Page 88 of Written in the Stars
Elle drew back, champagne-sweet breath gusting softly against Darcy’s swollen lips. Glitter from Elle’s hair, her face, had transferred to Darcy’s lashes and when she blinked, her vision went fractal, exploding in a flickering light show. Like when they’d crawled beneath her Christmas tree and she’d squinted at the lights and everything twinkled.
Elle’s face shimmered before her eyes, glowing, and Darcy’s chest seized, something, some tingling emotion rising up inside her too big to be constrained let alone concealed. Darcy glanced down at her chest, nearly expecting to see something there, visible just beneath the surface, pressing and clawing its way out.
Darcy cupped the back of Elle’s neck and let her thumb drift, sweeping against the side of Elle’s throat. “I’m happy you’re here.”
“Thanks for inviting me. For real,” Elle whispered, but that wasn’t what Darcy meant. She was happy Elle was in her life, that their paths had crossed, intertwined, even if at first it had seemed like the worst thing to happen to her. Elle had turned out to be the best, beyond Darcy’s wildest expectations.
“Elle!”
Distracted, Darcy hadn’t realized they’d swayed their way over to the edge of the dance floor.
Elle glanced over Darcy’s shoulder, her face splitting into a grin. “Brendon, hey. Great party.”
Darcy dropped her hands from around Elle’s neck and took a step back, immediately lamenting the loss of Elle’s arms around her. She turned to face Brendon and— Mom. She was standing beside Brendon, lips pressed into a polite smile.
Right. “Mom, this is Elle. Elle, this is my mother, Gillian.”
“Of course. You’re the... astrologer?” Mom cocked her head.
“I am. It’s super nice to meet you.” Elle stuck out her hand, blushing lightly when her skin caught the light and sparkled. “Sorry, this stupid glitter won’t stay where it’s supposed to. I guess that’s what I get for using regular craft store stuff instead of splurging on the kind that’s made for your hair. I figured, glitter’s glitter, right? Wrong.”
Elle rolled her lips together and chuckled, a little puff of air exhaled through her nose.
Mom hummed and shook Elle’s hand. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Elle. I wish I could say Darcy’s told me so much about you, but unfortunately my daughter has remained rather tight-lipped. It’s my son who’s brought me up to speed.”
There it was.
Beside her, Elle shifted and Darcy couldfeelthe weight of her stare. Darcy’s jaw ticked.
Brendon coughed into his fist. “You mind if I cut in? I knowthis is a party and everything, but there’s something about the app I’ve been dying to pick your brain on, Elle.”
“Sure.” Elle stepped toward Brendon and shot Darcy a ghost of a smile over her shoulder.
Darcy tried to smile back and failed, dismally, the curve of her lips feeling all kinds of wrong, because Mom was watching her, eyes burning with curiosity.
“I could use another drink. How about you, Darcy?”
She sighed and followed Mom off the edge of the dance floor over to where one of the waiters—dressed like an elf, à la typical Brendon—held a tray of champagne flutes.
Plucking two glasses from the tray, Mom passed one to Darcy before clinking them together. She drained half of hers in one sip. “You and Elle looked cozy out there.”
Darcy crossed her arms. “I suppose.”
“I’ve got to say, you look a lot more serious than you made it sound last week.”
Darcy shut her eyes. “We were dancing, Mom. It’s a party, there’s music. What do you expect?”
“I don’texpectanything.” When Darcy opened her eyes, Mom frowned. “I don’t know when you got the idea in your head that I’m not on your side. I’m not your enemy, baby, I’m confused. Brendon’s telling me one thing and you’re telling me something else and what I see is... well, it’s difficult for me to understand what it is I’m supposed to believe.”
“Of course you’re confused,” Darcy whispered. “You’re drunk.”
Mom looked offended. “I am not.”
Drunk or not, it wasn’t for Mom to understand. “I already told you. It’s complicated.”
“Complicated.” Mom’s lips furrowed at the corners. “There’s that word again. That word worries me for you.”
“You’re worried about me? That’s a first.”
