Scene 17

I could have killed her.

I could have literally shoved her off the second-story balcony and watched her body splatter on the hand-carved Italian marble framing the saltwater pool.

Okay, maybe that was a step too far. I didn't want her to splatter. Just a dull, satisfying thud. Anything to knock the wind out of her conniving little sails.

I couldn't believe it, her audacity to call Carter. She didn't even like him. Ever since he'd turned down a lacrosse scholarship at Notre Dame to study plant biology at Berkeley, she'd insisted he'd lost his ‘jock card.' He'd only ever been invited to Christmas Eve dinner as my date, which meant he'd been absent the last two years.

And the only reason he was here now was because she—the Queen of Provocation—wanted to cause trouble.

She'd taken one look at Dillon and not liked what she'd seen. She'd practically said as much to me as soon as we left her in the foyer.

"You know what people are going to say about you—seeing you with someone like her!"

Someone like her .

If we hadn't already stepped into the game room—if my mom hadn't already spotted me and been making her way across the imported Turkish carpet—I'd have turned around and walked straight back to my car.

"You think I give a shit what any of these people say about me?" I hissed. And then, like the coward I am, added, "she's my friend and nothing more."

My mom had reached us at that point and I'd forgotten about Dani and her bigoted bullshit, trying instead to navigate the rollercoaster of emotions drummed up after not seeing my parents in over two-and-a-half years.

I'd survived that crucible. We'd spent an hour—my mom, dad, and I—tentatively maneuvering the murky waters of a strained relationship, building a bridge with small talk and carefully chosen anecdotes of holidays past. It had only been a bandaid, but at least it had been a start.

By the time the bell had rung for Darlene's ‘cocktail hour,' I'd been feeling pretty good about my decision to come. That was, until I'd excused myself from my parents to go find Dillon, and discovered exactly how guileful Dani had been in my absence.

She just likes playing hard to get . Fuck you, Dani!

It had been all I could do not to lunge at her and wrap my fingers around her skinny little throat.

"I hate her," I practically yelled after Dani had disappeared for another martini and I'd dragged Dillon with me into the furthest downstairs guest bathroom. "I can't believe she invited him!"

Dillon was unperturbed. "He's honestly quite a nice guy."

"He's always nice, but that's not the point!" I was mad she wasn't as mad as I was. "She only did this because—because—" I threw up my hands, almost knocking a vase of fresh-cut flowers off the sink. "Just—God! She can be such a bitch, I swear!" I emphasized my frustration by snatching a petal from one of the innocent orchids propped in the ceramic vase.

"Well, I won't refute you on that one."

I looked up to find her smiling at me in the mirror. She stepped closer until I could feel the heat of her body through the black mini-dress I'd decided to wear. One that stopped mid-thigh, and hung off my shoulders just right. One I'd chosen without anyone but her in mind.

"I take it she doesn't approve of the company you're keeping?" she continued, reaching around me to recenter the clasp of my necklace that had slipped to the hollow of my throat. It brought goosebumps to the nape of my neck, her slow, deliberate fingers, and I had to close my eyes when she pressed her lips to the tender skin just behind my ear. "I mean," she said, and I could hear that she was still smiling, "I guess you can't blame her."

"It's none of her damned business." I'd meant it to come out with conviction, but instead, the words had barely escaped my lips. They'd fallen breathily short as her free hand trailed a linear path down my side, the tips of her fingers stopping just below where the satin hem of my dress hugged my thigh.

I don't know how she did it, turning my thoughts away from everything but her. How the simplest of touches could make me forget Dani and her meddling. Darlene and her asinine seating chart. My parents and our inability to scratch anything below the surface. Carter and his wounded puppy dog look when he realized I wouldn't be going home with him tonight.

"Let's bail before dinner," I said, leaning back against her, wanting nothing more than for her hand to explore further. Caring nothing for the fact that we were locked inside a bathroom in the bowels of Hallwell Hell.

"No chance of that, Kam-Kameryn," her fingers traveled the wrong direction, back to the safety of my hip, her lips still smiling against my ear. "No way you're getting off that easy. You dragged us all the way up here. We're sitting through dinner, dessert, after-supper cocktails, whatever this tradition entails. You have to make nice. Smile. Sit wherever they seat you. Give your parents your full attention. Humor your high school boyfriend—because, really, I'll say again: he is a nice guy. Do whatever it is you normally do. And all the while knowing," her mouth traveled down the slope of my neck, her breath warm against my bare collarbone, "that after we leave here tonight, I'd really like to locate that hidden tattoo."

I didn't even know a heartbeat could hammer through a hipbone, but I was certain she could feel mine. It was a good thing, I guess, that the soundproofing in the Hallwells' thirty-million-dollar mansion was no more up to par than the cardboard-thin walls of my apartment. If I hadn't been able to hear the Christmas music and murmur of voices filtering through the ceiling vent from the floor above, I was positive I would have attempted to convince her that commencing a Where's Waldo exploration for my quarter-sized tattoo would have been far more gratifying than suffering through dinner with the Northern California edition of Keeping Up With the Kardashians. And despite her teasing showcase of impassivity, I had a feeling it wouldn't have taken much to change her mind. Which was entirely not what I needed to do in my best friend's bathroom with my parents sipping cocktails twenty feet above.

Resigned to return to the party, I turned to face her, leaning back against the marble counter as Jingle Bell Rock filtered in through the air duct in the wall.

"You think you'll get so lucky?" I asked glibly, tossing my hair over my shoulder, aware of the way her eyes lingered against my bare skin. I reached forward, tucking the bruised petal of the orchid into the front pocket of her slacks.

"I do." There wasn't even a smile of humility behind her shrug, and I was the one who ended up blushing, foiled at my own coy game. She reached up, toying one final moment with the emerald pendant that hung at my throat—the gift of my birthstone my parents had given me on my eighteenth birthday—and then drew the tip of her finger up my neck, past my chin, to rest at my bottom lip. "And what's more," she said, her green eyes glowing, "I think you're going to sit up there the rest of the night, unable to think about anything other than how I'm going to find it."

She leaned forward, having to tip her head up to conquer the height of my heels, and kissed the corner of my mouth. Then, with all the insouciance in the world, she turned, unlocked the bathroom door, and vanished into the hall.

Darlene, of course, won.

I'd wanted to sit next to Dillon. It was what would have been appropriate, given she was my guest and all. But between Dani and her mother, they were never going to let that happen.

Instead, I sat wedged between my parents, forcing myself to swallow down braised duck while doing my best not to stare at the far end of the table, where Dillon and Carter had been squeezed into a corner hardly large enough to accommodate a toddler. Neither seemed to mind. They laughed over things I couldn't hear, and I watched from the corner of my eye as Dillon surreptitiously pointed out which fork to use for the oysters, saving Carter from what would have been deemed an unforgivable faux pas in the Hallwell household. I wondered where she'd learned the proprieties of an extensive formal dinner setting, and I also wondered what it would feel like to graze my lips along the v-shaped sliver of skin above her top button.

I could feel Dani's inscrutable gaze on me every time I dared a glance toward that end of the table. She was willing me to misstep, willing me to show something I shouldn't.

Part of me wanted to pull out my phone and shoot her a text. Whatever your suspicions are, triple them, and then maybe you'll be headed in the right direction . But of course, I didn't. Keep the peace, Kameryn , I told myself. Just get through dinner, tell my parents goodbye, and then—out that door, into the car, and from there, I'd just go with the flow wherever the night led us.

But no, Dillon hadn't been kidding about forcing me to stick to tradition.

When the meal ended and the majority of guests departed, leaving behind only the immediate family and friends, I tried to make a break for it.

"Well, this evening was lovely, as always, Mrs. Hallwell," I said as the remaining company worked their way from the dining room to the salon. Thank you, of course, for having us had been the words waiting at the tip of my tongue. But before I could utter them, Dani had poured herself to my side, balancing between my arm and a life-size sculpture of a muscled torso I thought might be an original Rodin.

"You aren't skipping out now, are you?" she demanded, teetering on her sky-high stilettos. I could see her husband, Tom, watching from a dozen feet away, gauging whether it was time to intervene.

Do so at your own risk , I thought, but without any true pity. He'd been the one stupid enough to marry her, after all.

"Yep—long drive home." I carefully extracted my arm from her grasp. If she was going to topple over, she could take the Rodin with her. I wasn't taking one for the team.

"We still have dessert! And what about Two Truths and a Lie ?"

It was the party game they played every single year. It was the last thing I was hanging out for.

"Yeah, what about Two Truths and a Lie ?" Dillon appeared, holding a bottle of Pellegrino . "We couldn't possibly miss that."

Dani was too drunk to discern the subtlety of her sarcasm.

"See, even your friend wants to stay." She stumbled, clutching the nub of a severed shoulder, her nails grating down the bronze chiseled six-pack.

Tom made his move, coming to the rescue of his damsel in distress, and I took the opportunity to snag Dillon's arm, drawing her away from the circus.

"What are you doing?" I hissed once we were tucked safely away in an alcove. "We'll be here all night!"

"Another hour hanging out with your folks won't kill you, Kam-Kameryn. Besides, I was promised dessert."

I jerked my head up too quickly, looking for her double entendre, and was rewarded with a smile that made my spine tingle.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Miss Kingsbury. I was referring to the banana cream tart. Carter said the one served tonight is unparalleled."

"It's from Tartine Bakery —I promise, it's overrated. We can find something better on our own."

"Well, I guess I'll need to try the tart first to be the judge of that." She hiked a brow at me, before tipping her head toward the salon. "Shall we?"

"You're really going to make me stay here, aren't you?"

"I told you—you talked me up here, I'm entitled to the full experience. Not just the abridged evening."

"I think you just enjoy tormenting me," I said, reaching for her hand, but then thought better of it and settled for hooking my arm through hers. Everyone else had disappeared from the hall, but I wasn't going to risk it. "I'll have you know, Dillon Sinclair, I can give as good as I get."

"I'm counting on it," she whispered, before drawing me from the alcove to rejoin civilization. "Now tell me, what are your two truths and a lie?"

"I can't tell you before the game," I faked indignance. "That would be cheating."

"Then give me a preview of how to play—something different than whatever PC banality we'll have to suffer the rest of the evening."

I stopped a dozen steps from the open doorway where I could hear Darlene ordering her husband to open a bottle of Brut. Dani was arguing with Tom. My parents, I knew, would be sitting on the couch nearest the fireplace. Dani's little brother, Marcus, would be watching silent videos on his phone. And Carter would be on the loveseat beneath the painting of a fig Dani loved to boast had cost seven hundred thousand dollars. An odd flex, I always thought. For seven hundred Gs I wanted a lot more than abstract fruit on a wall.

"Fine, but you'll never guess correctly," I postured.

"We'll see."

I rolled my eyes at her cockiness, secretly loving it.

"I've had a one-night stand."

"Okay." She waited.

"I've never been to Wales."

Her lips twinged. "Okay."

"I've never slept with a woman."

Her smile widened. "Okay."

"Well? Now you're supposed to guess which one isn't true."

"A guess, by definition, indicates uncertainty."

"And are you so positive of being right?" I baited, already knowing she would be. I'd made the answers easy enough. She already knew I'd never been to the UK. And, well, the other two didn't take much deducing to determine which was which.

"A hundred percent." She fiddled with the tie of my dress, letting the black satin slide through her fingers. "The only question I have is whether you want to turn one of your truths into a lie?"

I could feel the pounding of my heart in my bones again. "I don't know—do you think there's a last-minute flight from San Jose International to Wales?" I leaned closer to her, lowering my voice. "We could convert both truths then."

I loved knowing how badly she wanted to kiss me. Knowing, for all of her bravado, how easy it was to put a crack in her veneer. Slowly, purposefully, I tugged the tie of my dress from her fingers, edging closer still. "And that way," I whispered, "it would also prevent you from turning my lie into a truth."

Her lopsided smile appeared as she worked out the implication. "No flight across the Atlantic necessary to safeguard that lie, Kam-Kameryn. I already canceled my hotel. You're stuck with me for at least a few days."

Before I had time to respond, Darlene's voice called out from the threshold.

"Are you planning on joining us, Kameryn, or shall I start charging you rent for my hallway?"

I took a staggering step away from Dillon and lunged toward the door.

Smooth move there, moron.

I may as well have shouted "no incriminating behavior here, Mrs. Hallwell. We're certainly not talking about punching a stamp on my lesbian card as soon as we escape your heteronormative compound."

Instead, I smiled brightly and asked if I could be of any help with the dessert tray.

The chitchat. The game. The champagne. It all felt endless.

I'd once again taken a seat by my parents—directly next to the fire, as anticipated—and mentally twiddled my thumbs as Uncle-This and Cousin-That took turns boring everyone with I've never had liposuction and I attended Bill Gates birthday party .

I pretended not to know Carter's lie claiming he'd never been to Carson City. I knew the clue had been aimed at me, trying to gauge where we stood. The weekend before we'd started our junior year of high school, the two of us had driven to the former gold mining town on a whim. It had been there, in a seedy motel room on a duvet covered in cigarette burns, that I'd lost my virginity.

I felt a little bad, making a point of choosing I built a greenhouse for George Lucas as his fiction, knowing full well the job had been a major sense of pride for him as one of his first commissions after graduating Berkeley. But I'd needed him to get the hint. I hadn't returned his calls in months, long before meeting Dillon, and no matter what happened with her, he and I were over. And not over like the other times. This time, we had to be finished. It wasn't good for either of us to keep stringing things along.

He took the blow on the chin, shooting me a two-can-play-at-this-game wag of his eyebrows, and returned fire by declaring "yeah, maybe on a week of Sundays," to my truth that I'd gotten straight As my senior year in high school.

Well played. I tipped my glass in our silent communication. I hated that behind his bluster I knew he'd been stung. It was all the more reason I wanted to murder Dani for inviting him and giving him the wrong impression.

"You're up, uh…"

My thoughts resurfaced to the present as Mr. Hallwell waved a stubby finger in Dillon's direction. I realized he didn't know her name. In truth, he probably had no idea where she'd come from. But he was fogged, having joined his daughter in the race to get loaded, and didn't seem to mind or care that a stranger was sitting in his living room.

"Alright," said Dillon, catching my eye from where she was lounging beside Carter. "Let's see. I speak four languages. I don't own my own apartment. I've won two Olympic medals."

"You understand it is two truths and one lie, yes?" verified Darlene from where she'd kicked off her Jimmy Choo heels and tucked her stockinged feet beneath her husband.

Oh, for God's sake .

I spun the stem of my glass between my fingers, grateful I'd stealthily swapped out my champagne for sparkling cider several rounds earlier. Usually, I'd be a bottle deep by now—turning down free Dom Pérignon wasn't something I was in a habit of—but tonight I'd wanted to be sober. A good thing, probably, for both me and Mrs. I'm-a-Douche Hallwell.

"Uh, yes. Got it." Dillon smiled innocently. I knew she'd set them up. They'd refuse to believe someone like her was as accomplished as she was.

After a rapid-fire discussion in which I didn't take part of, a consensus was reached and Darlene, taking over for her daughter, whose speech had become too slurred to be intelligible, assumed the role of spokesperson.

"Well, given you look very… athletic ," she chose the word carefully, "I suppose the Olympics are a possibility."

The way she said athletic hadn't meant fit. It meant gay . I dug my fingernails into my palm, but Dillon didn't bat an eye.

"And I believe earlier you mentioned you lived in London. As my husband pointed out, it is one of the most expensive housing markets in the world outside of Asia. Owning property there is no small feat. So, I'm inclined to believe the most likely falsehood is your ability to speak four languages."

Dillon flicked her fingers in a fair enough gesture. "All good reasoning, but I'm sorry to disappoint. Aside from English, I speak Welsh, German, and French."

" Damn it ! I knew it was the Olympics," said Tom, smacking his fist to his knee. As the newest member of the Hallwell clan, he took losing in front of his in-laws very seriously.

"Dillon's competed in three Olympics and is a two-time medalist," I said, unable to hold my tongue any longer.

This snapped Dani out of her torpor. "I thought you were in the film industry?" She swallowed the remainder of her champagne, staring straight at me. "In town for work ?"

"Different line of work." Dillon drew Dani's attention back to her. "I'm a triathlete."

"But what do you do for a living?" asked Darlene. Of course the woman who'd gotten her stilettos stuck in the football field turf at our first high school home game couldn't comprehend life as a professional athlete.

"Well, I swim, bike, and run mostly."

"For a career? How impressive," she said flatly. "And a gold medalist as well?"

It wasn't a mistake. She'd caught on that I'd said medalist and not gold medalist . If you'd won gold, you said so. Everything else fell under the umbrella category.

Dillon remained unperturbed. "No golds. Just silver and bronze."

"Oh, how terribly frustrating." Darlene swirled the champagne at the bottom of her glass. "To come so close to winning and fall short."

"Fall short?" I uncrossed my legs so quickly I nearly upset my mother's spiked eggnog she'd been balancing in her lap.

For two decades I'd remained silent while being insidiously put down by nearly every member of the Hallwell family. I'd taken their underhanded barbs without a breath of defense for as long as I could recall. But tonight I'd had enough. I wasn't going to just sit there and listen to them put down Dillon.

Dillon, however, cut me off short, preventing my rush into battle.

"Extremely frustrating," she said, overriding my outburst while giving me a subtle shake of her head. She appeared unaffected by the woman's onslaught of insults, and I realized the last thing she needed was a knight in shining armor. Unlike me, she had nothing to prove to these people who weren't worth her effort.

"Fortunately, if all goes well, I'll have another chance."

"You have your sights set on Los Angeles, then?" my dad asked. As a true-blue sports aficionado, there wasn't a competition across the globe he wouldn't relish discussing. He was also, however, a pacifist who hated altercations. I'd felt him side-eyeing me, aware of my growing frustration, ready to dive in wherever he could to avoid any possibility of contention. Kiss-up Kingsbury he'd once told me they'd coined him in high school. I supposed the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree.

Settling back in my seat, I stewed over my missed opportunity to shove Darlene's crystal chalice up her cosmetically-constructed tight little ass, nursing my Martinelli's as the game dwindled to a conclusion. Small talk took over with the arrival of dessert, as two tuxedoed caterers distributed plates and offered the choice of sgroppino or Irish coffee.

"I understand you train hunters, Mrs. Kingsbury?"

Dillon had come to sit on the ottoman across from me, where she'd spent a few minutes chatting about the upcoming Olympics with my dad, before turning the conversation toward my mother.

My mom brightened and my heart sank.

We were never going to get out of here.

They chatted about horses as I gave in and snagged an Irish coffee. I learned Dillon's sister was an equestrian—an eventer who had served as an alternate on Great Britain's Olympic team—and Dillon had grown up riding as well.

"Two Olympians in the same family!" My dad was enthralled.

I could tell they liked her. And honestly, what wasn't there to like?

She leisurely chatted with them about the UK, about travel—my mother was fascinated by all the places she had been—and even held her own on my father's favorite topic: sailing. She listened patiently as he launched into his retirement dream of circumnavigating the world on a thirty-foot ketch. My mother, unsurprisingly, managed to direct the conversation toward education, where I discovered Dillon had graduated from Cardiff University, earning a degree in physiotherapy.

And there it was—the clincher. Hook, line, and sinker, my parents were officially enamored.

I wondered, absently, as my head lightened with whiskey, if they'd still be so enamored if they could see beneath the ottoman, where I'd slipped off my heel and snuck my toes up the hem of her slacks.

Probably not, I decided, entertaining myself as I teased the bare skin of her calf, watching her try to keep a straight face while my mother droned on about the difference in the cost of horse-keeping between the US and UK.

My parents weren't homophobic. Collectively, they were moderate in their views of politics, supported equality in both gender and sexual orientation, and I'd never heard a disparaging word about the queer community from either of them.

But the thing was, their daughter wasn't gay. It was perfectly acceptable for someone like Dillon. Someone else's daughter. Just not theirs. I knew my mom still clung to the hope that I would marry Carter. Since the day he'd shown up on my doorstep to pick me up for our sophomore homecoming—red rose for me in one hand, yellow rose for my mom in the other —I knew she'd been planning what pony she would buy for her grandchildren.

I doubted she'd have felt the same if my tenth-grade date had been named Candice instead of Carter.

"Jane!" Darlene swept over, interrupting my mother's conversation with Dillon. "I'm taking a head count for breakfast. You and John will be joining us, I'm certain?"

My mother looked at me. "You'll be staying the night, I hope? Breakfast tomorrow morning?"

I dropped my foot, fumbling around the carpet for my lost heel . "I'm sorry—I've got work, and Dillon—"

My mom's face fell. "Kam, it's Christmas—"

"Don't be ridiculous, Kameryn," Darlene interjected. "You always come for brunch. The menu tomorrow is exceptional. Finger sandwiches of hen's egg mayo with English cress. Cucumber with mint cream cheese. Suffolk ham with Bavarian mustard. Fortum's smoked salmon with tartare dressing. And of course scones," she nodded toward Dillon, as if she should find that appealing. "Cornish lobster with brandy egg cream. Isle of Mull cheddar and sun-dried pepper with rosemary butter. Terrine de Campagne. Wild Mushroom Truffle Eclair. Flourless molten lava cake, lemon and raspberry tarts."

It took me a moment to realize she'd finished speaking. I'd tuned out at don't be ridiculous, Kameryn. You always come for brunch .

The answer was a resounding no.

No way in hell. Over my dead body. Not on your tintype. Nixie. On the Day of Saint Never—however she needed to hear it, we were absolutely not coming to brunch.

"I'm sorry," I repeated, this time more firmly. "We can't."

"Can't?" Dani sauntered over, looking dangerously pale. "Or don't want to?"

The room grew uncomfortably silent.

I don't know why twenty years of friendship seemed to suddenly hang on those four lingering words. And more, I don't even know why I cared.

Tonight I had seen Dani in a different light, revealed in colors I'd never scrutinized before. I felt like I could finally see all the ways she'd trespassed against our friendship, all her snarking remarks and subtle digs, the constant way she put me down.

But even still, even with all of it in technicolor, I struggled to kick it to the curb. She'd been my best friend—or rather, I'd been her best friend—for twenty years. I didn't know how to just let that go. I didn't know how to cut that cord.

"Of course I want to," I stumbled, the words sticking in my throat as my tongue grew very dry. "It's just…" I wanted to look at Dillon, to beg her help, but I didn't dare. Not with Dani staring at me the way she was. "I mean, I guess. Yeah. We can come for a little while."

"Wonderful!" Darlene filled the ensuing silence and my mom patted my knee.

"I'm glad you'll stay, darling. Do you have a hotel for the night? You know you're both welcome to stay with us."

"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Kingsbury," said Dillon quickly, rising to her feet, "but I'm afraid I have to drag Kameryn with me up to the bay. I have a little business there. But we'll be back in time for breakfast." She smiled at Darlene. "Thank you for the invite, Mrs. Hallwell."

I stood, sinking my foot into my wayward heel, kissed my parents' cheeks, thanked the Hallwells for their hospitality, and muttered goodnight to Dani. All the while hating myself for caving in.

Good old Kiss-Up Kingsbury.