Page 93 of Picture Perfect

"Then we get her a new one," Dre says, as if it’s the simplest solution in the world.

"Easy to say." I lean against a desk, crossing my arms. "But how? You know she won't just take it."

Chess swivels in his chair, a glint of conspiracy in his eyes. "We make it anonymous—a gift. No strings attached, no way to trace it back to us."

"Anonymously funded by some concerned citizen?" Dre raises an eyebrow but I can tell he's on board.

"Exactly." Chess nods. "I can set it up. Burner phone. Prepaid, untraceable. We'll leave it somewhere she'll find it."

"Like a secret admirer kind of thing?" Doubt tugs at me, but it's not like we have a lot of options.

"Without the creepy vibe," Chess clarifies, his fingers tapping a staccato rhythm on the tabletop. "Just... someone looking out for her."

"That won't work." I exhale, trying to quell the unease that clings to the edges of this plan. "She doesn't trust anyone, likely for good reason. We'll have to convince her to take it from us. Not a burner, a real phone."

"I'll have to encrypt it."

"Do it. But we need to be careful. If the Winthrops even suspect—"

"They won't," Dre interjects with a confidence I wish I felt. "We'll cover our tracks. And Snowflake's smart; she'll know how to handle it."

"Right." The word comes out more as a question than an affirmation. I picture Princess's face—the guarded green eyes, the barely perceptible flinch she can't quite hide. I need to believe we're doing the right thing. "We need to keep her safe until she's out of there. This might be our best shot."

"Consider it done," Chess says, already pulling up a new window on his screen. "I'll get on it tonight."

"Thanks, man." Gratitude wells up, but it's mixed with a heavy dose of worry. This has to work. For Princess.

"Hey." Dre claps a hand on my shoulder, grounding me. "We've got her back, Saint. We all do."

"Let's just hope she knows that," I murmur, watching the cursor blink on Chess's screen, a beacon of hope in the digital darkness.

Chapter forty-four

Addy

The bell's shrill cry slices through the chaos, and I'm already bracing for his touch before Saint's hand finds the small of my back. It's a silent claim, one that sends a ripple of both annoyance and warmth through me.

And whispers through the crowd around us. Buzz, buzz little bees.

"Ready?" His voice is a low rumble, the same tone that talked about forever in a way that felt more like a chain than a promise.

"Sure." My words are clipped as I shuffle my books closer to my chest. I can't meet his eyes, not when the weight of that unspoken proposal hangs heavy between us, like a ghost we're both determined to ignore.

He guides me through the hallway, past lockers decorated with the remnants of someone's birthday, wilted roses, and heart-shaped confetti. Every step feels like a negotiation. He hasn't brought up the proposal again. But, I know he's thinking about it, waiting. Well, he can keep on waiting.

Who does that? Absolute insanity.

"Saint," I begin, the name feeling strange on my tongue, "about... what happened."

His eyes flicker to mine, a storm brewing in their depths. "We don't have to talk about it, Addy. Not until you're ready."

But will I ever be? Ready to face the choice that isn't really a choice at all, just like with Preston, just like now with Mason pulling strings with my parents. It seems my life is a series of handoffs from one keeper to another.

"Princess?" Saint's voice breaks through my thoughts. He's stopped walking, and I realize we're standing outside my next class. "You okay?"

I nod, the lie smooth and practiced. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... thinking."

"Okay." He leans down, his lips brushing against my forehead in a moment of affection that's both comforting and claustrophobic. "I'll see you after class. Dre and I will drive you home."

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