RYLIN HADN’T PLANNED on falling back in love with Cord so quickly.
She’d wanted to be thoughtful and intentional about it, instead of tumbling into their relationship all over again. But then, she hadn’t exactly planned for it last time either. Maybe that was just the way love went—it was something that happened to you, and the best preparation you could hope for was the chance to take a deep breath before the wave of it crashed above you and you were in over your head.
“Thanks for coming with me tonight,” Cord said as they walked together through the inauguration ball.
Rylin felt herself color under his gaze and reached down reflexively to smooth the skirts of her gown. It had arrived this afternoon in an enormous purple Bergdorf’s box, complete with a satin bow.
“Absolutely not,” Rylin had protested when the delivery drone showed up. She wasn’t going to let Cord start sending her extravagant presents. But Chrissa had insisted that they at least open it, and once Rylin had seen the dress—an architectural cream-colored strapless one, with silver splattered over it, as if someone had spilled a vat of liquid stardust on its smooth silk surface—she couldn’t resist trying it on. It fit her exquisitely, the corseted torso giving way to a narrow floor-length skirt.
One dress can’t hurt, she had concluded. After the day she’d had, being questioned by the police about Mariel’s death, Rylin didn’t have the strength to resist something this beautiful. Not that she’d told the police anything; she had nothing to tell, really. But the experience had still unnerved her.
She knew she should reach out to the others, to Leda and Watt and Avery, to ask if they had been questioned too. She told herself she would do it later. Right now, in this moment, all she wanted was to stand here with Cord, feeling beautiful.
“Promise you won’t send me any more dresses,” she pleaded, though she knew her words were weakened by the fact that she was standing here wearing one.
“Only if you promise to stop looking so gorgeous in them,” Cord replied, and Rylin couldn’t help smiling.
She glanced around the expanse of city hall, filled with stylish waves of people, teenagers and adults all wearing smart angled tuxedos or shimmering gowns. Holographic pennants snapped along the walls in a nonexistent breeze. She kept thinking that she didn’t belong here, no matter how much she looked the part.
Then her eyes would slide back to Cord, and her blood would rise up light and buoyant in her veins, and Rylin knew that the setting didn’t matter. She belonged with Cord, wherever that was.
“Will you come over to my apartment tomorrow?” she asked, reaching for his hand. She didn’t mind being here, at a formal black-tie party, but it couldn’t all be like this. When was Cord going to come down to the 32nd floor to meet her friends and Chrissa?
“Sure,” he said easily. Rylin had the sense that he wasn’t quite listening. But then he nodded toward the dance floor, and Rylin decided to let herself be distracted.
“Want to dance, now that I’m so good at it?” Cord grinned.
“I didn’t realize you were ever bad at it,” Rylin countered.
“I didn’t realize either, until I started taking dance at school.” Cord laughed as Rylin’s eyebrows shot up. “You didn’t know? This year I’ve been expressing my deep and unshakable love of dance through Dance 101: Introduction to Choreography.”
Rylin stifled a snort. “You’re a ballerina now?”
“The correct term is ballet dancer, thank you very much,” Cord corrected. “This is what I get for dropping holography when all the other arts classes are full.”
Rylin wondered if Cord had dropped holography because of her—because he didn’t want to see her day after day—but it felt too self-centered to ask, and besides, it was all ancient history. “Don’t worry,” he went on. “I can’t promise that I’ll teach you all my epic dance moves, but at least one or two.”
Rylin tilted her head in amusement. “What makes you think I don’t have some epic dance moves of my own?”
They spun around on the dance floor until Rylin was breathless with exertion. Eventually the band paused to take a break. “Want to sit down?” Cord asked, leading her to a table where several of his friends were already clustered.
Rylin had met a lot of them last year, but they didn’t seem to remember her, so Cord went ahead and reintroduced her around the table: Risha, Ming, Maxton, Joaquin. Rylin smiled, but the only one to smile back was Risha. Ming had a glazed-over look to her eyes, having evidently decided that it was more entertaining to read messages on her contacts. Rylin wondered if any of them even recognized her from school.
Oddly enough, she found herself wishing that Leda were here. At least Leda would have engaged with her.
“Cord, we’ve been looking for you. This party is unbearably lame,” Joaquin announced.
Rylin was taken aback by the blasé attitude. This party was lavish and expensive and wasn’t even age-scanning at the bar. What could Joaquin have to complain about?
“Can’t you host the after-party?” Joaquin wheedled.
“I always host the after-party. Can’t someone else step up to the plate for once?” Cord said easily.
The table erupted in an immediate chorus of excuses: “Don’t look at me; you know my place is nowhere near big enough. We didn’t even have room to host the soccer team!”
“My parents are cracking down on me ever since I got a D in calc this semester.”
“I definitely can’t host anyone, not after you guys threw up in the hot tub last time.”
“That was fun, wasn’t it?” Risha said almost wistfully.
“What about you, Rylin? Do you think you could get away with it?” Maxton had turned to her with a friendly smile. At Rylin’s incredulous expression, he hurried to add, “We won’t invite that many people. And we’ll drone-drop all the booze, of course. All you’d have to provide is the space.”
Seriously? Rylin wanted to ask, but she knew Maxton wasn’t kidding. He had no idea who she was or where she lived. In his own way, he probably thought he was being inclusive by asking Rylin if she didn’t mind hosting the after-party.
For a perverse moment she imagined saying yes, dragging all of these rich kids down to the 32nd floor to squeeze awkwardly around her kitchen table. Now that would be an experience.
“Fine, fine, I’ll host,” Cord cut in, reaching one hand across the back of Rylin’s chair to give her a silent squeeze.
“I’m going to get a drink,” she said faintly, to no one in particular, and started away from the table. She heard Cord follow quickly on her heels.
“Rylin, what is it?” he asked, reaching for her arm. She whirled on him, her cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry. Maxton didn’t mean any harm by that question.”
“I know,” she sighed. “I just don’t fit in with that group. Why do they need to have an after-party anyway? What’s wrong with the very expensive, beautiful party we’re at right now?”
“It’s just how they are,” Cord said with a self-deprecating smile, as if that explained everything.
“Exactly! All they ever do is talk about the next party. The next excuse to all get together and get drunk, and plan another expensive event.” She let out a frustrated breath. “Don’t you ever talk about anything else?”
“I know those guys can be kind of silly and immature, but I’ve known them my whole life. I can’t just cut them out.”
Actually, you can, Rylin wanted to say, but she bit back the words. There was no use fighting over this. “Let’s just forget the whole thing.”
“I promise this will be the last after-party I host,” Cord assured her with a smile. “And tomorrow I’ll make it up to you. We can go that brunch place with the raspberry biscuits you love. Or somewhere else,” he said quickly, confused by her expression.
Rylin hadn’t realized that he was still planning on having the after-party. Or that once again he would try to smooth over a disagreement with money and things.
“I’m going to get that drink,” she said vaguely, starting back toward the bar, but he shook his head.
“No, let me. Please,” Cord insisted. “You stay here and listen to the violinist. You’ll really love her.”
A violinist had stepped onstage, momentarily replacing the band. She perched on a delicate wooden chair, looping her feet under the bottom rung. And then she started playing, and Rylin forgot that she was sort of irritated with Cord, forgot about anything at all except the music.
It began low and plaintive, full of a longing so sharp that Rylin felt it like a pain between her own ribs. Dimly, she was aware of Cord retreating toward the bar, but Rylin stayed where she was, transfixed by the haunting, tragic music. It put into words what words failed to do.
She remembered the night this past summer when she and Hiral had gone to an outdoor concert together in Central Park. It had been Hiral’s idea. Maybe you’ll get some inspiration for your holos, he’d suggested. Rylin had been touched by his thoughtfulness.
She wondered what Hiral was doing right this moment. He was just so very far away. She felt a sudden urge to check on him, make sure that he was all right.
Rylin muttered to her contacts to do a quick i-Net search for Undina. She immediately landed on its home page, filled with sweeping photos of the ocean, the massive man-made city floating peacefully above it like a lily pad. Hiral was fine, she assured herself. He would be happy there.
Then a familiar name caught her eye. Mr. Cord Hayes Anderton. The next row, Mr. Brice August Anderton.
They were both listed on Undina’s board of directors.
At first Rylin told herself that it was a mistake. This must be another Cord Hayes Anderton. Before she could help it, she’d tapped the link on Cord’s name, to read how he and his brother had inherited their seats from their parents, who were founding investors in Undina. They were nonvoting members until they turned twenty-one, but the board was delighted to include them, in recognition of all that their parents had done. . . .
Rylin swiped her tablet off and leaned forward, feeling sick. Was Cord really on the board of Undina, the place Hiral was now working? Was that just an ironic cosmic coincidence, or did Cord have something to do with Hiral’s departure?
She couldn’t help remembering how unsurprised Cord had seemed when she told him that Hiral had skipped town. Come to think of it, hadn’t Cord had been the one to come find her that evening in the edit bay? She’d never stopped to question why he was looking for her with such impeccable timing, but now she understood.
He had already known that she and Hiral were over.
When the violinist finally finished, and the room erupted in polite applause, Rylin felt as if she’d been torn from a dream.
Cord was walking toward her, a pair of drinks in hand. He saw Rylin and broke out into a wide, eager smile—until he registered her expression, and his handsome features creased in concern.
Rylin couldn’t take it anymore; she stumbled blindly toward the exit, knocking past a waiter with a tray of champagne, letting the flexiglass flutes clatter to the floor. She didn’t even care that the wine had sprayed up onto her skirt.
“Wait, Rylin!”
She whirled around. “Did you help Hiral leave town?” Her throat felt scratchy and dry.
Cord flinched beneath her gaze but didn’t back down. “I did,” he told her. “But please, Rylin, you don’t understand.”
Rylin felt numb with shock. The room seemed to spin around her, everything blurring together like a melting Surrealist painting.
“What part don’t I understand? The part where you helped Hiral get out of the way, or the part where you hit on me two days later?”
Cord flinched at that. “I’m sorry I didn’t wait longer, okay? I just missed you so much; I couldn’t help coming to see you. That’s why I said I wouldn’t be the one to kiss you that day,” he tried to add.
“Right. You showed such restraint.”
“Rylin, you and Hiral were over!”
They had moved toward the front of the party, in the echoing entrance to city hall. Rylin saw an interminable line of hovertaxis already curling around the block outside.
“Hiral wasn’t good for you, and you know it,” Cord told her, and it was the absolute wrong thing to say.
“How dare you?” Rylin hissed. Anger and hurt crackled beneath her skin. “You have no right to do that, to keep making decisions on my behalf, okay?”
A couple brushed past them, studiously looking the other direction. Cord blinked, bewildered. “What decisions have I made on your behalf?”
“Breaking up me and my boyfriend, for starters! Making me come to this party, to hang out with your friends, in a dress you picked out.” Rylin had thought this gown was a lovely romantic gesture, but suddenly she saw it in an uglier light. Had Cord bought it because he didn’t want her to embarrass him by showing up in something cheap?
Cord seemed hurt. “I didn’t realize I was forcing you to spend time with me. I thought you wanted to be here.”
“I do want to be here, but, Cord, you never want to be downTower with me!”
“I just thought it was easier meeting up at my apartment. I have more space,” he protested, and Rylin rolled her eyes.
“Right, because god forbid you have to come down to the squalor of the thirty-second floor,” she snapped. “You never even told your friends that I’m not rich, did you? That’s why they thought that I was one of them. Is it because you’re ashamed to be dating me—the girl who used to be your maid?”
“I didn’t bring any of that up because it isn’t important,” Cord said forcefully. “I care about you, Rylin. Where you come from isn’t part of it.”
“Except it is.” Rylin felt angry with him, but most of all, angry with herself for being one of those people who make the same mistake over and over again. “I’m not some charity case, Cord. I’m a person—with feelings.”
“Where is this coming from? I never said you were a charity case!”
“You didn’t have to say it,” Rylin told him, very quietly. Cord’s face grew red in frustration.
“If you would stop being so damned prideful—”
“You’re the one who kept this a secret from me!” Rylin’s eyes burned. “I guess you have no idea how to build trust, because no one ever taught you.”
“‘No one ever taught you’?” Cord said bitingly, repeating her words. “That was cruel, Rylin. I would have thought that you, of all people, wouldn’t jump straight to dead parents.”
She recoiled, suddenly ashamed of herself. “I just meant that you always throw money at problems and expect them to disappear,” Rylin said helplessly. “Even when that problem is an inconvenient boyfriend. I thought—” She ran a hand over her face. “I thought it would be different this time.”
“I thought so too,” Cord said wearily.
Rylin bit her lip until she tasted blood. She wanted to crawl out of her skin, to strip this expensive dress off her back and rip it to shreds. She felt disgusted with Cord and with herself.
She had been so angry with Hiral, for deciding that he would leave town without consulting her, for making it feel like he had made her choices for her. And yet Cord had been right here, doing the same thing the whole time.
“We should never have gotten back together,” she said heavily. “We were right to break up the first time. We’re too different, you and I.”
She turned and walked away, her head held high, and only after she was on the lift back home did Rylin reach up to brush away the tears.