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“Same here,” she said and waited a long while, content to take in the woodsy scent of his linens, trace the lines of his neck, the slope of his nose, and his slightly parted mouth. She did this, committing his face and smell to her memory until the red digits on his alarm clock ticked by, until she was certain he was asleep. Certain he would never know she’d satiated the desire to finally feel his eyelashes on her lips.

Analise thought of nothing but Taylor the entire drive home in his car. His car. As if taking him with her. How often had they occupied the same space in school, how many of his shy smiles and friendly waves could she count? How, in mere weeks, was she consumed by him? The empty passenger seat, devoid of his heat, taunted her.

There was no room left in her mind to consider the consequences of what she’d just done. What waited for her when she returned home at 2:30 in the morning.

Flashing emergency lights were not something that gave her much pause in her neighborhood. But as she slowed the Jeep, Taylor didn’t disappear from her consciousness. He only shouted louder.

Analise parked and got out of the car. Everything wavered as she entered into a nightmare.

When the police officer stepped aside on her porch, revealing Ulla—a sculpture of solid fear—her mother didn’t sob in relief or fall to her knees in thankful prayer, she rocketed to Analise, hair rippling like a frenzied flag. Ulla shook her as if breaking both of them free from the horror that had been Ulla’s for the past hour. The one where Analise had been kidnapped, raped, and left for dead, taken from the window that had been left wide open in her haste to get Taylor home.

Everything in her room was gone, stolen. Her closet was ripped clean of her clothes and shoes. Her desk had been ransacked.

She could accept her coronation dress and shoes being taken. It hurt, but she’d go to the administration and withdraw her nomination for Homecoming queen. Earn the money back.

What she could never accept, what made her curl up in bed, claw at her knees in wracking sobs was the promise Ulla yanked out of her to never talk to Taylor Barnes again.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Analise

Ulla dropped her off at school that morning in the T-bird instead of making her take the bus but seemed otherwise unsympathetic to her haggard, emotional state.

Analise now trudged inside their home after school with gritty eyes. It felt like they would swell shut and force her to sleep standing if she didn’t lie down.

Ulla was home, waiting. Taylor’s Jeep was gone.

“What did you do with his car?” Analise muttered.

“Dealt with it,” Ulla replied in an even tone, but she appeared anxious.

Analise grunted and moved past her to the kitchen.

“Melia called me,” Ulla said.

“Yeah, so?” Analise got a glass of water. She usually went for the Lucky Charms, but her appetite had tanked, and she’d spent lunch hour sobbing to Melia, who was working today. Well beyond retirement years, Melia’s sapphire eyes were as ageless as any godmother’s in a fairy tale, and everything Analise needed to allay her despair. As a girl, Analise had begged Ulla not to move out of Melia and Shorty’s when she started first grade, still recalling Ulla’s cryptic explanation. We can’t always depend on Melia and Shorty to rescue us. Rescue? Melia, over the years, reminded Analise to be gentle with Ulla. Liebchen, she has been through an awful lot.

So, Analise focused on Ulla’s good. A mother that taught her daughter to be self-sufficient: work, pay bills, fix your own cars, and memorize city maps so you’re never lost. They didn’t shop or get mani-pedis, but they watched endless reruns of Friends and could speak to each other using solely quotes from the television series, but translated into Swedish. Their talks about periods and sex were refreshingly blunt. And Ulla always tried, and failed, to bake Analise a cake on her birthday every Christmas Eve. A flattened, burnt mess that they’d feed to the squirrels.

Analise had nothing to complain or fight about with Ulla.

Until now.

Ulla blocked Analise’s exit from the kitchen. “I got you some new things,” she said with a demeanor that felt more sympathetic, giving Analise a shred of hope. “Mamma⁠—”

“I’m not changing my mind about Taylor Barnes.”

Analise burst into a fresh batch of tears. Seriously. How much could one person cry? “You don’t know him!”

“I know his kind,” she said. “You’ll thank me someday.”

Analise shook her head angrily, wiped her face, and huffed past Ulla, just wanting to sleep this all away. Except her bed was occupied. There, splayed on the bare mattress, was the dress from the Pageant Shop. The dress. The one with the princess skirt, miles of gossamer tulle, and beaded V-neck bodice. Its price much too high and not for rent, and oh, how she loved it. Analise turned to question Ulla, but her stunned mouth locked up.

Ulla lightly touched the dress as if afraid to tarnish it. “Melia said you tried withdrawing your nomination from Homecoming court.”

Analise found her voice. “Because Taylor’s on the court!”

Ulla skirted her gaze, and with a sigh, she said, “I know. I don’t want him in your life. But I didn’t say you couldn’t have a life.”