Page 164 of Wicked Promises

“Lipstick,” Riley suggests. She shows me a few different options from her purse. She has a mental debate, then hands me one. “Here.”

I know better than to try to argue, so I take it from her hand and swipe it on. I’ll give my best friend this: she knows how to pick her lipsticks.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

“Thankyoufor giving me this distraction.” She smiles. “Besides, I’ll go to prom next year once all of you are gone.”

“What are you going to do without me?”

She throws her arms around my bare shoulders. “Don’t get me started. Graduation day, I’m going to be a wreck with a capital W.”

I hug her back. “It’s not too late to come.”

“It’s definitely too late.” She steps away. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

She leaves before me, and it’s oddly reminiscent of the masquerade ball. Except then…

Then, I wasn’t half the woman I am now.

I take a moment to look at myself in the mirror.

Strength comes from being pushed to your limits and surviving. Dad told me that the day he got out of prison and straight into my arms.

And, my girl, you’vesurvived.

I fix the edge of my lipstick and flip my hair over my shoulder, then go to the stairs. Down I go, reliving the déjà vu.

Caleb is waiting at the bottom just as I knew he would be. His gaze sweeps up and down my body, and his eyes darken. I take a moment to relish it before my cheeks heat up. Goosebumps scatter down my arms.

He offers his hand, and I take it. The soft squeeze tells me I’m not alone.

I look around, but… wearealone.

“Where’d they go?” I whisper.

“They’re giving us privacy.” He taps under my chin, unable to withhold his grin.

In the past few months, both of us have started smiling more. The smiles come freely, with wild abandon. It’s the result of levity after months—years—of guilt and shame and anger.

Claire may have said I was just going from one cage to another, but that isn’t true.

In the end, the truth has opened our doors.

We just need to fly away.

“You remember the apartment?” he asks me.

I frown. “The one in Brooklyn.”

He was renovating. It wasn’t just an apartment hegot, it was an entire apartment building hebought. And then refinished. I helped him pick out colors and finishes, but every time I asked if it was ours, he said no.

“Yes,” he says. “Well, I rented out all the apartments.”

I suck in a breath.

“It was always our plan to move there, right?”