When she left the apartment earlier, Nadav had been in the kitchen, overseeing the stove as it brewed a pot of soup for Livya. His head had instantly darted up at the sound of Calliope’s footsteps. “Where are you headed?” he’d demanded.

“Volunteering at the hospital,” Calliope said automatically.

“Again?”

“Yes, well, that’s the thing about children. New ones get sick every day,” Calliope had said evenly. Nadav just pursed his lips, ignoring the sarcasm.

She felt a sudden brush of guilt, remembering the way her mom had looked at Nadav during the wedding. Don’t risk everything just because of some boy, she had begged.

Well, Brice wasn’t just some boy.

“Cord is here,” Brice said, interrupting her thoughts. Something in his tone gave Calliope pause; it sounded as if Brice wasn’t all that happy to see his younger brother. Her eyes followed his, to where Cord stood with a beautiful half-Asian girl, her hair pulled into a simple low ponytail. She looked familiar. Hadn’t Calliope seen her at school?

“Should we go say hi?” she offered, but Brice was already edging in the opposite direction.

“Not while he’s with Rylin.”

Rylin! That was definitely her name. “What happened between you and Rylin?” Calliope asked, curious. “Did you hit on her?”

“Worse. I got rid of her,” Brice said bluntly. “I thought she was using Cord for the money, so I broke them up.”

Using him for the money. Calliope shifted uncomfortably. There were dozens of boys who could, quite accurately, make the same complaint about her.

“Anyway,” he went on, “their breakup clearly didn’t stick. Now they’re back together. And I’m the guy who tried to get between them.”

“Rylin might forgive you. You both clearly care about Cord. If you tell her what you just told me, she might understand.”

“Would you forgive me, if you were her?” Brice asked, and he had her there.

“Not at all. I like to hold grudges, though,” Calliope said easily. “Rylin seems like she might be the forgiving type.”

“She might,” Brice agreed, “but then, I’m not really the apologizing type.”

Calliope tilted her head, looking up at him. “Does that mean you won’t apologize to me if you hurt my feelings?”

“I don’t like this hypothetical scenario. Why are you assuming I’ll hurt you?” Brice demanded.

Everyone in a relationship hurts the person they’re with eventually, even if they don’t mean to. But then, she and Brice weren’t technically in a relationship. “Just trying to prepare myself,” Calliope replied, trying to make it sound offhand. She was used to being the one who did the leaving, or the hurting; but then, she wasn’t used to being the one who cared.

“Of course if I hurt you, I would apologize,” Brice said, his eyes warm on her. “Think of yourself as the exception to my no-apology rule. You’re the exception to every rule. You are a goddess, after all.”

He grabbed a pair of champagne flutes and handed one to her as they wandered nearer the dance floor. Calliope took a small sip; it was expensive champagne, the kind that tasted like marzipan and fireworks. The kind that made you want to kiss whomever you were with.

She was glad she’d decided to come to this party, after all.

“Where do you think you’re headed next year?” Brice asked.

“Next year?”

“To college. Are you thinking East Coast? California? Please don’t say Chicago; it’s too cold there,” he added, half teasing.

Calliope felt as if the carpet with its scrolling interlocking Fs had been yanked out from beneath her. She’d never been one for planning the future. She used to joke that she could tell you more about the next five minutes than about the next five years.

But ever since her mom brought it up, Calliope had been toying with the idea of college. She’d even met with one of the college counselors at school. His thoughts on her application had only served to dishearten her.

“I’m not sure where I’ll get in. I’m not very good at standardized tests,” she said vaguely. Not to mention her spotty school record.

“That’s not surprising. You aren’t exactly a standard person,” Brice replied. “Still, I have no doubt that you’re smart. Even if you currently use those smarts for nothing but sneaking into five-star restaurants.”

Her contacts lit up with an incoming ping from her mom, but Calliope shook her head to one side to decline it.

“What do you want to study?” Brice pressed.

“I don’t know. Maybe history or creative writing,” she admitted. She was pretty good at inventing stories. “Why are you so curious?”

Brice stepped a little closer, as if to block her off from the dance floor, to obtain some small measure of privacy. “Because I like you, Calliope. I would like to keep seeing you, no matter where you end up.”

Her mom pinged again. Again Calliope shook her head.

“I would like that,” she told him, her smile growing wider.

She had never met anyone like Brice—had certainly never revealed so much of herself to anyone before. She should have felt nervous about how well he really knew her. It was as if every fragment of truth she had handed him was a bullet, a weapon he could choose to someday use against her; and Calliope simply had to trust that he wouldn’t.