I grab a pillow and smack her across the face with it.
My best friend is pretty damn annoying.
* * *
I’mfull of nerves when I wake the next day. It’s New Year’s Eve, and there’s a heady excitement in my veins that I can’t seem to shake. Nothing’s changed; not really. And yet, in my head, something vital has shifted. A puzzle piece, sliding into place.
It makes me want to get in my car, drive across town, pound on a door, and scream at the top of my lungs.
Instead, I pace in circles around my house, counting down the hours until Sloan’s party.
The inaction is damn near killing me.
Harper is annoyingly calm, by comparison. She’s been working diligently on our costumes for the masquerade for the past week and is holed up in my walk-in closet making sure every last detail is perfect for tonight. After I nearly tread a hole through the floor, she banned me from the room, complaining that my pacing was driving her to distraction.
Whatever.
I pass the time by watching several more episodes ofVampire Highwhile stalking the internet for news articles about Helena. To my relief, there’s nothing new — which I take as a good sign that Grayson made it to Palm Springs without too much trouble.
I make a simple stir-fry dish for dinner — even my limited cooking skills are up to the task of chopping vegetables and tossing them into a wok — and carry a bowl upstairs to Harper. She’s finally finished with the outfits, and accepts the food with a grateful smile.
I stare at the costumes laid out on my bed. Both are bird-inspired, but that’s where the similarities stop. The one on the left is a gauzy affair of turquoise and emerald, adorned with a mask made of peacock feathers. It’s pretty, but it doesn’t capture my attention quite like the other.
On the right side of the bed, a stunning sheath of pure white silk is accompanied by a delicate, shimmery eye-covering that conjures up mental images of graceful waterbirds with gargantuan wingspans.
A heron?
No. A swan.
“Which one is mine?”
“Which one do you think?” she asks, curious.
“They’re both beautiful… But I’m guessing the colorful one is for you, the classic one is for me.”
“Ding ding ding!”
“Thanks for putting them together. I owe you one.”
“Remember me in your memoirs, that’ll be thanks enough.”
“Seriously?” I ask.
“No, of course not.” She scoffs. “You aren’t getting off that easy. You totally owe me a cupcake from Magnolia. But not until after theUnchartedpremiere. I already ordered our dresses, and I’d actually like to fit into mine.”
I laugh, but a fissure of panic shoots through me. If Harper custom-ordered a dress using my old measurements, there’s a chance it won’t fit a month from now, when I have to put it on and glide down a red carpet as the whole world watches.
“What’s my dress look like?” I ask, hoping she says something likeloose fittingorflowingorempire waist. She doesn’t say a thing. Her jaw does drop in disbelief, though.
“Since when do you have even the slightest interest in fashion choices?”
“I don’t know, maybe since I have a giant movie premiere scheduled for a month from now.”
“Ah.” She grins. “Well, it’s a surprise, so I can’t tell you anyway. Sorry.”
“You do realize I paid for the dress.”
“Of course.”