Jonathan’s son and Sienna were close. For a long time, we all thought they’d be an item, but they never took it there. Instead, they relied on each other for support as friends.
She nodded. “Yes, he’s… dealing with things in his own way.”
I nodded, not wanting to probe. I never wanted her to feel like she was betraying him. The most important thing was that they had each other and were doing okay.
“Okay, let’s do this.”
Violet exhaled. “At least let us discuss the symbolic implications before you?—”
I threw the dart and it struck the map with a clean, decisivethunk. For a moment, nobody spoke as I took a few tentative steps toward it.
Violet broke the silence first. “I guess you’re doing this and it’s a paradise, so can’t complain, huh?”
Sienna blinked. “What are the odds? Now I want to come with you.”
I laughed—actually laughed—because for the first time in months, the future didn’t feel so bleak.
Chapter 3
Sophie
The balcony door clicked shut and the low hum of the city enveloped me.
“Is she asleep?” Violet asked, causing me to chuckle.
“She’s an adult,” I pointed out. “Hardly someone who needs tucking in.”
She glanced over her shoulder, resting her elbows on the iron railing. “And yet you keep checking on her.”
I sighed, taking the spot next to her. “After everything that happened to her… yes, I worry.”
“She’s a strong kid.”
I nodded, because that didn’t release me from the fact that I was responsible for her distress. But Violet didn’t know that, and I wasn’t ready to share it with anyone.
We stood in silence, gazing out at the skyline where the Washington Monument stood proud.
“It’s been a while since I stayed up past midnight,” she said. “It’s like the city lets out a relieved breath, grateful that it gets to exist another day.”
A breeze swept through and we both shuddered. She straightenedand buttoned her jacket to her chin while I pulled my shawl tighter around me.
“Aren’t you freezing without a jacket?” she questioned.
“I’ll get you a sweater like this next Christmas,” I teased. “Then you’ll understand.”
Another shudder rolled through. “Don’t you dare. Poor little baby alpacas.”
I let out an incredulous breath.
“They shave them, Violet. It’s humane! Doyouwant to be shaved?” she bit back.
I sighed. “I guess not. Okay, no alpaca sweater for you.”
“Thank you,” she muttered, then stuck her tongue out at me.
I smiled. “You always were more compassionate than me. No wonder you ended up in your field.”
She provided therapy to traumatized people—her specialty being sociopaths and psychopaths, and she’d seen more than her fair share of criminals.
