Page 93 of False God

Eventually, the stone rectangle appears ahead. Most rides, I end up coming to the cemetery, so it’s not surprising that this is the way Kensington went.

I slide off his back when we get close, leaving him to graze.

Grass has finally grown around my father’s grave. It sat bare for most of last summer, and then winter killed any progress off.

My grandfather is buried here too. Same with my great-grandfather, all the way back to the second Duke of Manchester. One day, my bones will rest here too.

It’s a depressing thought.

The graveyard is a depressing sight.

Not just morbid, although it’s that too. There’s little to it—a stone wall that stretches about four feet high, enclosing the plots of land, marked with heavy slabs of rock with neat letters hewn into the surface. The closest tree is a few dozen feet away.

My father’s grave is the shiniest, my grandfather’s—the second-newest addition—noticeably more weathered. I pause to grab a fistful of wild primroses before I open the wooden gate to enter through the narrow opening in the stone wall, letting them scatter like uneven drops of rain.

I used to come here just to glower and gripe, but I guess I’ve moved past—or through—the anger stage of grief.

I can’t remember which step comes next, but I know I haven’t reached acceptance yet. Not of my father’s death exactly—that feels very real and very permanent—but of everything else that’s changed since he died. The role that I knew I would step into since I was a kid, but assumed I wouldn’t inherit until decades from now. The burden that’s so much heavier than I expected.

My father always used to say that challenges reveal someone’s true character.

If that’s true, I’m not sure what the past year says about mine.

22

Sunlight glints off the calm waves so brightly that my eyes burn despite the barrier of my sunglasses.

I stare toward the beach, a stretch of sand that appears to be nothing more than a thin tan strip from here. Bracketed by shades of blues. The vastness of the sky overhead and the spread of the sea surrounding me. The only dots of other colors are the boats around us and the striped umbrellas on the beach.

“You look serious.”

I half smile at Bridget as she takes a seat beside me. “Not serious. Just appreciating the view.”

“It is amazing, huh?” She swipes a hand across her forehead, catching the strands getting blown around by the breeze and tucking them behind one ear. “Doesn’t make me miss New York—that’s for sure.”

“Poor Chase.”

Bridget shifts beside me. “Actually, we broke up, so I doubt he’d care.”

“Youdid?When?Why?” I fire the questions at her rapidly.

“On the Fourth of July. Fran knows because she and that actor she met at Proof were with us.” She looks away, toward thehorizon. “We fought all the time. He worked crazy hours at the restaurant. Anytime someone left a complaint, he’d be in a bad mood for a week. Plus, one of the waitresses had a huge crush on him, and I think something happened there.” Bridget frowns, then glances back at me. “I wanted to tell you, but I also wanted to forget about it during this trip. Focus on Chloe. And I figured you had enough to think about with the whole, uh, Cal thing.”

“I’m sorry, Bridge.” I nudge her shoulder with mine. “You canalwaystalk to me, no matter what else is going on.”

“I know.” She pauses. “You’re handling it well, you know. Way better than I would have. You and he seem … good.”

“We are,” I reply. “Itisgood.”

We’ve been in Saint-Tropez for four days. Spent most of that time on this sailboat, enjoying the summer weather and stunning scenery. Each evening, we’ve gone to a different nightclub in town to dance and drink. Cal, Bridget, and I are the only ones who’ve gone home alone every night. Cal and Bridget were expected, as the two in relationships. Me? I’ve tried to flirt but been tempted to claim a headache and leave early every night. The only thing stopping me was that I was worried it would set off a chain reaction of everyone fretting about my health again. It took a couple of days for them to stop asking about my previous injuries.

The best part of the trip has been that things with Cal feel the most normal they’ve been since before we started dating junior year. It feels like a former version of our friendship, as relaxed as it is with Tripp and Jasper and Hugo.

I know I’m not the only one relieved about it.

“I heard Theo invited Charles.”

The sound of his name is an unpleasant shock. I’ve been doing a decent—more like mediocre—job of pretending he doesn’t exist.

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