Rebel Belle

Ryan was a good guy. He always had been. Once he’d finished half the row, he tugged at each finger until the glove slid off my hand. “Thanks,” I said as he handed it back to me. One hand free, I went to work on the other glove myself, even though I could feel his gaze like an actual weight on the curve of my neck.



“We’re done, aren’t we?” he asked. I raised my head, the left glove still half on, half off.



For a second, I thought about pretending I didn’t know what he was talking about. Maybe if I smiled at him and made a joke about the gloves, I could stop this from happening. But did I want to? Was there room for Ryan in my life—short as it might be—now?



I knew there wasn’t.



But even more, I wasn’t sure there had ever been room for Ryan. Not really. Not the way he deserved. Still, I couldn’t make myself say anything.



Ryan wasn’t stupid. He knew what my silence meant. His throat worked, and his eyes were shiny. “Well, we had a good run of it,” he said, broad shoulders shrugging inside his tux jacket. He looked the handsomest I’d ever seen him, like he was meant to wear formal wear every day of his life.



I laughed, but it sounded sad. “You make it sound like we’re getting divorced.”



He laughed too, dashing at his face with the back of his arm. “Hey, we’ve been together nearly our entire high school lives. That’s, like, twice the length of a lot of marriages.”



Smiling, I reached out and took his hand. “I love you, Ry.”



Sniffing, he nodded toward the house. “I know that. But I’m not an idiot, Harper. There’s someone in there you wanna be with more than you wanna be with me.”



I actually recoiled at that. “W-what are you talking about?”



Ryan rolled his eyes. “Harper, you and David Stark have been circling each other since kindergarten.”



My mouth suddenly felt dry, and I busied myself taking off my glove. “David and I . . . maybe we have ended up being friends after all, and I guess we have some stuff in common—”



“He gets you, Harper. That way you throw yourself into everything you do, he does that, too. And he’s a walking encyclopedia like you, and I bet he doesn’t even play video games—”



“I like War Metal 4,” I insisted, but Ryan shook his head.



“It’s okay, Harper. I actually feel kind of . . . good. You know, doing the noble thing, stepping aside in the face of True Love . . .”



He was trying to joke, but my throat suddenly went tight. If Ryan had any idea what was really going on between me and David, that it was so much more complicated and so much worse.



“Ryan,” I said feebly, but he shook his head.



“It’s okay,” he repeated even though he sounded a million miles from “okay.” “Just go.”



I felt like there was more I should say. We might have only been together for two years, but Ryan had been a huge part of my life.



But in the end, I just nodded again. It was better like this. So with one last little wave, I got out of the car and walked into the house.



Saylor was hanging her coat in the front closet when I walked in. “Where are your gloves?”



I stared at her. “Seriously?”



She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “You sound like David. And while I know there are—” she glanced around us—“more pressing matters at hand right now, it’s still important that you look the part. Now I’ll ask you again, where are your gloves?”



Adrenaline had made me jittery, and my hand shook slightly as I gestured back out the door. “I left them in Ryan’s car.”



Saylor lifted an eyebrow. “And is Mr. Bradshaw coming inside?”



“I-I don’t think so. We broke up.”



Closing her eyes, Saylor rolled her lips inward. “Was tonight the best time for that?”



Anger flared up in me. “I don’t know. I’m not sure there is a best time for your boyfriend to dump you.”



“You and Ryan broke up?”



Bee had just walked in the front door, Brandon a few steps behind her.



“Kind of?” I said before shaking my head. “No, not kind of. We broke up, yes.”



I don’t know what kind of expression people make after they’ve watched a puppy get stomped, but it had nothing on Bee’s face in that moment. “Right before Cotillion?” she asked, shocked. “You broke up with your boyfriend half an hour before the most important night of your life?”



Taking a deep breath, I picked up the hem of my dress, moving closer to Bee. “First off, this is not the most important night of our lives. There are going to be lots of important nights. And secondly, he actually broke up with me, and it’s . . . it’s okay.”



“It’s so not okay,” Bee said, her dark eyes watery. “You can’t possibly be okay. Harper—”



Behind me, I could hear the kitchen door opening. A couple of men in black pants and white shirts came through, carrying a small table between them.



I met Saylor’s gaze. The cater waiters. They didn’t seem particularly assassin-like, and they weren’t even looking in this direction. But then, Dr. DuPont hadn’t seemed scary either until he’d had a scimitar at my neck.



“We’ll talk about this later,” I told Bee as there was another bustle from the kitchen. The door swung open again, and this time, my Aunts Martha and May swooped in. May was carrying a giant silver punch bowl, while Martha had a ladle tucked under her arm.



“I am older than you, Martha,” May insisted. “It is not right that you’re making me carry this all by my lonesome.”



“You are two minutes older,” Martha replied, “and that punch bowl hardly weighs a thing. Besides, Mother left it to you, so it’s your responsibility to carry it.”



May grumbled at that, but then Martha saw me, raising the ladle in greeting. “Oh, Harper! You look so pretty! May, doesn’t Harper look pretty?”



“I can’t see her over this stupid bowl,” May muttered, staggering toward the table the waiters had set up.



Despite everything pressing down on me, I laughed. “Where’s Aunt Jewel?”



“She’s wheeling the cooler of punch in,” Aunt May said, finally getting the bowl situated in the center of the table.



Right. The punch. I thought again of David’s vision, the wave of bright red washing over everything. “Where’s David?” I asked Saylor, and she nodded upstairs.



Maybe he had some valuable, punch-y insights.



Bee was still standing in the doorway, her arms folded. “Why do you need to see David?”



I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Thankfully, Saylor covered for me. “With Mr. Bradshaw and Harper’s sudden and unfortunate situation, Harper will need an escort. I always bring David as a spare just in case these things happen.”



It was probably the last thing Bee wanted to hear, but at least it made sense. I turned away before I could see her scowl, and headed up the stairs to David.



Chapter 38



When I walked into the bedroom, David was standing in front of the window. His tux jacket lay crumpled on the bed, and his bow tie hung around his neck. From the look of his hair, he’d been pulling at it, and one hand was in his pocket, jangling some loose change.



“Nervous?” I asked, and he spun around.



“Are you—” he said, and then he saw me. “Oh. Wow.” I’d had that reaction from a lot of people. Mom, Ryan, the



salesgirl at the bridal shop. But hearing David say it, seeing David’s eyes go wide, made me suddenly self-conscious. I had to stop myself from twisting the silk skirt in my hands, and Ryan’s words rang in my head.



Harper, you and David Stark have been circling each other since kindergarten.



And maybe we had. But it’s not like any of it mattered anymore.



So I put my shoulders back and walked over to David. “You’ve seen the dress before.”



“It looks different tonight—” David said, but I just kept talking.



“Any sign of . . . well, anything?”



Shoving his hands back in his pockets, David turned to look out the window. “No. But . . . I can feel it. She’s here. Or close by.”



I could feel it, too. An awareness shivered along my skin, like I was being watched. For all I knew, Blythe was already in the house, waiting around a corner.



“Do you want to see if you can have a vision?” I asked, offering him my hand. He took it, but this time, there was no spark, no frisson of electricity. His hand was warm and soft in mine and he absentmindedly ran a thumb over my knuckles. Now there was a spark, but I didn’t think it had anything to do with our powers. Still, I’d had a boyfriend up until about ten minutes ago, and things were way too screwed up to start pulling romance into it now.



And added to the fact that I might have to kill David one day . . .



I pulled my hand back from his, moving a little bit away. “Well, speaking of visions, the one you had with me and Saylor. Do you remember all the red in it?”



He screwed up his face, thinking. “Yeah. A bunch of red stuff, really bright. At first I thought it was blood, but it’s the wrong color.”



Leaning against the giant four-poster bed, I clasped my hands behind my back. “Can I say something insane?”



Snorting, David turned his gaze back out the window. “Tonight would be the night for it.”



“I think . . . I think it’s my aunt’s punch. In the vision.”



David frowned. “That sugary stuff that makes your brain hurt? I . . . yeah, I guess it was that color red.”



“Do you think it means anything?” I asked, looking out the window with him. More cars were pulling up now, and I could hear the soft murmur of voices as people began milling around downstairs. Soon all the girls would come up here to huddle together in one of the other bedrooms, waiting for Cotillion to start. Would Blythe wait, too?



“I doubt it,” David said, and at first, I thought I’d spoken my question out loud. But no, he was talking about the punch. “If shit goes down, it seems likely the punch will spill, right?”