtlety of one penciled-on eyebrow raising in question.

"Dani, this is my friend Dillon. She was in town for work over the holidays, so I invited her to join us."

"Hm." The sound was no more than a disapproving hum. "I'll see that my mother updates the seating chart." She didn't greet Dillon, or even bother to hide the look she shot Kameryn, promising a dozen other questions as soon as they were alone. "Your parents are in the game room." Her head tilted in Dillon's direction, but her pale gaze never met her eye. "Drinks are at the bar. Feel free to help yourself."

Kameryn hesitated when Dani tried to lead her away, but Dillon waved her on. "I'm good," she promised, and meant it. She was perfectly happy exploring the Hallwell residence on her own.

When the pair disappeared down the cathedral-vaulted foyer, Dillon spent a few minutes wandering the halls of the opulent home. It was gaudy, glittered in gold, and reeking of pretension. The other guests, packed in around the bar and kitchen, said nothing to her, but she could feel their eyes follow her as she left each room.

Finding her way to the second-story balcony, she stepped through the open French doors and settled in at the glass railing, looking out over the crystal blue infinity pool.

The home, despite falling in the middle of the suburbs, had been built on elevated ground, surrounded by mature oaks and buckeyes offering an elusion of privacy, veiling the proximity of the neighboring estates. It was an impressive spread, but nothing Dillon hadn't seen before. She'd become intimately familiar with the wealth behind "big tech" early in her career.

Leaning against the dew-gathered glass, she turned her gaze past the pool and terrace, to where the ground sloped down a grassy knoll. At the bottom of the hill sat several dozen rows of grapevines, their barren arms and gnarled trunks desolate in the grips of the winter chill.

She'd been at another Christmas party once, at a private home in K?nigswinter, south of Cologne. There, the grapevines had grown by the thousands, disappearing into a valley outlined by the Rhine. It had been her first holiday away from her parents, the first time she'd ever spent a Christmas outside of Wales.

Henrik had brought her there.

They'd made the four-hour drive from Reitbrook, a tiny quarter on the outskirts of Hamburg, where she'd been living at his newly established training center. A place that allowed her to swim in the Elbe in the mornings; run and cycle the narrow backroads of the farming community in the afternoons; be coaxed to his bed at night.

The drive had been picturesque, Western Germany rolling out like a panorama on a postcard.

The winery estate had belonged to Jonas Klein, the co-founder of Innovixus , a wearable data analytics company—the first sponsor she ever signed. The man had been married to Henrik's cousin and was his prime focus for obtaining a per annum endorsement for sein hellster Stern —his brightest star.

Six months earlier—exactly one week after her sixteenth birthday—she'd won the World Triathlon Junior Championships in Gamagori, Japan. The youngest athlete ever—male or female—to claim the world title. It had been enough to convince Jonas to shill out twenty thousand euros a year. A sum that had seemed staggering to Dillon at the time.

But she'd not really remembered much about Christmas in K?nigswinter, or her apprehension about meeting Jonas, the man who'd financially kicked off her career. Instead, she remembered the garden shed a stone's throw from the firepit where Jonas and his guests were toasting one another over Glühwein.

Henrik had steered her away from the view of the vineyards, pulling her through the small shed door. She'd felt unsteady, addled on wine, and high—on what, she wasn't even sure. Whatever Henrik had pressed into her palm earlier in the night. Relax, mein kleiner schatz , he'd laughed at her uncertainty . Have a little fun.

It hadn't felt fun—the spinning in her head, the sweat dripping in her eyes. The swaying movement of the world around her.

The shed smelled of earth and pesticides, the walls lined with gardening tools to tend to the grapevines.

She hadn't needed to be sober to know what he was after.

And, like always, she gave in.

Twelve years later, she could still smell his breath, foul with alcohol. Feel the abrasiveness of the wooden door against her cheek.

It was the night she'd first realized she was in trouble. The night she should have gone home.

And still, she'd stayed.

How could she leave?

Henrik had made her a winner. At sixteen, she was already a world champion, wasn't she? It was everything he'd promised her. Her title. Her ranking. A sponsorship worth more than all the prize money she'd ever earned.

There's so much more to come, Sch?tzchen .

And so, she'd stayed. Stayed while the money from Innovixus lined his pockets, paying nothing more for her than her entry fees. Stayed while he pushed her toward impossible expectations, rupturing her ACL in the first race of the following year's World Series. Stayed while she listened to him call the next girl sein hellster Stern —just one more of what turned out to be many ‘brightest stars.' Stayed while he browbeat her, belittled her, and convinced her that without him, she was nothing.

Stayed until he'd cost her everything.

Shaking herself from the memories, she refocused on the Hallwell vineyard.

Tonight, of all nights, her mind had no right to take her places it didn't belong.

"Lobster roll?"

She turned, surprised to find she was no longer alone.

A young man leaned against the railing beside her. The cuffs of his dress shirt were rolled back, the top button at his collar undone. It wasn't, however, the pseudo-slum style of distressed dress she'd observed on Dani Hallwell's little brother and his mates. This boy wasn't wearing ￡1000 loafers or designer jeans with scuffs fashioned into his knees. His oxfords were well-worn. His trousers crisp, but the cut untailored. Something off the rack from a department store.

Observations courtesy of her sister, Seren's, fashion degree.

Whoever this boy was, he wasn't part of the "elite."

He held out a plate. There was a top-split bun overflowing with lobster meat beside a cup of melted butter.

"My eyes were bigger than my stomach. And as much as I'd enjoy tossing forty bucks worth of Hallwell seafood over the balcony to the birds, I don't think I can get away with it." He flashed dark eyes side to side, his lips curling into a conspiratory grin. "Cameras everywhere. I'd never hear the end of it."

He was handsome. Handsome in that way girls who liked tan, fit, five-o-clock-shadowed kind of boys would be driven wild.

"Not really my thing," she said, eyeing the secondhand sandwich.

"Haven't touched it, I swear."

Dillon laughed. "Thanks, but I'm good."

"You don't know what you're missing. The first two were—" he circled his thumb to his forefinger, touching his hand to his lips in a chef's kiss.

"Best make room for a third, then."

"Well, it was worth a try." He resumed his casual stance against the railing, plucking a strip of lobster off the sandwich and popping it into his mouth. "So, I take it you're not from around here?"

"I can't imagine what gave you that idea," Dillon rolled her eyes but didn't turn away. He didn't seem like a prick. Nothing like the other guests strolling around with their judgmental gazes and affected cavalier style.

"Well, if I commented on your very non-California accent, I'd feel incredibly cliché. So I'm going to go with…" he stepped back, taking a head-to-toe assessment, before nodding with conviction. "Your smell."

Dillon shot him a dubious glance. "I'm sorry?"

"Or, lack thereof."

"You've lost me."

"You don't smell like bullshit." He gesticulated around them. "Like the rest of this crowd."

"I see." She was careful to maintain her neutrality, not one to put her foot in her mouth on a whim. "Yet here we both are, at their invitation."

"Well, not exactly." He toyed with another piece of lobster. "I was a last-minute add-on—Darlene's going to pop an artery when she finds out—and you, it sounds like, were something of a plus one they weren't expecting." He cringed. "I'm sorry, that didn't come out like I meant it. What I'm trying to say is, on my way to raid the appetizer tables, I overheard Darlene ranting to Dani about her ‘seating diagram'. Then when I came across you out here, it wasn't too hard to put two-and-two together and guess who she was referring to." His lips disappeared into a single line. "At the risk of digging this hole deeper, all I'm getting at is—I thought you might need a friend." He finally quit his rambling.

It should, she knew, have probably offended her, being told she was an unwelcome guest, knowing she was a topic of hole-and-corner discussion. But he was so appalled at his own lack of grace, it was hard to find herself indignant. Besides, it was exactly what she'd expected of arriving unannounced with Kameryn.

"And you felt a good consolation prize was a hand-me-down seafood sandwich?"

"No! Honestly, I—" he paused, realizing she was teasing, and offered her a broadening smile of pronounced relief. "I just know how it can feel here, sometimes. That's all."

Behind them a bell sounded from inside the house, ringing sharply through the double glass doors opening onto the balcony.

"The cocktail bell," he whispered with exaggerated mock propriety, glancing at his watch. "Seven PM on the dot. Summoned like a herd of cattle." He motioned toward the house. "Join me for a drink? It makes the night more tolerable."

"I should probably find my friend," said Dillon, following him through the door. She'd kept an eye through the glass, surveying the faces waltzing by, but Kam hadn't been amongst any of them. A good sign, she hoped, that perhaps her reconciliation with her parents had been successful. That, or she was about to find her crying in a bathroom.

"Oh, Mr. Hayes!" Darlene Hallwell's piercing voice accosted them as they passed through the unfriendly setting of the formal sitting room. Half a dozen men lounged around a flatscreen showing the reruns of an American football game, while other guests filtered in from adjacent hallways. "I was unaware you were joining us."

"As was I. Dani texted me last minute. Someone off the A-list invitees must not have shown," he matched her spurious smile. "Always gracious of you to host on Christmas Eve, Mrs. Hallwell."

"Hm." It was the same censured murmur as her daughter, from the same botoxed lips. Her gaze drifted over his shoulder to Dillon. "Leave it to Dani to take in all the wanderers. I don't know how she possibly expects me to squeeze in another setting at the table."

"If you loan me a tux, I could make myself useful with the serving staff, Mrs. Hallwell. Problem solved."

The woman ignored his jest, her attention diverting to where her daughter was approaching them from her most recent trip to the bar.

"Are there any other unexpected arrivals I should be made aware of, Daniella?" she asked, brushing past her daughter without waiting for a reply.

Dani paid her no mind.

"Carter!" she squealed, the sound cutting through the jazz instrumental of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen . "You came!" Her uneven steps and glassy eyes attested to the fact that the martini in her hand was not her first of the evening. "How good it is to see you!"

Carter . The name returned Dillon's attention to the young man beside her. Kam had mentioned a boyfriend from secondary school. One who still lived in her hometown. And by the simper on Dani's lips, there was no question the last-minute invitation hadn't been coincidental.

"I—hi," he gave her an awkward side hug, evidently taken back by the overt enthusiasm of the greeting. "Thanks for the invite."

"Totes," Dani trilled, still swaying. Vodka spilled over the rim of her glass as she tipped it toward Dillon. "I see you've already met Kameryn's friend Damian."

The mistake was so deliberate, Dillon almost let it go, not wishing to give the conniving twit the satisfaction of the correction. But the annoyance of being called by the wrong name all night trumped her desire to skip the little game.

"It's Dillon, actually—"

"Oh, right," Dani waved off the error as irrelevant. "I knew it was one of those—what do they call them— gender-neutral names?"

"Kind of like the name Dani ?" Carter asked with zero attempt to disguise the dig. He winked at Dillon, who hid her smile, but it was unnecessary because Dani's attention was already whirred in another direction.

"Kameryn!" she sloshed her glass through the air, waving it like a beacon. "There you are! Look who's made a surprise appearance!"

Dillon turned to see Kam stop midstep, the smile fading from her face as she laid eyes on Carter.

"I was just making introductions. As I was saying—Carter, this is Dillon, one of Kameryn's work acquaintances—she didn't have anywhere else to be for the holidays, so she's joined us. And Dillon ," she overannunciated the name, "this is Carter, Kameryn's boyfriend."

"He is not my boyfriend." Kam haltingly resumed her forward motion.

"Riiight," Dani singsonged, "whatever you're labeling it these days—we all know you're a thing." She shot a pseudo-confidential smirk at Dillon. "Sweethearts since high school, she just likes playing hard to get."

Kameryn's hands balled into fists at her side. "Dani. Stop ."

A roar went up from the men watching the TV, briefly diverting the tension in the room, and then the low murmur of the pundits returned.

"Hey, Kam." Carter's laugh was tentative as he turned his efforts toward peacekeeping. "Safe bet to say you didn't know I was coming?"

"No." Kameryn didn't smile.

"Well, I guess it wouldn't be a Hallwell Christmas without one of us playing the pigeon in Dani's games." The line of his smile turned hard as his gaze shifted to Dani. "We can certainly always count on you to be a meddling pain in the ass, can't we, Daniella ?"

It was impossible not to appreciate the entire disregard he had for caring whether he got tossed out by the Hallwells. Though Dillon suspected he knew the action was unlikely. He had the sort of demeanor of someone accustomed to getting away with blatant effrontery.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Dani turned up her chin, speaking down the barrel of her perfect nose. "I simply thought we might all spend the evening together, for old time's sake."

"Always you, Dani Hallwell—so full of thought and consideration," Carter mocked, before continuing. "Tell me, what are you ladies drinking?" The question was aimed toward Dillon, but his eyes were only on Kameryn. It was obvious he wanted to please her. "Is it still a Manhattan?"

Kam's hands slowly unballed from their fists, though Dillon could still feel the edginess radiating off her. "No. I mean—okay, I guess."

"Great." He glanced toward Dillon. "And what can I get you, my balcony buddy?"

Dillon held up a palm to decline. "I'm good."

"You sure?"

"It's free , if that's what you're worried about." Dani fished the olive out of her martini, sucking the pimento from the fruit.

Kam's mouth shot open, but Dillon pressed a halting hand to her forearm. The woman was a despicable bitch, but she wasn't worth a scene.

"Well, with that kind of generosity, how could I refuse? A water would be grand."

"One Manhattan, one water, coming up," said Carter. "In fact," he smiled, "Dillon, I'll make yours a double." He turned to Dani, who gave a shake of her nearly empty martini glass, but instead of acknowledging her unspoken request, shoved his plate of dissected sandwich into her unsuspecting hand. "Be a dear and toss that for me, will you, Dani Girl?" Without looking back, he sauntered toward the bar.