“Sweating your makeup off under a half mask all night? No, thank you.” The second woman paused, maybe reapplying lipstick or powder. “I love the black-and-white thing. So sixties-Capote-New York, don’t you think?”
“You know whose idea the color scheme was.” A pause. “Sloane’s.”
Pearl sat up slowly, opening her eyes.
“No.”
“Mm-hmm. She was on the planning committee.” A faucet went on and off. “You have to admit, she had a talent for decor.”
“No, I don’t.” A shared, hushed laugh. “I’m sorry, that’s awful, but . . . Susan and Bill went through with the divorce, did you hear? Their Harbor house is sitting empty this summer. It’s such a waste.”
“And they’re not the only ones.” A deliberate pause, voice dropping to a whisper. “Tanya walked in on Sloane and Coralee’s husband at some soiree two years ago.”
“Stop. How did I not hear about this?”
“She said they were right up against the guest bathroom wall. Tanya was so humiliated she couldn’t bring herself to say anything to Coralee, but I gather she found out somehow, because last I heard, she and Seth were taking separate vacations, if you know what I mean.”
A soft exclamation. “That woman had serious issues.”
“With a husband like that, you almost couldn’t blame her. Can you imagine? I’ve heard he scheduled their day. This is including Sloane. All summer he had those kids putting in something like three or four hours of work on their music, sports, whatever. Some vacation. The whole family was scared to death of him. Total control freak.”
“You don’t mean he ever—” A group of women came through the door, and the conversation froze for a moment. Pearl had to strain to hear what was said next over locking stall doors and rustling undergarments. “I mean, not with his fists?”
A hesitation. “Honestly? Nothing would surprise me with David.” A final zip of a handbag, and Pearl flattened herself back, studying the floor tiles as the two women, both of whom she recognized well as part of the Garrisons’ inner circle, returned to the party.
When Pearl followed a couple of minutes later, the painkillers had started to kick in. Steve Mills was singing “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” to a nearly full dance floor. She started making her way back over to the table, but stopped when someone came up beside her, touching her elbow.
“There you are.” Bridges’s expression was uncertain. “I was afraid maybe you’d crawled out a window or something.”
“Thought about it.”
“We were being assholes, huh?” He studied her face. “Yeah. We were. Sorry. I guess I thought that guy was dumping on you.”
Her head was so full of what she’d just overheard that she didn’t have it in her to debate. “It’s over. Don’t worry about it.”
“Want to dance? I’ll make you look good. Two left feet.”
For once, she didn’t try to beg off, even though she’d never danced to a slow song outside of a middle school gym before.
Nothing to it, as it turned out. Let the boy lead. Let him hold you so close that he moves for you both, threads his fingers through yours and guides you through the slow spins. Pearl’s gaze roamed the ballroom, the indistinct faces of the people sitting at the tables, ordering drinks from servers. “So, after.” Bridges spoke softly. “You could come back to the cottage. Hang out for a while.”
Pearl brushed close to the couple dancing behind them, pulling her body in, conscious of her chest pressed against his. “Doesn’t your grandfather care if you have girls down there?”
“Gramps doesn’t spend a lot of time worrying about what I do. He’s cool like that.” He brushed a strand of hair off her brow. “It’s pretty nice in the cottage at night. Turn off the AC, open the windows, and the waves put you to sleep.”
She realized what he was asking and looked away, clearing her throat. “Next you’ll tell me that it’s lonely in that big bed all by yourself.”
“Could you stay over?” He touched her chin, turning her head to meet his gaze. “Would your parents get mad?”
Her whole body was growing warm. “Definitely.” She had no idea what Dad would do if she didn’t come rolling in until tomorrow morning. Probably tell her to leave a note next time, and ask her how she wanted her eggs.
“You’re eighteen. Not a lot they could do about it, right?”
She saw Tristan before Bridges did. He moved through the dancers, coming up behind Bridges and tapping him on the shoulder as the song ended and applause scattered the room. “I’m cutting in.”
Bridges frowned. “Now?” He glanced at Pearl, who could offer him nothing, observing in her own state of shock. Finally, he shrugged, stepping back. “Whatever . . . I guess.” He turned and left the dance floor, glancing back a couple of times.
The band launched into “Misty.” Tristan took her hand and waist firmly, looking over her head at the other dancers as if every action came automatically, without thought. Pearl moved with him, studying his face. The crown prince, member of a family everyone believed to be among the best and brightest. Who knew how much truth there was to ladies’ room gossip, but she couldn’t shake the memory of it—you don’t mean—not with his fists?—and now she had a new face to put to the monster on the other side of the door, hammering his way in after Cassidy.
“Do you mind that I took Bridges’s place?” Tristan asked abruptly. She got the feeling that he’d been aware of her eyes on him, and had let her look.
“No.”
He nodded slowly, still gazing beyond her. “Was he talking you into sleeping with him tonight?” Pearl was quiet. “Maybe you didn’t need any talking into. But this would be when he’d ask.”
She wouldn’t show anything; she’d be as cool as he was, colder, even, while inside, she boiled with embarrassment. “It sounds like you know his routine pretty well.”
“By Bridges’s standards, waiting three weeks into a relationship is like waiting until marriage. He must really see something in you.”
“Imagine that.”
“You’re getting offended.”
“Well, how is this your business?”
“I’m interested. Specifically, in why you’re spending so much time with him if sex isn’t on the agenda.”
Her hand was starting to sweat inside his. “Is that the only reason you spend time with a girl?”
Tristan actually smiled. It was brief and flickering, yet a stark reminder that he was the kind of boy girls called beautiful, that he was Tristan Garrison, and in what alternate universe would the two of them dance together in the club ballroom? He adjusted his grip on her. “I’ve been deciding what’s going to happen between you two. Maybe it’ll be tonight, in his grandfather’s cottage. Plenty of privacy there. He knows it’s too soon, so he’ll try to convince you with promises that nobody will find out, that it’ll be your secret. But of course people will find out. He’ll tell Akil, and Akil will tell everyone.”
It was a battle not to get defensive, but there was a slight opening here, and she stabbed at it. “Sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into this. Probably because you’re alone so much.” She paused, gauging his expression. “This winter and spring must’ve been hard on you. I don’t think I’d like living in a house all by myself.”
“Have you been to my house, Pearl?”
It was possible to read anything into that mild tone, and she trained her gaze forward, kept her posture relaxed. “It’s a small town. Everyone knows where Tristan Garrison lives.”
He made a soft noise that might’ve been a laugh. “You make it sound so significant. ‘Garrison.’”
“Isn’t it?”
“It’s just another name.”
She went for it: “You must miss them very much.”
The silence that followed was absolute, like a vault door had closed between them. Her hand was slick inside his. She fought the impulse to apologize, letting the silence stretch out, seeing who would break first.
Finally, he said, “Have you ever been stuck inside a time?”