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I thank the driver as I get out of the car, and the moment I shut the door, Brighton rushes over to me. Her usually calm and kind hazel eyes are wide and filled with barely restrained panic. Of course her golden eyeshadow and perfectly-winged eyeliner are flawless, as is the rest of her outfit, no doubt all brand name pieces I wouldn’t dream of buying myself. I tend to feel a little plain standing next to my best friend sometimes, but that has absolutely nothing to do with her, really. She’s been the most supportive person in my life since we met last year as freshmen. Looking at her, you might think she’d be stuck-up, with her Michael Kors tote bag and black tweed Chanel jacket, but she’s the complete opposite. She’d do anything to help anybody without a second thought.
“What in the ever-loving fuck happened to you the other night?” Brighton demands, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the building.
“Hello to you too,” I say, trying to ease her panic before it morphs into full-blown hysteria.
She lets go of me as her eyes narrow. “Calla, I’m serious. You need to tell me what happened. YourI’m fine, will explain everything soontext from a new number was less than convincing.” Her strawberry blonde hair blows across her face in the wind, and I immediately grab for my hair to make sure it’s still covering my neck.
“I know,” I tell her, glancing around as a few people pass us on the sidewalk. She deserves to know, I’m just not sure how or what exactly to tell her.
“I tried to get in contact with you all weekend,” she continues. “I called and texted about a million times, went by your apartment, I even called your parents.”
I freeze. “You what?”
She huffs out a breath. “I know you’re not super close with them, I just—I was freaked, Calla. Anyway, your mom said she was going to get in contact with you. I was going to follow up with her today and call the police if she hadn’t heard from you, but then I got your hella cryptic message.”
My stomach sinks. If my mom tried texting or calling my phone after the guys took it… I never got her message. “She tried to contact me?”
Brighton nods. “After you called me Friday night, something felt off. So, yeah. I’m gonna need you to—”
“I’ll pay you back for the suite at the Four Seasons,” I rush to say. The last thing I want is for her to think I’m taking advantage of her seemingly endless supply of money.
Her brows raise, and she frowns. “Calla, I don’t give a shit about the money. Let’s just go inside and talk over some cherry scones and lattes. I need some sugar.”
I catch my bottom lip between my teeth, glancing toward the busy restaurant. “I’m really not that hungry. Maybe we could just go for a walk along the waterfront before class?”
She hesitates, then nods. “Yeah, okay.” Her tone is gentle, but concern underlies her words.
It’s a short walk to the water, and I hug my jacket closer as the cold breeze coming off the Potomac River sends a shiver down my spine. The boardwalk along the river is almost empty, which is good considering what I’m going to tell Brighton… just as soon as I can come up with the words to explain the crazy that is my life. Being honest about what happened may not be the smartest thing, but Brighton is my closest friend, she’s my family, and I trust her completely.
We pass a middle-aged man jogging with his golden retriever in the opposite direction before Brighton says, “Please start talking, Cal. You’re freaking me out.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, “I just… This is going to sound insane. I’m very aware of that.”
She stops walking, and her brows inch closer. “Oookay. So not making me feel any better.”
I sigh heavily and glance around to make sure we’re out of earshot to anyone who could potentially overhear me. “What I’m about to tell you needs to stay between us, okay? I mean it. You can’t tell anyone, it’s really important for you to know that.” I wipe my palms against my thighs as my heart thumps in my chest.
“I swear,” she promises in a firm tone, though her voice wavers slightly; she looks as scared as I feel. “Please just tell me.”
“Friday night when I got home from the library, there were four guys in my apartment. They were there for me.”
Her eyes go wide, and I hold up my hand when she opens her mouth to freak out at me.
I press my lips together for a moment. “I should back up and start at the beginning.”
“The beginning,” she echoes breathlessly, and I can see the panic in the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
“You know my family is from New York City, that I moved here from there to go to school. Well, a long time ago—like, way before I was born—my family was involved with some really shady stuff on Wall Street.”
Brighton shakes her head. “What, like insider trading?” she asks, and before I can answer, she continues, “What does that have to do with you? Or these guys that you’re saying broke into your apartment? I don’t—”
“I’m getting there,” I assure her, “but you need some background information or this isreallygoing to sound crazy.” It’s going to regardless, but context might be something of a benefit when she attempts to rationalize what I’m telling her.
“Keep talking,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.
“The business my family was involved in was dangerous enough their lives were threatened by some very powerful people. These guys, they helped my great-great-grandfather out of the deal. In exchange, I…” I swallow to try and get rid of the dryness in my throat, but it barely makes a difference. “I was promised to them, as the first-born daughter of the Montgomery bloodline.”
She blinks at me. Her hands fall to her sides, and she just keeps shaking her head as if she’s trying to figure out what I said, as if I spoke in a different language and she’s struggling to interpret it.
