CHAPTER 42 #2
Rosamund lounges in a striped dock chair, one long, bronzed leg crossed over the other.
Her wavy hair tumbles artfully around her face, and her sheer cover-up hugs her curves like spun sugar.
Her monkey perches on her shoulder, clothed in a rhinestone shirt, and she strokes it absentmindedly as she gazes through a pair of gold binoculars, monitoring the action across the water.
A few feet away, Edmund and Jack are shirtless, their swim trunks dark with water as they launch golf balls off the yacht’s edge.
Rosamund cheers each time the boys swing, loud and sweet, praising their form and strength.
Across the water, two Blues on a nearby yacht fire balls back as if it’s a sport turned war.
Edmund lines up a shot, pivots his shoulders, and hits the ball with such force that it blurs out of sight.
A sharp crack echoes as it shatters a window on the opposing yacht.
One of the Blues pops his head up and flips Edmund off.
Edmund laughs loudly, pulling his cigar from his mouth in a trail of smoke.
“Your windows surrender almost as fast as you do,” he shouts.
He steps aside to let Jack take the next swing, and that’s when he notices me.
A smile lifts his face, bright as the lake’s shine, yet it darkens my heart.
He moves closer, his head lowering as if to kiss my hand, then stops at the sight of something behind me.
His body straightens instantly, and he yanks off his sunglasses, the temples snapping shut in his fist.
I turn as the fourth guest emerges from below deck, a golf club slung over her shoulder and five Coppers behind her.
She wears a steel blue swimsuit that highlights her sculpted curves, and a wide-brimmed straw hat tilts low over her face, obscuring most of her blunt black bob and casting a shadow over the ankle monitor strapped to her skin.
The metal band glints in the sunlight like a smile meant only for me.
Shit.
A long moment passes before Irene lifts her head and squints at me from beneath the brim of her hat.
She looks… different. No longer the cold, relentless force she was when she nearly killed me in the Speakeasy.
Her skin is pale and watery from too much indoor air and too little sunlight.
There’s a slight, fluttering twitch in one of her eyes, as if something is trapped inside and trying to get out.
Seven months of house arrest have taken their toll.
I see it in the way her fingers curl and uncurl around the golf club, as if she’s struggling to remember how to behave around others.
She looks like someone who’s been pacing the same room for too long, her thoughts growing steadily louder until she started talking back to them.
A ball whizzes back from the Blues’ deck, sending the Coppers scrambling. It brushes past Irene’s ear so closely it ruffles the edge of her hat, but she doesn’t flinch. She turns to Edmund with a reddened, uneasy stare.
“What is Miss Waldsten doing here?”
“Miss Waldsten was invited,” Edmund says pointedly, as if to remind Irene she wasn’t.
The way he looks at her—with a dark, grating gaze—drags me back to the Regal Express, to his savage outburst when he first saw Charlotte.
It makes me wonder if his dislike of Irene goes beyond bitterness over an arranged marriage and whether she wronged him in some deeper, more personal way.
Another golf ball shrieks past, and Edmund sidesteps it just in time.
The ball crashes into the table beside the dock chairs, sending his brandy glass to the floor.
Edmund’s eyes narrow as he surveys the dripping mess, and he grunts.
He puts his sunglasses back on and strides down the deck, waving for me to join him.
Irene folds her arms as I follow, irritation and jealousy warring on her face. I feel her stare burning between my shoulder blades all the way down the deck, but I don’t dare look back.
Edmund flicks his cigar into the lake and sits on the edge of one of the hot tubs.
His movements are restless, frustration coursing through him as he pulls a linen shirt over his sunscreen-slicked skin.
But when I sit beside him, the tension in his body slackens, just as it does when I touch him, when I stand on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his chin, the highest I can reach even with the extra lift.
“I’m sorry,” he says reluctantly. “I didn’t know Miss Hussey was coming.”
“How was she allowed to? I thought she was on house arrest.”
“She is. But my moth—” Edmund’s words cut off as his knuckles graze a half-healed scratch on his neck. “Headmistress Prew thought it would look bad for a Hussey to spend Founder’s Day locked up.”
I nod slowly. Of course. Irene isn’t just another Blue; she’s a descendant of one of the Nine Gentlemen.
Today, appearances matter more than the law.
Suddenly, I regret not turning back when I first saw the extra hoverboats.
Even if all the best hotspots are booked, I’d take a crowded public beach over spending the day with a woman who tried to kill me—and who I’m soon supposed to testify against.
I draw my feet from the bubbling water, ready to stand, when Edmund catches my hand.
“I know it’s a mess,” he says. “But I want you to stay.”
I shouldn’t. I don’t have it in me to spend the afternoon hiding the truth of what I did behind laughter, jokes, and a fresh suntan. Yet I can’t bring myself to leave him either.
Without fully deciding, I slip my foot back into the water and flick a small splash his way. “All right… as long as you didn’t plan on swimming.”
Edmund laughs, relief easing the hard lines of his face. “Speaking of that—” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thin band— “do you know what this is?”
“A Rippletone, right?”
“Yeah.” He slips the band onto my wrist and tugs it to test the security of the clasp. “Don’t take it off until you’re back ashore.”
“I won’t,” I promise, watching as he pulls out another band and fastens it to his own wrist.
The device looks delicate—a fine gold circle with a small conch-shaped charm—but I wouldn’t want to fall overboard without it.
The moment the Rippletone touches the lake’s bioluminescent water, it emits a low-frequency pulse that scrambles the piranhas’ lateral lines.
The disruption gives you a minute, maybe two, to climb out before the piranhas regroup.
I’ve seen the footage: a ripple, a splash, then hundreds of jeweled bodies scattering like a net ripped open.
You’re only safe if you don’t tempt fate by staying in the lake too long.
Edmund pushes his sunglasses up into his hair and turns to me, his eyes tracing my face with an open affection that makes it clear he doesn’t care if Irene is nearby.
“You look beautiful,” he says. “… even when you’re sad.”
I smile faintly, not bothering to hide it.
Over the past week, Edmund has slowly begun to sense the change in me, the same way Charlotte has.
But he doesn’t understand why. I’ve condemned him to witness a vast, nameless grief he’s meant to decipher on his own.
And he tries, always with a gentleness that makes it easy to forget I’ve seen those same hands stained with blood.
“Are you worried about your dad?” he asks. “About him running for Governor?”
“Yes,” I reply. Even if Dad’s upcoming campaign isn’t the reason for my sadness now, it isn’t a lie either. Edmund knows how much Dad means to me, that I could survive almost any failure as long as he never stopped being proud of me.
“Don’t be. He’ll do fine. Especially if Reeve endorses him.”
I know Edmund is right. If Reeve endorses Dad, he might even get a few Blue votes. Still, the answer surprises me. I realize I’ve never asked Edmund about Dad’s politics before, whether he agrees with his views or not.
When I do ask, my legs drifting in the warm, bubbling water, he looks at me with surprise, as if it were obvious.
“Yeah, I agree with him. Especially on the Bliss ban because—” Edmund pauses, his eyes tightening at the corners. “My sister… well, she wasn’t always like this. Before she started using, she was different. Pretty sweet, actually. And, ironically, happier.”
I can’t picture Rosamund as sweet. It seems impossible that she was ever anything other than what she is now. But I don’t say that. There’s too much sincerity in his voice to undermine it.
“It’s not just her, though,” he goes on. “I had a friend who got addicted. Even lost a cousin to an overdose.”
Cousin? My fists clench against my thighs because I know who he means. But Charles didn’t die of an overdose.
I hunch slightly, my chest roiling as I realize it’s time. I can already feel the horrible, ruinous truth rising fast, and I have to say it.
“Edmund, there’s… there’s something I have to tell you.”
He turns and frowns as his eyes catch mine. “Sure, but are you okay?”
“Y-Yes.” I can almost feel how pale I’ve gone. “It’s—I should’ve told you weeks ago, but I—” My voice breaks off in a heavy rush of air.
Edmund’s frown deepens, and he leans in, his hand at my waist. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything. I—”
The panic slams into me like a tire-screeching crash.
My lungs seize, heat clawing through my chest until I’m choking on it.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t pull in a full breath.
Edmund sees what’s happening, just like in his hovercar at the Speakeasy.
Only this time, he doesn’t offer me his watch.
Waves ripple across the hot tub as he slides in, facing me, his hands closing carefully around my arms. “Loredana,” he says, his tone steady, as if trying to ground me. “Loredana, look at me.”
The sound of it draws me out, spoken softly but striking violently all the same.
“Don’t say that. Please.”
“Say what?”
“My name.”
Edmund draws back, confusion shadowing his face. “But… I meant it.”