“So what’s your plan? You’ve been here almost as long as I have now, and Scott must be calling you about work by now.” I ask Selene. We’re sitting on the second floor terrace above the pool and the gardens. Two sweeping staircases lead down from here, but we’re content to sit by the glass railing and look out over the beautiful grounds and let the sun warm us as we talk. It has been far too long since I found a chance to sit down with Selene.

She leans back in her chair, tilting her sunglasses down from her hair to cover her eyes. She looks out to her right, letting the sun bathe her face and smiles. “Fuck him,” she says with an amused quirk of her lips.

“Seriously though,” I prompt.

“Seriously,” she says. “Fuck him. I’ve worked there long enough. Maybe this won’t last, maybe it will, but I can find another job. There are thousands of restaurants around here, and I’m a damn good waitress.”

“Yeah,” I say. “And if anyone doesn’t believe you, they will be too scared to disagree.”

“What are you trying to say?” she asks, leaning forward and lifting her sunglasses to glare at me.

I laugh. “See?”

She sighs, sitting back again and folding her arms under her breasts. “I just don’t see the point in passing up a chance to live like this. It’s not just the money or the mansion. It’s like we’re getting to do the kind of thing you only read about people doing, you know? I mean, who just shacks up with a trio of ridiculously handsome rich guys and leaves everything behind for the thrill of the moment?”

I let out a long breath, pulling at a loose thread on my dress. “Maybe people don’t do it because they are afraid it will end and they’ll have to go back to the life they let fall apart while they were gone. Maybe it will be worse than when they left.”

“You thinking about Sean?” she asks, reaching out to clutch my hand.

“A little,” I admit.

“You know what? Fuck him too. Dean could wipe the floor with him, and I seriously doubt a man like that is going to let anything happen to you. Sean is behind you now. You get a chance to move on and start fresh.”

“Yeah,” I say, still feeling unconvinced somehow. “I hope you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” she snaps. “When was the last time I was wrong? And don’t answer that,” she says quickly. “My point is that I’ve never steered you wrong--too wrong, at least. So you should trust me.”

“I do trust you,” I say. “I just wish I trusted Sean not to do something crazy. I’ve crossed him before, and he just… Whenever he thought I betrayed him, he just went berserk, like he wasn’t satisfied until he thought I had gotten it worse than I gave it. Sometimes I think if an ant bit him on the toe, he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had poisoned every colony of ants within ten miles, until every last one was dead.”

“All you did was leave,” says Selene. “And I know it isn’t fun to hear, but when he and his friends teamed up on Dean, he probably felt like he won. There’s nothing to worry about. He already got his little bit of revenge. It’s over, okay?” she says.

“Yeah. I hope so.”

A strange, clattering sound makes me turn my head back toward the house. I frown. “Was that… bowling pins?” I ask.

“You haven’t seen the bowling alley?” asks Selene. “Damn, Cammy. I know he’s hot and all, but you really need to get out of the bedroom once in awhile and check this place out. There’s a lazy river that runs all through this insane basement grotto. Tanner and I fu--”

“Oookay,” I say quickly. “I think I’m going to go check out this bowling alley.”

I leave Selene, who is still grinning, over the memory of whatever she and Tanner did in the pool. I don’t quite see her interest in him. Yes, he has a cute enough face, but he’s too tall and lanky for my liking. I’ve always felt like there’s a perfect height for a guy somewhere around six foot three, which is exactly around where I’d guess Dean to be. Anything more than that just becomes impractical, especially given that I’m not the tallest cookie myself.

I find a door to what I assumed to be a bedroom not far from Dean’s room. The sound of pins is loudest when I’m next to it though, so I cautiously open it. I’m greeted by an elevator.

I step inside and press the button labeled “Basement.”

The doors slide open with a ding a few seconds later to reveal a vision of excessive wealth, even by the standards I’ve slowly come to grow accustomed to living in a mansion like Dean’s. There’s an area sort of like a lobby with branching hallways leading in all directions. I can only guess at what they all lead to, but I know the sound of pins is close now. I head down one of the halls to the left, grinning as the decor shifts from elegant and classy to bowling-alley chic, if there is such a thing.

Posters on the wall depict men and women, famous bowlers maybe, and there are bowling balls and pins polished to a mirror finish placed on a display as I enter the alley. I’m surprised to find Jen by herself, gripping a ball that looks too big for her small frame. She grunts with effort as she slings it down the alley and stomps her foot in frustration when it collides with the gutter so hard it bounces to the neighboring lane.

“Damn it!” she shouts before turning to realize she’s not alone.

“Oh. Camille,” she says. “Didn’t see you there, you know, since you were sneaking up on me.”

“Sorry. I wasn't trying to sneak. I just didn’t realize this was down here.”

“Yep. This is all kind of my fault. Daddy made the mistake of asking me what my dream house would be like when he was working with the architects on this place. Only problem is that I was four at the time.” She laughs a little, looking around the alley like she’s seeing it for the first time. “I think my mom would have liked it here.”

“Did she like to bowl?” I ask carefully. Neither Dean nor Jen have wanted to talk about Jen’s mom, and I’m burning with curiosity to know more. Beyond that, I can see this little girl holds on to a pain she thinks no one sees, and I want to help.

A look passes over Jen’s face like all the sadness she has bottled up for years comes to the surface now. “I don’t know,” she says thickly. “I don’t even know,” she repeats, rubbing at her eyes.

“Oh, honey,” I say, moving to her and hugging her tightly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No,” she says. “It’s okay. I just… I can’t even remember her face. I see pictures and it’s like looking at a stranger. Does that make me a bad daughter?”

“Not at all. No,” I say. “You were… young,” I say, guessing at facts I don’t have.

“Still,” she says. “What kind of daughter can’t remember her mom’s face?”

“A daughter who had to go through something that wasn’t fair. Something that was completely out of her control.”

“Was it though? If I don’t remember how do I know that?” asks Jen, who is still talking about what happened like I know--maybe she assumes Dean told me, but I don’t want to force her to explain what clearly is a traumatic memory, so I do my best to comfort her blindly.

“You can’t blame yourself,” I say. A smell reaches my nose that doesn’t belong in the alley as I repeat the words in my mind. It’s the smell of freshly fallen rain. “You were young. You were just a baby. No one can blame you for anything. No one,” I say.

My words hang in the air between us and I realize how hypocritical it is of me to say. Listen to me, the one who still lets my parents blame me for Vanessa’s death after so many years, trying to tell this little girl not to blame herself. I pick at my fingernail idly, searching for the right words, but how can I help Jen when I can’t even help myself?

“You’ll be okay,” I say hollowly, rubbing her back.

She gives me a tight smile and makes an honest attempt at pretending to be comforted, but I still see the pain in her eyes. “Thanks, Camille.”

She leaves me alone in the bowling alley and I sit down, lingering long after her small footsteps fade away. I think about how much of a mess my life turned into. Can the right man really just undo all that damage like it never happened? Can Dean take away all the memories I have of Sean’s anger? Can he erase the things my parents said? The words that even still are burned into the deepest parts of my consciousness?

And is that all I want out of him? Do I really want him to be like some pill to make me forget, even if it’s just temporary?