Will

 

Will backed away from Liz. She had a seductive look on her face that he didn’t like. His retreat didn’t stop her. It only made her move closer. She slipped her slender arms around his neck.

“You smell nice,” she murmured against him.

“Liz . . . ”

“Hmm?”

Will unhooked her arms and took a step back.

Liz only smiled further and started to slip the lace straps of her black dress from her shoulders.

Will reached out to stop her. “Liz. I want to talk. Just talk.”

Disappointment flickered across her pretty face. “Really?”

Will sighed, not knowing where to start. He had to be careful when it came to Liz. She’s been part of his life forever and it was something that would never change. His parents were best friends with hers. The family names Vanderveer and Taylor were practically synonymous with one another. Their businesses were beyond intertwined, sponsoring everything from joint charities to international ventures. And it seemed their children were no exception.

Liz’s older sister, Hazel, was married to Will’s second eldest brother, Tom. And ever since that merger, it seemed everyone in the Vanderveer and Taylor families had decided Will and Liz would be the next acquisition. And that plan seemed to be music to Liz’s ears.

Ever since Hazel got engaged to Tom, Liz practically branded Will as hers, chasing away any other girl who tried to get close. And it wasn’t entirely Liz’s fault. Their mothers were always saying things like, ‘look how cute they are together’, or, ‘how perfect would it be if they got married?’ It was no wonder Liz had gotten the wrong idea about Will. But he didn’t know what to do. He’d only ever had eyes for one girl—Emma.

Over the years, Will had tried to be a gentleman and stave off Liz’s advances delicately. But it seemed no matter how many times he told her they were just friends, Liz chose to ignore him. And that was the hard part. They were friends. At least Will thought they were.

Sometimes Liz could be really cool. Like the night Emma stood him up at the formal and Liz came out in the freezing cold to drag him inside. Even though she was there with a date, she’d saved him a dance. And when Will tried to say he just wanted to go home Liz had said, “You deserve at least one good memory from tonight,” and dragged him onto the dance floor.

That had turned the night around for him. Will had been prepared to spend his junior formal drinking peppermint schnapps from Cranston’s flask and sulking at their table. But Liz refused to let him. The night hadn’t gone as planned, but Liz had helped it not be a total disaster. She’d even been there for him in the weeks that followed, when Emma stopped coming to school.

Will knew Liz wasn’t walking him to class or sitting with him at lunch for completely selfless reasons. And letting her do it was definitely leading her on. But the truth was, Will had needed her. He felt lost when Emma left, and having Liz around distracted him from the pain for a bit. Will often felt guilty about letting Liz in when he knew in his heart he still had feelings for Emma. But then he would think about how Emma had just left, completely cutting him off like he was nothing. And then he felt nothing but anger. Why should he feel guilty? He hadn’t done anything wrong. Except maybe ask Emma out in the first place.

No. Asking her out wasn’t a mistake. It wouldn’t still hurt like this if it were.

Will had known there was something special about Emma since they were ten years old. He realized now that he’d probably loved her even then, even before he knew what love was. But Will had been an idiot, too scared to make a move and when he finally did he’d messed it up somehow. But he wasn’t going to make that mistake again. This was his chance to find out what went wrong that night and fix it.

“Will? Is everything okay? You’re sorta freaking me out with all the broody pacing.”

Will looked up. He hadn’t realized he was pacing. “Sorry. Everything’s fine. Or at least, I think it will be. But I need your help with something.”

“What?”

“Emma.”

“Emma?” Liz’s whole demeanor changed. She crossed her arms and her red lips twisted into a tense scowl. “Why the hell would I help that Park Ave pretender?”

“Because it would be helping me.”

Liz rolled her eyes.

“I’m serious, Liz. Emma and I keep getting in the same fight about last year’s formal. She won’t tell me why she stood me up or moved without saying goodbye.”

“Will, that was last year. I don’t know what her problem is but she should get over it.”

“Well she’s not. And neither am I.”

“So what does any of this have to do with me?” Liz asked.

“Emma won’t tell me why she’s pissed at me but she seems to think you know why.”

Liz stared down at her perfect red nails as if examining them for flaws. “I don’t know why’d she’d say that.”

But she did. Will knew it. He’d known Liz his entire life. And he knew when she was lying because she could never look him in the eye. “Liz, I think you do.”

“This is bullshit, Will. And I’m not going to stand here and let you accuse me like this when I’ve been nothing but good to you.”

Liz stalked toward the door and Will reached for her hand. “Liz—”

“No!” she yelled, shaking his grasp. Liz took a deep breath, blowing it out dramatically. “I don’t know if you’re drunk or what, but you’re lucky it’s almost Christmas and I’m in a forgiving mood. I’m willing to pretend this never happened. But this discussion is over.”

And with that, Liz sashayed out the door, leaving Will more confused than ever.

Emma

Marcy was right, dancing did solve problems. Well, dancing and copious amounts of alcohol. Emma lost track of the number of shots and martinis she’d had. All she knew was shaking it on the dance floor was making her feel better than she had in a long time. She and Marcy twirled and giggled until the whole world seemed to melt into one big blur of light, taking the stress of the past few days with it.

Emma had a sudden urge to update her blog post. She had her holiday survival guide all wrong. She smirked to herself as she mentally revised it.

A Haute Chic’s Holiday Survival Guide

1. Family drama is much easier to swallow with a martini.
2. Avoid cute heartbreaking neighbors at all costs.
3. Under no circumstances get caught under the mistletoe.
4. When all else fails, dance.

Emma continued tearing up the dance floor with Marcy. At some point, they’d been joined by Isabelle Spence and Paris Dillon. At first Emma had been surprised to see the superficial girls unattached from Liz Vanderveer’s ass. But after a few more drinks, Emma forgot to care and let the music carry her away.

She was thoroughly busting a move when a Santa-clad cocktail waitress roved by with a fresh tray of martinis. Emma was tipsy on her heels, but narrowly managed to move out of the waitress’s way, avoiding a near disaster. But two seconds later Emma heard a shriek, followed by a tidal wave of cold red liquid. Sticky alcohol dripped from Emma as she turned to see the mortified waitress kneeling next to her overturned tray of drinks. The crowd booed and laughed as the waitress tried to pick of the pieces of shattered glass. She locked eyes with Emma, apologizing for dumping red martinis all over her white dress, but Emma barely heard her. She was staring at Liz Vanderveer, who was watching the dance floor disaster with the smug satisfaction of someone who’d gotten exactly what she wanted.

“I’m so sorry,” the waitress babbled at Emma. “I swear, someone pushed me. I never trip.”

“It’s okay,” Emma replied, taking the napkins the girl offered to wipe off her dripping arms. “I believe you.”

“Oh my God, your dress is ruined. I’ll pay for it, I swear. Please don’t say anything to Mr. Cranston. I really need this job.”

“I won’t. And it’s not a big deal. Look, everyone’s forgotten about it already.”

And they had. The dance floor was pulsing with bodies again. Most of them were obliviously dancing over the broken martini glasses and it wasn’t as if the floor wasn’t already tacky with spilled drinks. Yes, everyone had moved on, except for Liz, who was glaring at Emma with predatory hunger. Isabelle and Paris ran to her side like dogs with their tails between their legs. And Liz beckoned Emma with a finger.

Rather than publicly endure whatever else Liz had in store for her, Emma decided to follow her off the dance floor. To her surprise, Marcy came with her. She was probably there more for the gossip than moral support, but Emma still felt slightly better that she wasn’t facing off with the ice queen on her own.

They assembled near the rear balcony—Liz, and her henchmaids, Isabelle and Paris. And Emma with a tipsy Marcy in tow. The cold air rushed in from the balcony doors making Emma shiver. They were far enough from the DJ to talk now, but Liz looked like she’d rather throw Emma over the balcony than have a conversation.

Liz looked Emma up and down with disgust, “Listen, Emmy, I can tell from the dress you’re wearing that you’re clinging to last year’s fashion, but I want to make something very clear for you. It’s not last year. Will is with me now. It’s time you get over it.”

Emma’s brain was fuzzy as she struggled for a come back. “I am over him.”

“That’s not what he just told me,” Liz replied. “He said you won’t leave him alone and you keep bringing up last year’s formal. I mean really, Emma, I know you’re desperate, but that’s cruel, even for you. Don’t you think you hurt him enough?”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt him,” Emma argued. “But—”

Liz took a step toward her, cutting her off. “Well you did. I should know. I was there to pick up the pieces. And maybe you find pleasure in toying with guys, but Will is mine. And I protect what’s mine, Emma. So why don’t you do what you do best and leave.”

All the grief Emma had worked so hard to keep at bay with alcohol and dancing came crashing back, topped with a new guilt for how she’d treated Will. Liz was the second person tonight who told Emma that she’d hurt him by not showing up for the formal. But what had he expected? Did Will really think Emma would go to the dance with him two days after he’d had sex with Liz Vanderveer? Or did he just think he’d never get caught?

Emma was glad she’d seen the photos of Liz and Will together or she never would have believed it. They’d been at a party at Cranston’s and ended up in a closet together on a some dare. Someone had opened the closet and snapped a couple photos of them in a compromising position and Paris had shared them on Snapchat.

Emma had actually been on her way to Cranston’s party when she got the blast. It hit her like a dagger to the heart. Will had just asked Emma to the winter formal two days prior, so she’d spent nearly an hour getting ready for Cranston’s party, convincing herself that it was finally time that she tell Will how she felt. She’d foolishly thought Cranston’s party would be the start of something great for her and Will. Instead, it had been the end.

The photos from that night flew around the St. James gossip-sphere like wildfire. And even though the images of Will and Liz’s tangled limbs had been burned into Emma’s memory, she still prayed for it to somehow be a bad joke. But when Emma showed up at school the next day and saw them standing together, Liz’s arm, looped through Will’s, something twisted in Emma’s heart and she knew it was true.

Finding out Will wasn’t the guy she’d always thought he was had hurt more than Emma had been willing to admit. But she refused to let herself be made a fool of. Emma knew first hand what betrayal did to a relationship and she was determined not to end up like her parents—no matter how much she loved Will.

And now, standing on Cranston’s balcony a year later, being berated by Liz and her friends, Emma remembered precisely why she’d chosen to move to Boston with her mother and leave all this drama and heartache behind.

Emma wished she could think of something stinging or witty to say to Liz to pay the vindictive girl back for all the pain she’d caused, but Emma had never been particularly sharp-tongued, and the alcohol wasn’t helping her in that department. Truthfully, the euphoric feeling the drinks had given her earlier was rapidly fading. The martinis were turning against her and Emma suddenly felt sick. The last thing she needed was to puke in the middle of the party and give Liz more ammunition to use against her, so she muttered goodbye to Marcy and headed back through the crowd to leave.