The day I’d been dreading was finally here: the day when all my friends left Rosewood for the holidays.
Rosewood buses were leaving every half hour for the airport. Celia left first, heading to Australia to join her family on location at a film shoot with her uncle, the movie star. Her parents were part of his entourage and often traveled with him, which meant they got all the perks of being celebrity-adjacent without the hassle of the paparazzi and people caring what you look like without makeup.
Kaylee was next and got picked up by her hot future duke who I guess was still incognito since he picked her up in a cab. I presume the cover was only until they got to the airport and stepped onto his private jet.
Before she left, Kaylee stopped by my room to say goodbye. I gave her a big hug and told her she’d have an amazing time and not to be intimidated by meeting the Queen, if she got so lucky, because she was still just someone’s grandma. I think I inadvertently made her more nervous because now she was thinking about meeting the Queen’s princely grandsons, but with that cute Declan (or whatever his real name was) to guide her, I had no doubt she’d charm them all.
Chelly was spending her holiday in Vale skiing with her family (well, knowing Chelly, she’d spend more time chasing hot skiers around the chalet than actually on the slopes) and was the last of my friends to leave on the two-thirty shuttle to the airport. I gave her a big hug in the lobby and rolled my eyes when she told me to be sure to text her about how it was going with the hot felon. She also got serious and promised to text me on Christmas because she hated that I was going to be alone on campus.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t take you with us,” she said. “You know what my parents are like with ‘family time,’” she said, doing air quotes. “They both work so much that the few times a year we’re together, they get mental about it, even though they’ll probably ignore me and Bryce the whole time.”
“It’s okay,” I said, embarrassed that I’d practically begged her to get her parents to invite me along. “We need someone to hold down the fort here, right? And I need to keep an eye on my e-commerce site; it’s been so busy lately and I’m worried the server might not be able to handle all the traffic. And there are still those glitches...”
Chelly frowned at me. “Do not spend all of your time at your computer, nerd. By my calculations, you still have another day with Rob and then you have two weeks with your hot felon.”
“He’s not my ho...stop calling him that, Chelly!”
She wrapped her arms around me again and when the hug was done, we both had tears in our eyes. “Be good,” I said to her.
“I’m always good,” she said with a sniffle. “Don’t forget, Emmie. I’m only as far as a text away.”
I nodded and watched as she rolled her giant suitcase through the propped-open front door, letting it bang down the front steps as she headed toward the bus. Once she had handed off her bag to a porter, climbed on the bus and I couldn’t see her anymore, I took a deep breath and turned toward the stairs.
~ ♥ ~
The school was eerily quiet. Even with a few kids still there who didn’t have flights until the next day, the place felt deserted. I texted Rob, my last friend on campus, but he was busy tying up some things before he left for the holiday. He promised to take me out for brunch the next day before he had to leave for the airport, though, so at least I had something to look forward to.
Until then, I sat in the third-floor lounge by myself (for the most part—some girls dropped in between stints of packing) and watched as many romantic comedies as I could stomach, which I’ll admit was a surprising number. I even pulled out some old school classics: Pretty Woman, Sleepless in Seattle and Love, Actually, which seemed fitting due to its Christmas theme. I felt pretty pathetic crying along, but at least there was no one there to witness it.
At four-fifty-three a.m. I startled awake, realizing I’d slept through the ending of Something Borrowed, which didn’t matter, since I’d seen it before. I was actually glad that I’d managed to get to sleep at all. I would have stayed there on the lounge sofa, but knew the last of the girls would be up soon, dragging and banging their suitcases down the hall, rushing to get the buses to the airport. So I dragged my tired butt to my dorm room and threw myself onto my bed.
Eighteen minutes later, I was not just still awake, but wide awake. With a sigh, I texted Brooklyn since it was the middle of the day in London.
I bought your brother a goat and two chickens for Christmas. I hope he likes them.
I had enough time to use the bathroom, brush my teeth and boot up my laptop before she responded. What?
I sat down on my bed with the phone. Out of the catalog, remember?
Right. He’s not really into livestock.
She must have forgotten about the charity that you donate to and they send specific items to those in need. Goats were my favorite things to send. I smiled and slid my feet under the covers before I sent back, It’s not like he has to touch them.
You shouldn’t have gotten him anything.
I looked at the phone and felt my smile dissolve. I wondered if she said that because she knew he hadn’t bought me anything. Or because she was saying in her gentle way that I needed to stop pursuing him. Probably that was it. And she was right, but...
He’s taking me for brunch today and then I won’t see him again. Which she knew, of course, but maybe I needed to prove to her that I wasn’t that totally hung up on him. Or maybe I was trying to convince myself.
I love brunch. But that’s a long time away. What are you doing up so early?
I yawned as I typed back. You know me—up early.
This is really early. You’re not in the laundry today?
No. Just can’t sleep.
She sent back a frownie face and then, I’d better go. We’re off to see Dad.
I signed off and rolled over to stare at the wall which was slightly more interesting than the ceiling, thanks to my few posters. I traced my fingers along the tattooed arm of the base player from Prisoners of Conscience: my favorite band. Not that I listened to a lot of music, but when I did, it was these guys. They were really vocal about their causes and did a lot of festivals and concerts to promote human rights and Amnesty International. They sang about things that were important to me, plus their music was really good. Sort of industrial punk, but not the kind of screamy stuff that made my head hurt. Throw those good-looking guys with tattoos in there and voila, Emmie Somerville is a lifetime fan.
As I stared at the poster, inevitably I thought about Danny’s tattoos—not the one on his face, but those on his arms—wishing I’d had a chance to see what they were. I wanted to know their significance and what they meant to him. Were they because of what had happened? Did he have them before or had he gotten them since? What was important enough to him that he’d tattoo it on himself? I realized as I began to drift off, that I wanted to know that more than I wanted to know the details of his crimes.