Every time the music ends and a new tune begins, the crowd bursts into applause. I make my way to the edge and catch Will’s eye from across the party. He raises his hand in a wave, and I wave back. “Hi,” he mouths.
“Hi,” I say from a safe distance, across the crowd. I know him well enough now to recognize when he is truly happy. His eyes are bright, his jaw is unclenched, and for the first time tonight I’m certain he’s no longer pretending.
The hour grows later, but the guests show no signs of leaving. It’s clear how much they all want to stay, to soak up the last notes of music, to gather it in the folds of their dresses and take it home in their pockets. In a way, they’ll be able to, because I’ve seen the small pouches set out in rows near the door—?from the looks of it, enough for at least one song for each guest. I stifle a yawn and consider stealing upstairs to my bed. But when I near the staircase, I catch a curious look pass over Mrs. Tripplehorn’s face as she speaks with Mrs. Fitzpatrick. It’s the kind of look that makes me suspect they are talking about me.
I’m instantly awake again. I creep closer, hugging the wall to stay in the shadows.
“She really does look just like Juliet. So much so that it’s unsettling,” Mrs. Fitzpatrick says.
My instinct was right. I crouch down behind a planter and fuss with the strap of my shoe.
“It’s the eyes. I will say, Juliet was always kind to me, but whenever I spoke to her, I always felt like she was looking right through me. Such a pity for the poor children, to lose their mother so young.” Mrs. Tripplehorn clucks her tongue.
“So much sickness and death in that family, now that I think of it. It almost seems to follow them around.”
You’re wrong, I think. Mother always said how she was barely sick a day in her life as a child. “I saw her once,” Mrs. Tripplehorn continues, “with that strange boy. Do you remember?”
I hold my breath. A strange boy. They must mean Stefen.
“Oh, yes. The one in the wheelchair? I’d almost completely forgotten that. He was so gaunt, always something wrong with him. Such a poor, odd little thing, wasn’t he? I wonder whatever happened to him.”
“Aila, what are you doing crouching in the corner like that?” Mrs. Mackelroy says, a little too loudly. She sways, as if she can’t quite keep her balance. The women clam up at the sound of Mrs. Mackelroy’s voice and exchange knowing looks, then change the subject.
“Nothing,” I say, standing. “Just minding my own business.” I gather the folds of my dress and turn for the stairs. “You might try it sometime.”
“My, my,” Mrs. Mackelroy titters. “Lovely to see you, too, dear.” She drains the rest of her champagne flute. As I’m climbing the stairs, she asks no one in particular, “Now, where did that charming fellow go with all the cocktail shrimp?”
I climb the stairs and leave the bright, humming noise of the party for the darkened shadows of the hallway.
I’ve reached my door when I hear footsteps behind me. I whirl around at the touch of a hand on my arm.
Will.
Oh.
“Is everything all right?” I watch his lips form the words. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Of course not,” I say quickly.
“Then why are you avoiding me? I’ve hardly seen you in weeks, and just now I was almost yelling for you.”
I swallow. Mind clicking, and clicking. “I—”
There’s a flicker in him at the first hint of realization. His smile tilts up, briefly. “Are you—?you can’t . . .” his lips say, trailing off, his eyes wide and unsure. The air around me is humming. I take the deepest breath, fill my lungs with it. I can’t hide it anymore. So I shrug and tell him everything there ever was with the smallest shake of my head.
“Aila,” he says. Takes a step toward me. Hesitates. My heartbeat is a breaking wave, climbing, crashing.
Then he leans down and kisses me.
His mouth is warm and soft, and my heart leaps up to graze my breastbone, and everything inside of me begins to bloom and glow and hum, and I kiss him back, first softly and then more, more, bringing my hand up to touch that place on his neck the way I’ve always wanted to, for all the times I’ve wanted to draw him to me and all the words I’ve wanted to say, and I can feel his breath hitch, his heartbeat exploding between us.
We pull away and flush, push into my room, close the door silently behind us, my skin lighting and tingling as he touches my elbow, grazes the curve of my waist. He motions for a piece of paper and then writes, “I can’t hear you either.”
I read the words over and over, my heart bursting. “Since when???” I write.
He smiles and scrawls, “Awhile.”
“I’ve been hiding from you,” I write back.
