“Oh, you’ve already met Avery?” Atlas turned to Calliope, who tilted her head back and laughed as if this were some delightful coincidence, a lush, throaty laugh that to Avery didn’t feel genuine.
“Avery and I got facials together a few days ago,” the other girl said—and Avery realized how deft her wording was, that she made it sound like an organic, planned excursion rather than the truth, which was that she’d tagged along on Avery’s afternoon with her friends. “She’s the one who invited me tonight.” Calliope turned to Atlas, a hand posed confidently on one hip. “You’re terrible. You never even told me that you had a sister.”
Avery was suddenly hyperaware of how beautiful the other girl was, in a scented, silvery way, all curves and bright eyes and smooth tanned skin. And the way she spoke to Atlas was so casual, almost familiar. Avery felt like she was missing something. She looked back and forth between them.
“I’m sorry. Did you two already know each other?”
“Callie and I met last May, on safari in Tanzania.” Atlas kept trying to catch her gaze, clearly desperate to convey something.
“It’s Calliope. You of all people know how much I hate nicknames! Although, Avery”—Calliope lowered her voice in an attempt at camaraderie—“you should know that James Bond here insisted on using a fake name with me. How utterly mysterious of you, Travis. As if anyone was going to track you from Tanzania to Patagonia.” Calliope laughed again, but Avery didn’t join in.
Patagonia? She knew that Atlas had gone straight from Africa to South America, but she’d always thought he was traveling alone. Maybe she’d misheard.
Just as she was trying to understand, Mr. Fuller’s voice reverberated through the party.
“Hello, everyone!” he said, the sound projected by miniature speakers hovering in the air. “Welcome to the twenty-sixth annual Fuller Investments Gathering. Elizabeth and I are so delighted to welcome you all into our home!” There was a smattering of polite applause. Avery’s mom, dressed in a black sheath with elegant cap sleeves, smiled and waved.
“Excuse me. I have to go check on someone,” Calliope said softly. “I’ll be back,” she added, clearly for Atlas’s benefit.
“What was that all about?” Avery edged forward toward the living room, a polite smile pasted on her face for the benefit of anyone who might be watching.
“It’s the strangest coincidence. I met her in Africa, and now she’s in New York with her mom.”
“How much time did you spend together?” Avery whispered, and Atlas hesitated, clearly unwilling to answer. She bit her lip. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about her?”
Avery had edged a little to the side of the crowd, and Atlas followed as their father droned on, thanking various sponsors and investors in the Dubai project.
“Because it didn’t seem important,” Atlas replied, almost too softly for Avery to hear. “Yes, we traveled together, but only because we were both doing the same thing: going spontaneously from place to place with no real plan.”
“You never hooked up with her?” she hissed, even though she dreaded the answer.
Atlas looked directly into her eyes. “No, I didn’t.”
“As many of you know,” their dad’s voice boomed several octaves louder—he’d obviously turned up the speakers. Avery fell silent, chastened. Had he seen them whispering, even here in this crowded room, and raised the volume in response? “Tonight is a celebration of our newest property, the crown jewel in our portfolio, opening two months from now in Dubai!”
Atlas caught her gaze and jerked his chin, to indicate that he was about to walk deeper into the party. Avery nodded in silent understanding.
As he turned, she reached out to brush a thread from the arm of his jacket. There was nothing there, but she couldn’t help it. It was a final moment of privacy before she let go of him; a small, secret gesture of ownership, as if to remind herself that he was hers, and there was no letting go.
He smiled at her touch before disappearing into the crowd. With a monumental effort, Avery turned her attention back to her father.
“It is my great joy to present to you, The Mirrors!” Pierson gestured toward the ceiling. Gone was the holographic snowy sky, replaced by the blueprints of the new tower, which were projected in a tangle of lines and angles and curves. The schematic glowed like a living thing.
“The Mirrors derives its name from the fact that it is, in fact, two separate towers, one light and one dark. Polar opposites, like night and day. Neither of which has meaning without the other, like so many things in our world.”
He went on to explain the tower, how the original vision for it had come from chess pieces, but Avery wasn’t listening. She was looking up at her father’s schematics. Light and dark. Good and evil. Truth and lies. She knew plenty about contradictions right now, with her seemingly perfect life that was riddled with dark secrets.
She heard everyone in the room whispering about the Tower, calling it gorgeous, a dreamscape. They couldn’t wait to see it. Most of them were going to the black-and-white ball in honor of its launch, their private charters all booked months ago; just like they’d all gone to Rio four years ago, or Hong Kong a decade ago. For some reason, Avery didn’t want to go anymore.
Atlas’s name sliced through her consciousness, and there was more applause. Avery blinked, startled. Across the room, Atlas looked just as confused as she was.
“My son, Atlas, has been working with me for several months now,” her father was saying, though he wasn’t quite looking at Atlas. “I am so proud to say that he’ll be moving to Dubai, to take over the operations of The Mirrors when it opens to the public. I hope you’ll all join me in raising a glass to the new tower, and to Atlas!”
“To Atlas!” the room cried out.
Avery couldn’t think. Her mind was spinning wildly. Atlas, moving to Dubai?
She looked over, suddenly frantic to make eye contact with him, but he was smiling and accepting congratulations, playing the role of the dutiful son. A tray passed, and Avery deposited her empty champagne glass on it with such force that the stem snapped in two.
A few party guests looked her way, curious as to what set off the always-composed Avery Fuller; but the hovertray was already speeding off with the evidence, and Avery didn’t really care. The only thing that mattered was Atlas, and the fact that he might leave.
Her tablet buzzed with an incoming message. Don’t worry, I’m not going.
Everything restless and questioning and anxious in Avery stilled a little. Atlas said he wasn’t going, and he wouldn’t lie.
And yet there had been an undercurrent to her dad’s tone that still pricked uneasily at her. I am so proud, Pierson had said. But he didn’t sound proud; he’d been staring at Atlas with a puzzled look on his face, as if he’d woken up to discover that a stranger had been living in his house for thirteen years. As if he had no idea who her brother even was.