Page 106 of Pretty Lies

“I’m fine, Daddy,” she said.

Too quietly, maybe. They all watched her as though she had been spun from glass and ready to shatter into a million little pieces.

Hell.

She kind of felt like that.

Smoke circled up from her fingers, drawing her attention there. She looked to the undertaker who was currently surveying the mess and the body. She was sure this wasn’t how he planned to spend his workday. Then again, if she was to trust what her dad told her about the man’s business, maybe this was exactly how he planned to spend his day.

“Sorry,” she said to the large, silent man, “I just really needed a smoke.”

Cory coughed out a laugh, and his gaze darted between her and the undertaker as he kneeled. “Babe, nobody’s worried about the cigarette right now.”

Right.

“Everybody’s a fucking liar, Cory,” she whispered. Everybody told lies; some were meant to protect her or even, help her in some way; others were nothing more than beautiful distractions so the snakes could curl in closer around her heart. Those pretty lies had been the ones that hurt the worst. They did the most damage. “Even my best friend.”

He reached for her, then.

She just let him.

“Not me,” he told her.

Not him.

Not him. Not him. Not him.

He’d not proven her otherwise. She still reminded herself of that fact. A part of her wished she didn’t feel like she had to keep doing that at all. Hadn’t he proved his worth to her time and time again in a far shorter period than the people who betrayed her?

Oh, well.

Cory deserved it—he was worth going against what had now seemed to become Della’s instincts when it came to other people. She only wanted to protect herself; build walls as high as the sky. Except with him. He climbed over every single one of them just because he could.

“I left my bag upstairs,” Della said to her father when he came to sit beside her.

Cory sat on the other side, silent.

“With your knife?” her father asked.

“Yeah.”

“Should reallyconsider a full-time guard at this point. It’s non-negotiable. Your mother is probably upstairs; at least she listened to me this damn time to stay… Lord.”

Cory held up a finger. “Agreed. On the guard bit, for the record.”

“Frankie, where am I sending the bill?”

Della glanced up, surprised at the question. The undertaker, who had taken a black satin blanket from a nearby casket to throw over the body on the floor, stared the three of them down. They were all still trying to figure out how this happened.

The undertaker didn’t seem to have that problem.

“Well?” the man asked.

“Just put it on my account,” Frankie said, pushing up from the floor, “and that’ll be the end of it. Now, where the fuck is my wife?”

Della got up, and followed her dad. Cory was right on her heels. She stepped over the body, but she didn’t look down at the heap of bloodstained satin. It would be gone soon, like the bloodstains on the floor and wall, and the memory of Jennika in the Costellos’ lives.

She didn’t mind leaving her feelings about it all behind, too. They could burn those with the body.

Della no longer cared.