Page 89 of The Dazzling Heights
“It’s complicated.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll help. Come on, we’re two of the smartest people I know! Don’t you think that together, we could beat Leda Cole?”
“Cynthia, it’s not that, it’s just—I don’t want to get you involved.”
Cynthia let out a sigh. Little holographic Happy Meal ads kept popping up behind her head, making Watt strangely want to laugh.
“Don’t you see that I’m already involved, whether you like it or not? Watt, I can’t help you if you won’t let me!” she exclaimed. “And I’m sick of this. I never get to see you anymore. You’re with Leda all the time.”
“I told you, it’s complicated,” Watt said again, feeling like a broken record.
Cynthia took a small step forward—and Watt knew, suddenly, that they had come to a crossroads in their friendship. “You like her, don’t you?” Cynthia asked.
“No,” he said quickly.
“If you don’t like her, then don’t go to Dubai.” Cynthia’s whole body was taut, as if she were a drawn bowstring. “Stay away from her. Stay with me.” The last sentence was uttered almost under her breath, but there was no mistaking its meaning.
On some level, Watt had known this was coming for a while now. What he hadn’t known was what he would say.
He stood there, looking at his friend—a brilliant, fascinating, remarkable girl, who lived in his world and knew where he came from, the type of girl his parents would love for him to date—and he still didn’t know.
“Cynthia …” he faltered.
Maybe because she was sick of waiting, or maybe because she didn’t want to hear what he had to say next, she rose up on tiptoe to kiss him.
Watt was surprised into kissing her back. He was surprised by this new version of Cynthia, who held him tighter and kissed him more fiercely than he’d expected.
“So?” she asked when she finally stepped away, looking vulnerable and afraid and familiar and like a stranger.
Watt shook his head. There were a million things he wanted to say, but he didn’t know which of them was right. He felt that he didn’t know anything anymore. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“You don’thaveto do anything,” she told him. “If you leave now, you’re choosing her.”
“That’s not fair. I don’t have a choice,” he snapped, and turned away like a coward, before he had to see the hurt in Cynthia’s eyes.
But he couldn’t help wondering if she was right.
CALLIOPE
CALLIOPE LEANED FORWARDon the vanity, which was littered with gleaming silver beauty wands and spray powders and a fresh manicolor mitt—all of it arrayed carefully before her, like weapons polished and laid out for battle. Her own lethal tools, which had always made her so dangerously beautiful.
“You ready?” her mom called out from the other room of their suite.
Calliope had been unsurprised that her mom had decided to come to the Mirrors launch party after all. Like her daughter, she had an incurable weakness for anything bright and glittering and extravagant—and tonight promised to be all those things. She and Calliope had been acting chipper and normal all week, but Calliope sensed that something was unresolved beneath the surface. Things had been weird between them ever since their fight.
Still, here they were, in a suite that Nadav had booked for them at the Fanaa, the gorgeous luxury hotel in the dark half of The Mirrors. The Fullers’ rooms were in the other tower, but Calliope had insisted on staying here; there was something seductive, almost forbidden, about saying one was on the dark side. She glanced around at the walls, which were lined entirely with mirrored screens. Calliope could have switched them to opaque, of course; but she left them on, enjoying the sight of her reflected selves swishing pleasantly about the room.
“I’m ready. Atlas should be here any minute now,” Calliope replied. He would need to head down early, as the host.
The entire day had been one long tribute to excess and indulgence. Calliope had ridden over with the Fullers on their private jet, which wasn’t exactly private, given that dozens of other people had been invited to catch a ride on it, all of them walking around the plane and chatting and clutching glasses of champagne as if the flight itself was just one big cocktail party, a logical prelude to the night to come. Maybe that had been the intent all along.
Elise leaned in the doorway, showing off her delicate white dress, which made her look intentionally bridal. “What do you think?”
“Amazing. What about me?” Calliope turned back and forth in a model-esque pose. Her long hair was gathered into a low bun, emphasizing the glamorous length of her neck; and her sparkling black gown clung to her with an almost shocking closeness. She relished the way the silk faille felt against her bare skin—like a seductive whisper in her ear, assuring her that she was young and beautiful and rare.
Elise came forward and took her daughter’s hands. “You know that you look stunning. Have an incredible time tonight, darling. You deserve it.” Her voice rang with an unusual sentimentality, and she was smiling at Calliope in an odd way, as if she was trying to make up her mind about something. “You like this boy, don’t you? Not just to con, but for real?”
Calliope was caught off guard. “I like him fine,” she answered, fighting the twist of guilt she felt at the thought of stealing from Atlas tonight. He was a good person, though admittedly a little tortured and confusing. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to go elope with him anytime soon,” she added jokingly.
