The night starts out as a great idea.

Getting dolled up is the fun part, but we have to be sneaky about it. Since Carousel and Hugo wait to leave after they close the bakery for the day, they don’t get on the road until late into the night.

“See you this weekend,” Carousel says, hedging just outside the bedroom door. “I really hate leaving while Leo is out of town, you know.”

“We’ll be fine,” Viviana insists, kissing them both on their cheeks. “Don’t worry.”

They’re reluctant, but eventually they leave. As soon as they do, we scramble to get ready. I borrow one of Viviana’s many lbds, a denim jacket, and tights, then quickly curl my hair and put on way more makeup than I’m used to. Once I’m done, my reflection is barely recognizable. Viviana’s, too. She replaces her glasses for contacts, and the dress she throws on hugs every curve.

“Where did you get those boobs?” I say while adjusting my bra, “You stole all the good genes, didn’t you?”

“Not all of them.” She winks. “You got the good ass.”

“What size shoe do you wear?” I ask, realizing I can’t pull off this outfit in flip-flops.

“Seven and a half.”

We’re the same size. “Can I borrow—”

She tosses me a pair of suede black booties, already ahead of me. “You know what this means right?”

“What?” I ask, clutching the booties to my chest like a newborn baby.

“We’re not just sisters, we’re sole sisters.”

We take an Uber to a club in Shoreditch. Leo calls to check on us. The driver almost gives us away with his penchant for loud Indian music, but Viviana manages to get him off the phone fast enough that he doesn’t notice.

The club is so crowded we can’t move. People are everywhere, bodies cramped together on the dance floor and at the bar. Someone bumps into Viviana from behind, and she tenses up. We look at each other, knowing this place is too uncomfortable. We’ll never be able to enjoy ourselves because we’re easy targets. After a few songs, we leave in search of somewhere with better options.

Down the street, we find an old Victorian warehouse, transformed into a pub. Inside a band plays folksy music from the stage. There are pool tables, dart boards, shuffle boards, and a bar at the center of it all. “This place looks fun,” Viviana says, looking around.

The atmosphere is laid back and the bartenders are nice. As soon as we sit down, a group of Czech guys start buying us drinks. “Oh, I don’t drink,” I say, right before one of them slams a frosty mug of beer against the table in front of me, presenting it to me as if it’s a mug of gold.

Viviana slides it back, along with the one they offered her. “We’re wine drinkers, gentlemen. If you’d like to buy us drinks, we’ll accept two merlots.”

Minutes later, the bartender brings us two glasses of the house red. Those two glasses turn into another round, and then another, and before I know it, we’ve lost track of time talking, dancing, and playing rounds of darts with the Czech guys.

I’m somewhere in the middle of my third glass, Viviana’s fifth, when I realize how bad her aim has gotten, the way she sways when she walks, and the subtle slur to her words. “Are you ready to call it a night?” I ask, checking the time on my phone. It’s just before midnight.

She snorts, tossing her long, silky hair over her shoulder. “Pfft. Who am I? Cinderella?” Hooking her arm through mine, she leads me to the stage. “Come on, let’s dance. Trust me, we won’t get another opportunity like this for a while.”

Her excitement bleeds into me, and I smile, following her out to the dance floor. We’re in our early twenties. If this is a rare chance to feel like it, we may as well live it up while we can.

* * *

Viviana did not miss her opportunity—she’s wasted.

She squeals as one of the men lift her in the air, celebrating his victory at darts. “Let’s get out of here,” he murmurs, trying to keep his voice low.

“Oh, no you don’t.” I slide out of my chair, feeling the room spin around me. Crap. Did I really drink that much? “There will be no getting out of here,” I tell Mr. Darts Champion, pointing my finger in his direction.

“S’kay, sis,” Viviana says, picking up a trio of darts. “I’m not going anywhere. Not while I’m winning.”

As she prepares to tackle the dartboard, the guy falling all over her eyes me, and then his gaze drifts to one of his friends. I don’t like where this is going, and I don’t know how much longer I can control it. The friend he eyed corners me by our table, giving me his best smolder. “I’m Simon,” he says, trying to start up a conversation.

I may not have been on many girls’ nights out, but I’ve heard about this—he’s the wingman. His job is to flirt with me until his friend can quietly get Viviana to leave with him.

Not falling for it. “Excuse me,” I say, sidestepping him.

I sit back down at our table. Sliding my phone out of my purse, I scramble to think as I randomly flip through screens. I come across Casper’s number and debate whether to contact him. We haven’t spoken since he left. But he’s the only person I know in London—actually I don’t know that for sure. He could’ve skipped town.

Guess there’s only one way to find out.

You busy? I think I need your help.

Drumming my fingers along the table, I wait for him to text me back. But he doesn’t. The phone starts vibrating against my palm; he’s calling me. I stare at the screen for several seconds before answering.

“What do you mean you think you need my help?” he says as soon as I pick up. “What’s going on?” His voice is agitated. Enough so, that it pisses me off in my semisober state. Okay, not exactly sober—but I am in comparison to Viviana.

Then I remember it’s two in the morning. He could have been sleeping.

So I give him the rundown of events. “Long story short, Vivvy is intoxicated, and there are these sketchy guys—”

“What are you thinking, going out on your own?” he growls, sounding angrier by the second. “Do you have any fucking clue how risky that is?”

My whole face begins to feel hot. To make things worse, Simon keeps looking over here, waiting for me to get off the phone. “I…um.” I don’t know what to say. He’s talking to me like a child, and I’m already having trouble thinking straight. This isn’t what I need. What I need is for someone to help me get Viviana out of this pub.

An irritated groan comes from his end. “Where’s Leo?” he says, practically barking the question.

“He’s out of town. Do you think I would ask you for help if he was—you know what? Never mind.” I clench my fingers tightly over the phone. He’s making me feel like a giant inconvenience. “Everything is fine now. Sorry for bothering you.”

“Mila, do not hang—” Click.

Ha.

I stare at my phone as if I’ve defeated it in battle. I never should’ve texted Casper in the first place. Another favor will only make me feel even more indebted to him. I don’t want to owe him anything else. I’m too angry. Not angry—hurt.

There is a point when two people don’t have to say goodbye for them to feel it. I felt his goodbye in the frustration of his hello. I felt it when he sent me that tablet. And if I’m really being honest, I think I felt it when he kissed me. He said he’d be back, but his lips told me another story.

For days, I’d wanted to hear his voice, and now I don’t want to hear it ever again, not when it has the power to make me feel this miserable. Every time Casper speaks, all I hear is goodbye.

The phone vibrates in my hand. I press the ignore button. I don’t need him anyway. I’ll be just fine on my own—

“Milly!” Viviana screeches, right before wiping out. Her heel catches in a crack in the floor, and she goes flying forward, landing on hands and knees.

“Oh, Jesus.” I jump up at the same time Mr. Darts Champion leans down to help her. Lowering my voice, I grab her by the arm. “Vivvy, I think we should leave.”

“Why?” she asks, brushing herself off.

“I’m not feeling well,” I lie. “I’m tired. Let’s call it a night.”

Either she doesn’t hear me or she ignores me, I’m not sure which. Mr. Darts Champion ruins my efforts anyway by shouting, “Another game!”

“Yes!” Viviana grabs her wineglass, the red liquid swirling with each step.

I consider asking one of the bartenders for help, but I’m not sure what to say. Hey, these guys are mega shady and my sister is drunk—help me out? I mean, they are bartenders. They may find the scenario just as threatening as I feel it is. But there’s only two of them, and at the moment, they’re both busy with customers.

My phone vibrates again. Casper, refusing to give up. At this point, I consider answering. I stare at his number on the screen for a long moment, wondering if I can handle him making me feel like a problem.

Nah.

I’ll take my chances with the bartenders.