“Your lipstick?” I say, trying to remember.
“Yeah. It’s bright pink, Brazen Rose. I left it on the counter behind the sink, and now I can’t find it.”
“You checked in your room?”
“Of course I did,” she says.
“Hmm.” I continue to rack my memory, but nothing pops up. I’m not surprised, either; when I go into cleaning mode, I tend to turn off some of the other parts of my brain, partly because I’m already overwhelmed and stressed. It’s like hitting theResetbutton. “Try the bottom drawer in the upstairs bathroom. Sometimes I put clutter in there.”
Juliet lets out a dramatic gasp. “Brazen Rose is not clutter!” she says, but I can tell she’s not actually upset. The faint background thump of ascending stairs filters down the line. “It’sa vital part of my wardrobe and a treasured possession—oh!” When she speaks again, I can hear her smile. “Here it is. Thanks, Ror!” She pauses. “How are you feeling? I was in the shower when you left.”
My shoulders twitch into a shrug as my smile falters. “I’m fine. Good. I’m good.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to egg Tyler’s house?—”
“No,” I say quickly. “You promised. No more eggs. Besides”—I force a laugh—“I’m really okay. Truly. Everything will be fine.”
“I’m just worried,” she says with a sigh. “And I want to help.”
“I appreciate that,” I say, softer now. “I do. But I’ve got this. You don’t need to be worried, all right? I’m genuinely fine. Everything is okay.”
Something deep inside me relaxes at the relief in her voice when she speaks again. “If you say so,” she says.
“I do say so. Now go to work.”
“Boo. I’m going.”
“Love you,” I say.
“I love you too!” she chirps, and then we hang up.
“You’re something else, Aurora Marigold,” a low voice says from behind me, deep and smooth and full of amusement. I startle, but Roman Drake goes on. “A vandalanda liar.”
ROMAN
Aurora does not appreciate seeingme—or being called a liar and a vandal. I know this because the second she hears my voice, she whips around and glares up at me. Her eyes narrow as I round the bench and plop down next to her, and I feel the daggers digging right into my heart.
And my lungs, and my brain. I don’t think she’s picky about where she imagines stabbing me.
Her long hair is pulled into a perfect ponytail, reflecting silver-gold in the sun, and her legs are crossed neatly in a trim black skirt, and?—
And I’m being creepy. I’m being weird. I need to stop checking her out.
She just glares so beautifully, and she’s such an intriguing mixture of fire and ice. She also seems to be in some kind oftrouble, and because I’m insatiably curious, I want to know what it is.
I’m not sure who she was on the phone with when I first arrived and listened for a moment, but my guess is it was one of her sisters—one of the ones in the holding cell with her. They seemed close.
But the way she asked me for help and the way she reassured her sister everything was okay…those two conversations didn’t match. She was clearly worried when she talked to me, asking for permission to work elsewhere. Yet when she talked to her sister, she was nothing but confident and reassuring.
“So,” I say, resting one ankle over my knee and looking at her, trying to decipher all her secrets through eye contact alone. It doesn’t work, of course. “This is Lucky.”
Her frigid expression melts ever so slightly, but in its place rises a look of protection, like she’s ready to pummel anyone who insults her town.
She doesn’t have anything to worry about from me. It’s a charming place, small but idyllic.
“This is Lucky,” she says.
“You grew up here?”
