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I smiled. She was right.
“Oh!” Ethan said with a broad grin. “I meant to tell you, I finally got into the traffic cam system! You were right, it was the Devious Four.”
“That’s amazing!” Emma exclaimed, leaning over the table to give him a quick kiss. “The girls will be so happy!”
“Yeah, I’ll just splice together the footage and email you guys the file,” Ethan said, his cheeks a little flushed.
“Perfect.”
A waiter set a basket of assorted rolls on the table. “Would the lovely young couple like to hear the specials?” he asked, jutting one hip forward and smoothing a hand over his carrot-colored hair. “The tuna tartare is out of this world. And don’t get me started on the braised lamb chops with mint sauce.” He made an orgasmic face.
Emma giggled. “That sounds delicious. I’ll have that,” she said.
“Great choice!” the waiter trilled. “And for you, sir?”
“I’ll have the shrimp cocktail,” Ethan said, breaking off a piece of rye bread and popping it into his mouth. “And, um, the steak. Medium rare.”
“Medium rawr!” the waiter faux-growled, curling his hand like a lion, then sauntered off.
For a moment, Emma kept her eyes on her lap, but when she saw Ethan’s mouth wobbling into a grin, she burst into laughter. They exchanged a glance, and both started giggling harder. “Rawr!” Ethan imitated.
“Great choice! Too bad he doesn’t work at the cafeteria at Hollier,” Emma joked. “Can you imagine? ‘Uh, I’ll have the French bread pizza.’ ‘Great choice!’” she said, moving her hips from side to side flamboyantly.
“Or at a prison lunch line.” Ethan hunched his shoulders and spoke in a thuggish voice. “Yo, man, I’ll have the meat loaf slop and a side of yesterday’s green beans.”
“Great choice!” Emma crowed in refrain, snorting with giggles. “Or what if he were the telephone operator at a sketchy Chinese restaurant?”
Ethan held up his hand to his ear, imitating a telephone. “Uh, hi, I’ll have General Tso’s chicken?”
Emma winced. “Great choice!” She giggled.
They were laughing so hard now that everyone in the restaurant was staring at them. Emma knew they were being completely immature and inappropriate, but she didn’t care. It felt so good to laugh. It felt good, too, to share such a fun moment with Ethan. This was why she was with Ethan: They shared the same sense of humor. They understood each other. And they had so much fun together.
“I love seeing this side of you,” Ethan said when the giggles died down. “It reminds me that no matter how well you pull off Sutton, you’re uniquely yourself.”
Emma nodded. “We’re alike…and not alike. Kind of two sides of the same coin. Sometimes I think I’m losing myself to her.”
“You aren’t,” Ethan insisted. “You’ll always stay you.”
Emma stared at the glass bottles of alcohol behind the bar. “I can’t wait to become me again,” she said softly. “Mr. Mercer said that this situation is so much better than what I had before. But I miss being me. I want my life back. My own choices.”
“I know,” Ethan said. “I can’t wait for you to be Emma, too.” Then he took her hands. “But you have to admit that becoming Sutton has had some benefits?” He squeezed her palms. “Like meeting me.”
“Like meeting you,” Emma said, returning his gaze. They leaned forward and kissed lightly.
I turned away, feeling like I was eavesdropping on something personal. Emma’s words rang in my ears. I wanted her to go back to being herself, I really did. But it raised another point that I didn’t think of very often. When Emma put my dad behind bars, what would happen to me? Was I tethered to her because I had unfinished business? Or was it some horrible karmic screw-you for all the terrible things I did while I was alive?
Emma had everything to gain by getting justice for me. She would move on to the next stage of her life as Emma Paxton. Would I move on, too? Or would I be left with nothing at all?
25
MIDNIGHT SNACK
After practice and a long, hot shower, Emma knocked on the Vegas’ front door. She heard footsteps and a moment later, Madeline opened the door, put a finger to her lips, and ushered her inside.
Despite their light footsteps, Mr. Vega appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tumbler of amber-colored liquid, presumably Scotch. His cold, steely eyes canvassed Madeline as though looking for a flaw. Then he stared at Emma. “Isn’t it a little late for a get-together, girls? It’s a school night.”
Madeline cleared her throat nervously. “Daddy, we have a really big physics test tomorrow, and we’re going to be studying well into the night. Can Sutton please stay over? We won’t make a peep—I promise.”
Mr. Vega swirled his drink, looking like he didn’t quite believe them. Even in repose, he seemed coiled and anxious, ready to strike. Emma held her breath, forcing herself not to look at Madeline’s arms and legs. The bruises were expertly masked by sleeves and yoga pants, but Emma knew they were there. And she knew who’d put them there. She couldn’t believe this place was her alternative to the Mercers’.
He wasn’t on my suspect list, but he was a criminal. Now that I knew what Mr. Vega was doing—to Mads and Thayer—I got a chill whenever I saw him. It explained why Mads got so nervous when she was around him and why she fought to be perfect. She probably thought that if she could just get it right, he wouldn’t be able to find anything to criticize.
