“Isn’t she a beaut?” Sam says. “I call her Bertha.”
It seems somewhat weird, naming something so sleek Bertha, but I suppose I know nothing about naming private jets. There are eight of us here—Sam, Grace, Beth, Stacey, Danny, the two Aidens, and me. Apparently, we’re off to Vegas because Grace’s parents are opening a new nightclub at the Bellagio. The last thing I want to do is spend the day partying, but I need to act normal. So Vegas it is.
The inside of Bertha is beautiful. There are sleek, white couches built into the sides with faux fur blankets thrown across them. A large coffee table is laden with champagne flutes, fruits, and gorgeous little cakes. Sam clears her throat and says, “Let’s make a toast to Sophie.” We all take a champagne flute and Sam pours out the champagne.
“To Sophie,” she says, when everyone’s glasses has been filled. “We were never close, but she was always kind to me and had the best makeup tips.”
“Same,” Beth says. “We never really hung out, but I used to watch her makeup tutorials on TikTok. She was so bubbly.”
“To Sophie,” Grace says.
“To Sophie,” we all say, then we drain our glasses. An air attendant appears with another bottle and starts to refill everyone’s glasses.
Despite the champagne loosening up my system, the sight of all the nice things still makes me feel ill. It’s so wrong that I’m able to sit in a private jet with my friends one day after the incident with Mr. Werner. I want to go back to my room, where I can pace endlessly and gnaw on my fingernails until they’re nothing but ragged stumps. But if I were to suddenly leave now, that would definitely look weird.
“You okay?” Danny says, sitting next to me. His face looks tight, and I feel a sudden jolt of guilt, as painful as a stab wound. He doesn’t know what I’ve done. He doesn’t know yet that his favorite uncle is dead. I lean into him and breathe in his familiar scent. He kisses the top of my head, which is such a sweet move, it makes me all teary-eyed. I shouldn’t be here. Not with Danny, not after what happened. But I want to be here. Not in the private jet heading for Vegas, but wherever Danny is. Which sounds unbelievably pathetic, I know, but I guess I’m feeling pretty pathetic.
“I’m fine. Just a bit shell-shocked, I guess. Can’t believe we’re actually going to Vegas,” I mutter, taking a sip of champagne. “Not that I’m ungrateful. It’s just surreal.”
“Get used to it,” Stacey says, plopping down across from me. “These kids like to travel. Last term, they were flying everywhere on Prince Danny’s jet. I heard he took them to Paris at some point.”
I gape at Danny. “You have a private jet?” What is this world?
He looks down at his knees. “Sort of? But it feels wrong to use it when I’m on such bad terms with my parents, since it was a present from them.”
“Jeez,” I mumble, taking another gulp of champagne. Just when you think you know how rich Draycott kids are, they reach into their deep, deep pockets and brandish a private plane.
“So, um.” Danny pauses and glances at Stacey, who’s just sitting there, looking at us.
“Sorry, did you guys want to be alone? Am I being a third wheel?” she says.
“No,” I say, the same time Danny says, “Sort of?”
I frown at him.
“Sorry,” he says, quickly. “It’s just, I kinda want to talk to Lia alone for a bit. But I promise I’ll leave her to you girls afterward. Uh, if she wants. I mean, she can make her own decisions, obviously, I didn’t mean—”
“Stop talking,” Stacey says.
“Okay.”
“Why are men,” she says, as she leaves.
Danny ruffles his hair, which is massively adorable. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. What did you want to talk to me about?”
He takes my hand. “I just—I wanted to apologize properly for the whole thing with my uncle.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But I jeopardized your future, and I just—”
“I don’t want to talk about it right now.” I don’t mean to sound quite as harsh as I do, but talking about it with Danny, knowing what I’ve done, knowing what he’ll soon find out, is unbearable.
Danny looks surprised then sheepish. “Yeah, of course. We’ll forget about it and have fun.”
Have fun. That should be easy, given we’re off to Vegas. But I remain out of it, part of me still trapped in the woods with Mr. Werner. When we land in Vegas and are greeted with a limo, I can’t summon up the energy to get all excited. More champagne is poured inside the car, and I drink deep, hoping to forget Mr. Werner and Orange Point and that branch sticking out of his eye. Even when we arrive at the hotel and are whisked into the most gorgeous lobby I’ve ever seen, I’m still haunted by the ghost of Mr. Werner.
The rest of the evening passes in a whirl. Maybe I’ve had too much champagne. I can only remember the day like snippets from a movie—walking into a huge, luxurious suite, more bottles being opened, clinks of glasses, everyone laughing and having a great time. No longer thinking of Sophie. I guess none of them were close to her, so her death isn’t too hard to get over, but still.
I blink, and I’m at the nightclub, wearing yet another one of Beth’s slinky dresses, holding a sticky-sweet cocktail. The music is so loud, it thuds through my entire body. I can’t tell if I’m bopping along to it or if it’s just the beat shaking me.
I feel sick. I don’t know if it’s the flying, or the alcohol, or the loud music. Or the killing. I just want to go somewhere and lie down. Someplace I don’t have to pretend like I haven’t just killed someone.
Someone touches the small of my back, steadying me, and I turn to see Danny there. He looks like what coming home feels like.
“Danny.” Tears spring into my eyes again. I need to tell him. I thought I could keep it inside me, but I can’t after all.
“You okay?” he says.
I shake my head. There’s a huge lump in my throat and I can’t speak.
“Come on.” Danny puts a steadying hand on my back and guides me out of the club. I can’t begin to describe how good his hand feels on my back.
Outside of the club, though, we run into Stacey, who’s leaning against the wall, looking at her phone. She glances up when we come out, her eyes wide. “Have you guys seen DD?”
I groan. “Oh god, what are they saying about me now?”
Stacey levels her gaze at me. “My dear, sweet Lia, it may behoove you to know that the entire app does not revolve around you.” She grins. “This is so much more awesome than the usual petty bullshit on there. They found a hand.”
I blink. “The app found a hand?”
“No, dummy. Some hikers did. Look!” She brandishes her phone at me. DD is awash with posts about a disembodied hand found at the nearby national park, just “a ten-minute drive from campus, guys!”