Tear You Apart (31 page)

“Everyone thought you were dead,” she said. “What happened? Where were you?”

“I was at the farmhouse. With Jack and Elliot.”

“You … no.” She shook her head. “That’s impossible. Unless Jack Tran is a sadistic asshole.”

“Will you let me explain?” he asked quietly.

“Because I called him. I called him
every day
. He told me no one knew where you were. I needed to know you were okay, and he—” Her anger broke like a wave. Tears ran down her face and she couldn’t speak.

Finally, she choked out, “I thought I killed you. I thought you died because of me.”

“I’m so sorry, Viv.”

She crawled into his lap and held on to him. She needed to feel his heartbeat, his breathing, the vibration in his chest as he spoke. He kept his arms around her and told her what had
happened, his voice low and reluctant, like it wasn’t a story he wanted to tell.

“I killed him—I guess you know that now. Jack helped me dispose of the body. We went to the farmhouse and … the dogs … took care of the evidence. I stayed there because I didn’t want anyone to know what had happened. Whether I was dead or alive. I didn’t want Regina to be sure. I thought if she knew, she’d sic the police on me and that would be the end of us. I’d be locked up, you’d marry your prince, and I’d never know if we could make this work. If we were still … if you even wanted to.”

“You don’t think I would’ve waited for you?”

“Viv … you didn’t even want to be with me. We were as good as broken up. You were all about your prince.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was stupid. I …”

“You were scared. I don’t think I knew
how
scared until I saw you with the Huntsman that day.”

The old Huntsman was dead. She’d been so thrilled to see Henley that she hadn’t thought about what else his presence meant: the man who had tried to kill her would never hurt her again.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I just keep thinking, if I hadn’t been there … I thought I’d convinced your stepmom to leave him out of it. And then I got your message, and I came over and I saw his truck smashed into your car, and I had this pain in my chest like I was going to have a heart attack. I’ve never been more scared in my life. It was like my mind went blank, and I was just following your trail through the woods, and then when I saw you I was so relieved … and so full of hate for
him. I didn’t know if I could kill him until I saw you, and then I knew.”

He was trembling and she put her arms around his neck and hugged him as if to say:
I’m here. We’re alive
. His hand slid up her back, pressing her closer. It felt so good to be with him.
This
was what it was supposed to feel like.

“Every time I heard Jack on the phone with you I felt like shit. But I needed him to lie. I needed there to be doubt. I thought that if you believed I was dead, Regina might believe it, too. I was still trying to decide how to tell you when Jack found out you’d gone to the underworld. No one knew when you were coming back. I thought that meant you’d made your decision. And—”

A burst of music broke up their embrace as the door opened and all twelve princesses swept in. Henley threw on his cloak and Viv fell over onto the fainting couch, her heart racing, hoping none of them had seen him. Fortunately, the princesses had other things on their minds. They’d been dancing and drinking for hours; they were sweaty, tearstained, and desperate to pee. In five seconds the stalls were full, the mirror reflected a row of primping princesses, and Waltz, Tango, and Foxtrot—holding hands like a chain of paper dolls—stepped up to Viv and said:

“You’re on our couch.”

“Yeah, it belongs—”

“To us.”

Viv got up. “Take it,” she said. They could have their couch. She just wanted them to hurry up and leave before one of the sisters bumped into Henley. The bathroom was much more crowded when you added twelve princesses.

Flush. Flush. Flush. Flush. Flush
.

Five princesses emerged from the stalls and five more replaced them. The girls at the sinks checked their makeup, their teeth, their cleavage, while they washed their hands. Viv stood in the corner, trying to stay out of their way.

“What are you doing in here?” Calypso asked her.

“Um—taking a break.” Viv realized how weird it must seem to be standing in the bathroom, just kind of … hanging out.

“Were you crying?”

“She looks like she was crying.”

“Are you depressed? I think you can get depressed from not being in sunlight.”

“If you’re depressed,” Rumba said, “you should ask Jasper to get you some Xanax.”

“Or chocolate!”

“Or sex.”

The girls started laughing. Charleston clapped her hands over Calypso’s ears—she was already giggling with the rest of them. They went on like that until Calypso’s feet started tapping. When she twirled, the other girls groaned and began to move, as if dancing was an itch they had to scratch, a pain that needed to be soothed.

“Break time’s over,” Charleston said. “Come on, girls.”

The sisters danced out in a halfhearted conga line. Charleston was the last one to leave. She stood in the doorway, slippers tracing a box step, her eyes roving over the empty spaces in the room.

“Silva,” she finally said. “Door closes at four. Don’t be left behind.”

She let those words sink in—then minced out onto the dance floor.

Viv spun, searching for Henley, only letting out her breath when she saw that swirl of gray cloak and then—him. Tall and striking in his black tuxedo. His face more troubled than before.

“She knows … you’re here?” Viv said.

Wordlessly, Henley pushed down the collar of his shirt so it dipped to the base of his throat, and showed the single black hash mark that had been tattooed there.

“No …” Viv choked on the word, and her protests were lost as a sob filled her throat.

“I had to. I had to see you.”

“
Why
? Why did you have to?”

He was holding her now, trying to calm her down. “No one could get to you. None of the people you invited could enter the underworld. There was some kind of magic keeping them out. Keeping me out, too—I tried to get through; I couldn’t. And then even the invitations stopped. I knew something was wrong. They were isolating you, and I didn’t know why they would do that—unless you didn’t want to be here. I couldn’t abandon you.

“Jack told me that if I wanted to do something crazy, there was a way. There’s one door that can’t be blocked by magic: the door the Twelve Dancing Princesses use. Anyone who volunteers to break the curse has to be able to follow them to the underworld. So I volunteered.”

Viv leaned her head against his chest and closed her eyes. This was a nightmare. He couldn’t come back to her, couldn’t be
alive
just so she could lose him three days later.

“I don’t want you to worry about me. I didn’t come here to break the curse—I came to get you out of here. I want you to take my cloak—”

“No.”

“I want you to take my cloak—”

Henley was touching her hand, running his fingers along her wrist, and then he stopped. “Is that an engagement ring?”

She’d forgotten she was wearing it. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means you’re engaged.”

“It doesn’t mean anything to
me
! It’s like an arranged marriage. That I didn’t agree to. You don’t know what it’s like here.…”

“He’s forcing you to wear it?”

“Not Jasper. His father.”

“You’re engaged to his father?”

“God, no!” Viv shuddered at the thought. “No, his father makes all the decisions. He decided he wanted Jasper and me to be engaged—then he made it happen. I don’t want to marry Jasper. I don’t even want to talk to him half the time.”

“All right. Let’s make a trade.” Henley balled up the invisibility cloak and put it in her hands. “You give me your ring so I can cram it down his throat, and I’ll give you my cloak so you can get out of here.”

“No.”
She shoved the cloak back at him. “I’m not doing that to you. I won’t be responsible for your death twice. I can’t go through that again. I hate myself enough.”

“Viv—”

“We’ll figure out how to break the Twelve Dancing Princesses curse. We’ll save you. And when we do—”

It hit her, like water dousing fire.

“You’ll get married. To one of the princesses.”

“Now you’re the only one who can get married?”

“Don’t say that to me!” Tears sprang to her eyes. “It’s not funny. I’m not like you. I don’t want you to be happy if it means you’re happy with someone else.”

He kissed her again. “Do you think I could be happy with anyone else? Do you think I could ever be happy, if you’re not in my life?”

He wiped her tears with the cloak. He kept offering it to her, holding it up, raising his eyebrows—
please
?—but she wouldn’t take it. Finally, she stopped crying and her breathing went back to normal. She wiped her face roughly and forced herself to get it together, at least a little.

“We can’t stay in here all night,” she said. “We have to look for a way to break the curse. Three days will be over so fast.…”

“What if three nights are all we get? Don’t we get one more night together, before…?”

She knew what he was saying. “Before we don’t have each other. Ever again.” She sighed. “I know. I want us to have more time together … but you can’t risk getting caught. The guards will kill you if they find you. They don’t even ask questions. They just …” She made a slicing motion with her hand. “And if Charleston knows you’re here with me, she could tell someone. She might not, but … I don’t think we should count on that. We have another chance. I don’t want to throw that away.”

“Okay,” he said with a heavy sigh. “If that’s what you want.”

Before he could leave, she grabbed his arm. “Henley … I’m different now. I mean … I’m a little different. Still a coward, but … to you, I want to be—”

“You’re already everything to me.”

“You’re going to make me cry.”

“Again?” He touched his cloak to her cheek, ready to catch her tears, and she laughed and brushed it away.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night,” he said. “And the night after that. And after that …”

“After that you’ll be rich and married.”

“Viv—” She kissed him quiet. His eyes fluttered closed.

“Be careful,” she said. “Now go.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

“HE’S NOT ON THE COUCH.”

“I told you he followed us.”

“Someone figure out where he is before we start taking our clothes off.”

“He’ll be dead in two more days. I don’t care if he sees me naked. He can take it to his grave.”

“Noooo! I like this one!”

“You like
every
one.”

“Not true …”

“My feet hurt.”

“My feet hurt more.”

“Okay—shoe pile.” The girls flung their tattered dancing shoes onto the floor, as if they were about to be burned. All twelve girls slept in the same cavernous bedroom, the beds lined up six on each side. “We live like the girls in
Madeline
,” Rumba had told him when he’d first arrived and been given the tour.

Most of the sisters shuffled into the dorm-sized bathroom. Others crawled into bed, eyes still crusted with glitter and mascara. The sounds of water splashing into sinks and tired bodies hitting mattresses followed Henley to the couch he was meant to keep watch from.

The princesses’ father knew his daughters went to the underworld to dance—everyone knew that—but the couch was tradition, as was the goblet of drugged wine the sisters had given him before they left. It was tradition to pretend to drink it and feign sleep, but Henley had just poured it into a vase of dying flowers—a gift from the last guy who’d tried to break the curse. Brittle, crumbling roses that had outlasted the suitor who’d brought them.

“He was handsome,” Chacha had told Henley. “And confident. I really thought he’d break the curse.”

“Would you like to see his head?” Salsa had asked. “We have it in a box.”

Henley had declined.

Now he lay down on the couch, one leg stretched out to rest on the floor, the other propped and extending past the armrest. The couch was too small to be comfortable and the tuxedo he wore had about as much give as a straitjacket, but he had three, maybe four hours before the girls’ father would summon him to find out how the night had gone. He’d make do.

Most of the sisters were related only through their father, who’d had twelve daughters with ten different women, so there wasn’t much of a family resemblance. They looked more like sorority sisters than blood sisters. Black hair, brown hair, red hair, blonde hair. Dark skin and light skin. The one thing they
had in common was that their legs were really toned and they walked like they had thorns stuck in their feet.

He heard them slamming doors, dropping things, yelling at one another to shut up, they were trying to sleep. Several toilet flushes. Loud talking. Giggling. Muffled sobs. He was in the room just outside their bedroom suite—a kind of antechamber, with just the uncomfortable couch and a few chairs and the flowers. There was another door that led to the rest of the mansion, but it was locked from the outside, and would stay locked until morning.