Page 28 of Scattered Glitter

“I still don’t love sitting out here in the dark, though. It’s creepy.”

“There’s nothing to be creeped out by, Rosie. It’s only us and the stars.”

“How come you always like weird stuff like this?”

I shrug, taking another look at the stars. “It’s not weird.”

It’s the most beautiful thing the world has to offer.

She takes the bottle from me, a playful grin on her face. “You know astronomy doesn’t exactly pay the bills, right?”

I grin, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “There’s always astrology. I could be the super cool horoscope girl who actually bases her predictions on facts.”

“Nothing about horoscopes is based on facts.”

“Not true. And constellations are real enough. I could make a killing explaining that to people.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue, taking another long drink of the wine. “Yeah, because people are dying to hear the science behind their horoscopes. Totally gonna pay the rent.”

I sigh, feeling a little bad for dragging her out here when I know she’d rather be anywhere else. “Sorry, I know this isn’t exactly your idea of a fun night.”

“It’s not so bad. The stars kind of look like scattered glitter, so I guess it’s pretty in its own way.” Rosalee shrugs, her gaze lingering on the night sky now. “And you’re here. That’s all I need.” I grin at her, warmth blooming in my chest. We’re a team, through and through. “But even if you become the world’s coolest horoscope girl, it’s still not gonna pay enough,” she teases. “I’m so not going to get a boring job only to provide for both of us.”

“Which is why I’ve got a backup plan. Marry a billionaire. Simple.”

Rosalee laughs so hard that she almost spills the wine. “A husband? You? You always said marriage was for suckers.”

I chuckle, reaching for the bottle. “Yeah, well, if the guy’s got a billion in the bank, he can absolutely put a ring on this finger.”

“So not Ace, huh?” She grins,and I shoot her a playful glare. She still doesn’t care for him, but she’ll come around.“And what about me? You’re not leaving me out of this billionaire plan.”

I take a long drink and grin at her. “Of course not. We’re a package deal.”

Her eyes widen in mock horror. “Oh God. Guys wanting the twin experience? Gross.”

I laugh so hard I almost choke on the wine. “So, you don’t wanna share our billionaire husband?”

Rosalee shakes her head, chuckling. “We can share the billionaire, sure. I’m used to sharing everything with you. However, I’m not having sex with him while he’s having sex with you too. That’s plain nasty.”

“Fair enough.” I grin and hand the bottle to her. “But for a Mustang? I might consider it.”

“For me, it’d take more than that. How about a holiday home in Tuscany? Somewhere we can live all year with good wine and his black credit card. And he can fly over when hewants his twin… experience. Once a year or so, for his birthday.”

“Deal!” I sit up straighter. “Let’s put it on the internet. Hot-as-fuck twins looking for a billionaire husband. We do dirty shit for Mustangs and villas in Italy.’”

Rosalee bursts into laughter again, and soon, I’m laughing with her, our voices carrying through the quiet night.

She hooks her pinky around mine, and I squeeze hers when she raises the bottle high toward me, beaming. “To us! And to the dirty shit that pays us with Mustangs and Italian villas!”

“To us,” I whisper, lifting the bottle toward the headstone. The bittersweet burn of the wine scorches my throat as I swallow, trying to push down the tears that sting my eyes. But it’s no use.

I can still hear her laugh that could light up the darkest nights, but here I am, sitting in the dimming glow of dusk. No stars in sight as I look up at the sky.

There are no stars in Vegas, not this close to the neon and noise. Still, I find myself reaching for them,dying for them.

Rosalee is buried back in Phoenix. I visited her grave every day for almost two years, spending hours there after school, until I finally aged out of the system and was free of that life. It’s been six years since I last stood by her headstone. I barely survived the four-and-a-half-hour bus drive when I left Phoenix for Vegas, and I know I wouldn’t survive the trip back. Not only because of the pain of seeing her grave, of having to leave her behind all over again, but because I don’t think I could handle a drive that long one more time.

I was only able to leave her and come here the first time because the need to get out of Phoenix and to the place Ace dreamed of was bigger than my fear. These days, the only distance I can barely manage is the short Uber ride from my apartment to work or the club and then to this place. The cemetery in the heart of Vegas.

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