“Things don’t just happen.” She coughs into her sleeve. “People make choices.”
“Amelia, I?—”
“You know what’s the worst part?” She fiddles with her book. “I can’t even be mad at you. Because you deserve happiness. You deserve someone who looks at you like that.”
Her voice cracks on the last words, and I reach for her hand.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I whisper.
“I know.” She squeezes my fingers. “That’s why it hurts so much. Because you never mean to.”
The guilt coils tighter in my stomach. “What do you want me to do?”
“What can you do?” She withdraws her hand. “It’s done. You’ve made your choice.”
Suddenly, a door opens, and footsteps come around the corner. My mother stands in the doorway, face flushed with anger.
“This is all because of you.” She crosses the room in three quick strides and grabs my arm, yanking me to my feet. “All of it.”
I wrench my arm free, stumbling back a step. “What are you talking about?”
“Your little performance last night.” She laughs, high and brittle. “That man of yours. He doesn’t even like you. And you’re acting up because of him?”
“What are you talking about?”
“When the marriage came up, we wanted you to marry him, not his brother. But he refused. Said he wouldn’t be blackmailed. So why would he want you now? After a few days playing hero?”
I shake my head, trying to clear it. “That can’t be?—”
“Because of your little adventure, your father decided it’s either the Moras or us who are going to stay here.” She pacesthe small room, agitation vibrating through her movements. “Everything was perfect, but you had to mess it up.”
“It can’t be my fault?—”
“It’s always your fault!” Her voice rises, sharp enough to make me flinch. “Without you, this wouldn’t have happened. And now, it’s time to choose where your loyalty lies.” Mom’s eyes bore into mine. “With us, or with them.”
She can’t mean that.
I can’t do it. I can’t choose.
I want him. Want the way he looks at me, the way he touches me, the way he sees me—really sees me, not as an extension of someone else’s needs.
Why can’t I have both? Why does it have to be one or the other?
I look from my mother’s rigid face to Amelia’s pale one.
“Dakota…” Her voice is soft. “I’m sorry, but I think she’s right. They hate each other. Dad and the Moras, they always have.”
“They don’t have?—”
Sienna rushes in, blonde hair wild, cheeks flushed with exertion. “Hate to break up family therapy, but the gate is blocked by a dozen zombies standing in a goddamn line for a snack.”
THIRTY-ONE
JULIEN
The corpses are piling up outside the gate.
Thirty-seven. No, thirty-eight now.
