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I leaned into Violet. “It’s like a beauty pageant my little sister watches on TLC. Toddlers and Tiaras?”
She giggled under her hand. “Careful now. You’re up next.”
Layla took the mic. “And now, I am beyond excited to announce your Central High Prom King…Miller Stratton!”
The ballroom exploded with sound, the girls screaming and clutching at each other as if the Prom had suddenly morphed into a One Direction concert.
I waited for the disappointment to hit me that I wasn’t King. It never did. Not even a twinge.
“Well, that’s something,” I said, laughing, another piece of my fake life rotting off and falling away. “Did you know that was going to happen?”
Violet shook her head, looking a little dazed. “I had no idea.”
Evelyn announced that Miller wasn’t there because he was in LA being signed by Gold Line, and Violet’s face paled further.
“Guess I’ll be playing your King’s own jams at the next party,” the DJ boomed into his mic. “Give it up for your King and Queen, Miller Stratton and Evelyn Gonzalez!”
The crowd cheered louder, and Evelyn soaked it in. Violet looked ill.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Fine.” She managed a small smile. “It’s just been a crazy couple of days.”
“Yeah, no kidding. But for real, you look like you need some air. Or maybe a drink?”
“Water would be great.”
“On it.”
I rose to my feet and my gaze snagged on a tall figure in black and a flash of silver. Holden leaned against a wall in his own version of formal wear—black pants, black shirt, and a long coat that nearly brushed the ground. His silvery hair was a disheveled mess, and he peered around with bleary, red-rimmed eyes.
My heart tried to climb out of my throat, the elation and relief expanding until I could hardly breathe.
Because I love him. Holy shit, I’m in love with him.
The truth was bright and vivid in my heart, no layers of lies or bullshit to cover it up. I was in love with him and for a crazy moment, I had a vision of me going to him, taking him by the hand and leading him to the dance floor. Letting the whole world see and proving to Holden that he deserved to be loved in broad daylight, not in secret rooms or hidden away in his guesthouse.
But he was drunk and sipping from his flask; I hadn’t seen it in his hand in months. His gaze wandered until he found me.
“Hi,” I mouthed from across the room.
He answered with a strange smile that sent a sliver of fear down my back. The same kind of wild smile I’d seen him wear at Chance’s party all those months ago when he dared Frankie Dowd to stab him in the heart.
His eyes still on me, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and suddenly hurled the steel flask at the nearest drink table. It struck a row of sparkling cider bottles, shattering one. Shocked cries rang out as teachers and students looked around for the source. Holden shoved open a side door and was gone.
Violet’s hand touched mine. “River…?”
“I told him I was going to Alabama,” I said, pain ripping through me. “And that he couldn’t come with me.”
I stabbed him in the heart. Every day I hid us, another stab…
“Go,” Violet said.
I blinked and stared down at her. “What? No…”
“Go to him.”
“That’ll make me two-for-two in ditching you at a dance.”
