Ryan waved her hand dismissively. “It was your vision.” She gazed at Aria’s outfit, from her ringlets to her simple-but-elegant vintage black dress to the high velvet shoes she’d bought in France years ago for this occasion. “You look awesome, too.” She turned to someone next to her. “Doesn’t she?”
Aria flinched. Noel had appeared by her side soundlessly. He looked dapper in his tux, his prom king crown askew on his head. “Amazing as always,” he said, like a good boyfriend.
Was he a good boyfriend? Noel had said she looked beautiful at least twenty times tonight already. And he had gotten her the decor position, something she’d wanted. He even stood by her when she acted like a freak, like she was doing right now.
Or was it all a sham? Aria’s mind hadn’t stopped spinning in the same maddening loop of thoughts. It was possible that Noel knew Tabitha. In his e-mail with Fuji, he’d called her a friend—or had he meant Ali? If he had meant Tabitha, was that how he’d gotten her necklace? Was that why he’d told Aria to stay away from Graham on the boat? Maybe Graham had known that Tabitha and Noel were friends, too. Maybe Noel worried he might say something. He hadn’t, of course—but he was going to tell Aria who was watching her.
And if Noel did know Tabitha, it meant he would have known her stepmother, Gayle, as well. He could have had inside information on Emily’s secret baby. He could have lurked around Gayle’s old mailbox, waiting for Hanna to return that cash, without seeming too suspicious—maybe he’d told Gayle he’d come over to pick up something Tabitha had borrowed before she disappeared. He might have kept in touch with Gayle after she and her husband moved to Rosewood—he would have known where to find her. And when Gayle saw Noel on the driveway the night Aria, Emily, and the others had gone to her house in fear that Gayle had kidnapped Emily’s baby, he’d killed her before she could yell out his name and expose him.
It could make sense. Even Jamaica fit. Aria hadn’t been with Noel every second of that trip—he could have snuck off and coached Tabitha about what she needed to do to freak out Aria and the others. Get them all riled up, he might have said. Get them on the roof, and push Hanna over.
Only it hadn’t gone that way—they’d pushed Tabitha instead. But did Noel have it in him to kill Tabitha? Was it the same reason why he’d killed Gayle—because he worried she might tell on him? And was he really doing this all for Ali? Did he really love her that much?
Aria shut her eyes. No. Noel didn’t love Ali. Noel was a good person, innocent. The pieces fit because she wanted them to fit, because A was forcing them that way, because even her friends had twisted and knotted and spun things into something that wasn’t true. She had to believe that. She had to give Noel one last chance to explain all of this.
Ryan checked her Chanel watch, then slung her arm around their shoulders. “Stay close, you two. It’s almost time for the photo session of the king and queen in the cemetery.”
Aria looked around. “Where’s Hanna?” She’d hardly seen any of her friends all night.
Noel peered around. “I just saw Hanna and Mike leave a few minutes ago. But I’m sure they didn’t go far.”
“I’ll find them,” Ryan said, heading off into the crowd.
When she flitted away, Noel turned to Aria. “What do you say we get a drink in the bar across the lobby while we wait? No one will tell on a prom king.” He winked.
Aria licked her lips. Your boyfriend wants to get a drink with you, she told herself. He wants time alone with you. Because he loves you.
Suddenly, a figure appeared in her peripheral vision. A woman in a gray suit slunk into the room, speaking quietly into a cell phone. Agent Fuji. What was she doing here?
She looked at Noel, more determined than ever. “Let’s go.”
They crossed the lobby and entered a dark bar. A bartender wiping down the surface with a cloth looked up. “What can I get you?”
Noel asked for a whiskey, and Aria ordered a gimlet. Then he turned his sweet, caring green eyes on her. “Are you really okay?”
Aria swallowed hard. Thankfully, the bartender chose that exact moment to deliver their drinks. At least she had something to do with her hands.
“If you think I’m freaked about the Olaf thing, I’ve put it behind me. I even get it, Aria. I really do.”
“I still feel terrible about it,” Aria said into her chest. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“It’s okay,” Noel said emphatically, touching her wrist. “It doesn’t change what I told you, though. About Ali, I mean.”
Aria flinched at the sound of her name. “Really?”
“She kissed me.” He gave her wrist an emphatic squeeze. “I wanted nothing to do with her. I hope you understand that—for real.” He scooted the chair closer. “You mean so much to me, Aria. I can’t even explain how in love with you I am. And if something happened to us—if we broke up again—I would be devastated.” His chin started to wobble. “I might even die. No one else has ever made me feel that way. You have to believe me.”
Tears pricked Aria’s eyes. Noel’s voice was thick with tears. He was telling the truth. She was sure of it.
Noel started digging through his pocket. “And actually, I have something I want to give to you.” Something shiny caught the light, and before Aria knew it he was fastening a gold chain-link bracelet around her wrist. A tiny TIFFANY & CO. label was embossed on the link closest to the clasp. “I felt so bad about that other necklace I found for you on the cruise going missing, so I wanted to give you something special at prom.” Noel touched one of the links. “You asked me why I was late to class the day they announced you were decor chairwoman—I was picking this up. I had my dad’s art dealer find this for me in New York, and he was only in Philly for a few hours. It’s vintage,” he explained.
“Oh my God,” Aria said, holding it up to the light. “You shouldn’t have gotten this for me.”
“Of course I should have.” Noel snaked his arms around her and pulled her close. “You’re everything to me, Aria.”
Aria rested her head on his shoulder. It was all she wanted to hear. Noel hadn’t snuck into her bedroom that day to plant the painting in her closet; he’d been with a jewelry dealer buying her an amazing gift. Suddenly, she knew that everything else she’d discovered could be explained, too—it was just a matter of sorting it out. Even what Noel had told Agent Fuji. Even that he’d known Tabitha. It was a misunderstanding that A had twisted into something terrible. Noel wasn’t out to get her.
She shot forward and kissed Noel hard on the lips. He kissed like he always did, softly and sweetly and with abandon, as though Aria was the only girl he’d ever kissed in his life. She shut her eyes and let herself sink into the moment, never loving Noel so much as right then.
She pulled back and sniffed hard. “Hey . . .” Noel wiped a tear off her cheek. “Why are you crying?”
Aria fumbled for a napkin to wipe her eyes. “I’m really happy.” She lifted her wrist. “And this is so beautiful.” And just like that, a weight was lifted off her shoulders.
“You’re welcome.” Noel squeezed her waist and lowered his voice. “What do you say we get some real alone time now? No bars, no people, no crying—just you and me, happy?”
Aria smiled slowly. “That sounds wonderful,” she said in almost a whisper.
But she knew it would be difficult, too. She would tell Noel everything tonight, she decided. About A. About Real Ali. About the painting. Even about Tabitha. No more sneaking around. She needed him as an ally, not someone she feared. All of this would be out in the open, and they’d fight A together.
The volume in the bar rose. More people filled the seats next to them. It was far too noisy in here—and too public in the ballroom. Aria drained her glass and stood, suddenly hitting on the very place where they could talk about everything without anyone hearing. “Come on,” she said, offering her hand to pull Noel off the stool. “Let’s go to the graveyard.”
27
The Most Important Syllable
Mike pulled the Montgomerys’ old Subaru into the parking lot at the Bill Beach. Hanna had told him to drive fast, and they’d gotten here from Philly in nine minutes and forty-three seconds, which was probably some kind of record. Hanna was pretty sure he’d done a hundred miles per hour up the expressway.
Mike circled the lot once, then again. Every space was full. “Something will open up,” Hanna said, gripping the door handle. “Let me off at the front door and meet me inside.”
Mike twisted his mouth like he didn’t like that idea much, but Hanna was already out the door before he could protest.
As she crossed the parking lot, her phone beeped a few times, but she ignored it. She couldn’t waste any time right now. She had to get to Graham.
The receptionists beamed at her gown, heels, and makeup, but Hanna swished past them without a word. After scribbling her name at the front desk, she took a sharp left and took off down Graham’s hallway. TVs flickered in the overstuffed rooms. Visitors sat placidly on couches. But at the end of the hall, where Graham was, nurses flooded his space.
Kyla was sitting up in bed just outside Graham’s partitioned-off space. She waved when she saw Hanna. “What’s going on?”
Hanna shrugged, then ducked inside Graham’s area. She gasped. Graham’s breathing tube was gone. He writhed back and forth, his eyelids fluttering. His dry lips mouthed a word. “Graham?” a nurse shouted into his face.
“Graham?” Hanna leaned over the bed, too. “Are you awake?”
A nurse glared at her. “Who are you?”
Hanna blinked.
“It’s okay,” Kelly said behind them, trundling into the curtained-off space with a tray of needles and medication. “Hanna’s a volunteer.” She looked at the other nurses. “I can handle this for a minute. You guys check on his parents. They said they were on their way.”
The nurses disappeared. Kelly touched Graham’s forehead, then looked at his monitors. “He woke up about a half hour ago,” she told Hanna. “We lowered his dose of pain meds to see if he’d talk, but he still seems out of it.”
“Kelly?” someone shouted behind the curtain. “Mrs. Johnson in one-seventeen is having a seizure. We need you on it.”
Kelly’s eyes darted back and forth. “What a night,” she muttered. She placed a hand on Hanna’s shoulder. “Watch him for a sec, okay?”
Hanna blinked. “And do what?”
“Just don’t touch him. I’ll be right back.” Then Kelly vanished down the hall. Hanna turned back to Graham, who was still writhing. His fingers curled and uncurled. He pawed at the IV tubes in his hands and made unidentifiable grunting sounds.
“Graham?” she said softly. “Can you hear me?”
Graham’s eyelids fluttered. A scratchy whisper of a word came out. “Y-y-y . . . ,” he struggled to say.
