Lifting my arms, I shock us both by dragging her in for a hug. For all the riches and parties that Klara would have benefited from as Rhys’ wife, that’s not what she’s crying about on the bathroom floor. She’s crying because he won’t be happy, and that’s something I understand all too well.
“I’m not saying this to hurt, only because it’s true. He never would have been happy with you, Klara.” She tenses in my hold, but she doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t hug me back either, so I’m left clinging to her like a koala. “He never would have been happy living this life, lost in his father’s shadow. He doesn’t want to be stuck here.”
“I know that,” Klara croaks, her head sinking into my shoulder. Wetness presses into my collarbone, the gloop of her mascara settling into the cotton. I feel rather than hear her sharp inhale, followed by a soft, broken sob. Her hands slowly wrap around my waist, where they tightly cling onto my t-shirt. “I would have tried, though. I would have done my best to…to,” Klara hiccups and shudders. I pat her back, nodding gently.
“I don’t doubt that. For what it’s worth, I am sorry that you were both put in this position. You do deserve better.”
Klara’s head lifts, her face is red and blotchy. Reaching for a hand towel, I brush the mess away from underneath her puffy eyes. A blackened, marred mess remains, but it’s somewhat better. She catches me glancing over her cocktail dress, a metallic silver hugging her figure perfectly. Although, contrary to what I expected, Klara shifts uncomfortably.
“I’ve put on three pounds since Rhys left campus. I binge eat when I’m stressed. And now, I’m too heavy for the top of the pyramid. The cheering squad is calling for my removal from the team.” Fresh tears trickle down her face, and damn my soft, gooey center, my heart breaks for her.
“Klara, look at me,” I insist, my hands gently catching her wrists before she can turn away. Her skin is cold, her shoulders curled inward like she’s spent her whole life trying to take up less space. I wait until her red-rimmed and glossy eyes finally meet mine. “You’re beautiful,” I state evenly, not as a kindness but as a fact. The kind that doesn’t disappear just because someone taught her to measure her worth through someone else’s approval.
She scoffs weakly, shaking her head like she’s heard it all before, but I can see the crack. The hesitation. The part of her that wants to believe me, but has never been given permission to. And it hits me then how familiar that feeling is, how many women are raised to barter themselves into smaller, quieter lives because it keeps the peace. Even the ones who seem loud and confident have shackles that so many others bear. My chest tightens with something fierce and protective.
“It’s time you lived for yourself. Not for your parents, not for appearances, not for a man who sees you as an accessory instead of a person.” Her breath stutters, and I don’t let go of her wrists. “You don’t need a betrothal to be worthy. You don’t need permission to choose joy. You are allowed to want more. You are allowed to take up space. And you are allowed to walk away from anything that makes you feel like you’re drowning just to keep everyone else afloat.”
“How are you…how do you know who you are so resolutely?” Klara whispers, not trusting her voice. I smile then, the simplicity of it encasing us.
“Because the world doesn’t get to choose for me. It can take my parents, take my hearing, take everything it thinks it can, but I get to choose who I will be. That’ll always be up to me.” Klara’s eyes are filled with tears, but this time, they don’t spill over. She stares at me as if I’m partly insane, but also with wonder. After a moment, she nods and gingerly takes a step back. I let her go this time, watching her compute my words. Behind me, there’s a light knock on the door and a concerned Clayton asking if I’m okay. I quickly straighten, my eyes flying to the shampoo with gold leaf glinting from within.
“I’ll be right out,” I call, sharing a small smile with Klara. She steps aside, watching me gather the bottles, toothbrushes and cosmetics as if I’m raiding the place. I’m sure it looks like a desperate act more than the defiance I hope it is. As Rhys said, Phillip won’t even notice. Pausing by the door handle, I give Klara one last look. “Take care of yourself.”
Using my elbow, I open the door to a relieved-looking Clayton. He takes a majority of the heavy bottles from my arms, leading the way back to the guest room when steps race to catch up. Klara’s hand touches my bicep, a silent question in her gaze. I step into the wall, frowning as she looks around, suddenly unsure of herself.
“She’s not dead,” Klara whispers beside my receiver. My body goes stiff, and her hand on my arm tightens slightly. “Rhys’ mom isn’t dead.”
“You know where she is?” I ask, hardly daring to breathe. Swallowing, Klara shakes her head.
“Not exactly, I’ve overheard things. They…they think I’m just an airhead cheerleader, and my father isn’t as secretive as Rhys’. The agreement for Rhys to marry me is in return for a favor my father did for the Waverseas. What he’s still doing.” At that moment, Rhys appears down the hall, his gaze turning violent. Waving off his concern, I pull Klara into the guest room whereClay has managed to convince Addy to put on a coat. He pauses zipping up the front, his frown matching Rhys’ until the door is shut and the four of us crowd Klara near the bed.
“What’s going on?” Rhys snaps first. I nudge his shoulder, silently telling him to let me handle this.
“What have you heard, Klara?” I ask. She quakes like a deer caught in the headlights, her fingers fidgeting in front of her.
“My father is the owner of many pharmaceutical chains. He’s always busy, always working, but there’s only one prescription he handles personally.”
“You think this prescription is for Rhys’ mom?” I clarify. Addy leans in, her head tilted like an owl. I reckon she’s just trying to steady her gaze to see who’s actually speaking. Beside me, there’s a gentle shift of movement as Clay reaches up to brace a hand on Rhys’ shoulder. I wait for Rhys to shrug him off, and when he doesn’t, I put that small win aside to focus on Klara.
“I’ve heard my parents mutter her name a few times. I didn’t think it had any significance until tonight. I didn’t know…you were looking for her,” Klara braves a glance at Rhys. I don’t doubt he’s said a few questionable things about his mom over the years, and Klara would have naturally figured she shouldn’t bring it up.
“And where does he deliver this prescription?” I push, my heart pounding heavily. A ripple of silence echoes through us, Klara’s eyes wide and laced with concern.
“I can’t say specifically, but he always picks me up from the Academy for lunch just after. On the last Friday of every month, like clockwork.” The tension around us could be cut with a butter knife. No one breathes, no one dares to blink as the news is digested. Surely, after all this time of chasing shadows, she can’t have been so close. Being the first to move and forcing a smile, I start to thank Klara, but Rhys’ growl cuts me off.
“Why are you helping us?”
“You love her,” Klara shrugs as if it’s simple. It’s not, it’s messy and complicated, but it’s a conversation that needs to happen. “I thought if I clung on tight enough, if I was loyal and everything you needed, we could be somewhat amicable. But not now. I won’t have you resenting me. You deserve to be with Harper.”
She exhales slowly, as if she is freeing herself from the weight of responsibility. The future is unclear for all of us now, and for Klara, that means finally putting herself first. Clearing her throat, she adds lightly, “I’d sneak out ASAP if I were you guys. Phillip gets particularly nasty when he is drinking red wine.”
There’s a ripple of unease between us all, Rhys and Klara shuddering from experience. Addy peels away first, singing a tune to herself as she shoulders two backpacks at once and attempts to lift Rhys’ suitcase. Distracting me from watching her fail, Klara makes her way towards the door.
“What about you?” I reach for her. Klara pauses with her hand on the doorframe, shoulders squared in that practiced, polished way she’s been taught since birth. For a moment, I think she’ll deflect, but instead she turns back to us, her expression bare in a way I’ve never seen before.
“I’m the perfect princess. I’ll be fine.” The heaviness in her eyes is unbearable. There’s no telling what war zone she’s walking into after we’ve left. Clayton relents, heading over to Addy and helping her from fumbling with the bags. Rhys grunts and drops onto the bed to put his sneakers on. Taking her leave, Klara is halfway out the door when I drag her back in for a tight hug.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For helping us, and for caring for Rhys. He might not see it, but I’m grateful for you having his best interest at heart.” Giving me one last smile that doesn’t meet her eyes, Klara steps out of our lives with an air of finality. I feel an odd sense of sorrow, as if there’s been an opportunitymissed, but there’s no going back now. Only moving forward with whatever is about to be thrown our way.
