Fireworks still reflected on the ocean. Laughter was almost as loud as the music. We’d reached the point in the night where clothes had become optional. I hung my arms over the balcony. The water looked blurry, and I felt… off. I attributed it to the alcohol and heartache.
“Abigail.”
I turned around at the voice.
I hadn’t heard the door open.
A man stood in the bedroom with the same vaguely familiar face everyone here had.
“What do you want?”
A smile speared his lips. “Finally making an introduction… though it’s unnecessary. We’ve met before.”
“I’ve never met you.”
He frowned. “You don’t remember me?”
I rubbed my head, blinking through the fog. I’d barely had anything to drink—the hell was wrong with me?
“You kissed me. You loved me.”
“I think you have me confused—”
That was when I noticed the rose in his hand, like all the other roses terrorizing me this last year. My eyes flashed between that and him. It couldn’t be him, right? Instinct had me stepping back, clinging to the railing.
“Who are you?”
I knew in my gut, but I still didn’t want to believe it. Stalkers are supposed to be ugly warts of a person. He was not. He was beautiful. He reminded me of the boys I’d gone to school with. Perfectly groomed, with soft skin and softer lips, and bright, clear eyes. His light-brown hair had a slight wave to it only professionally done hair could achieve.
In any other situation, I might have found him cute.
“You know me, Abby.” He took a step closer. “I was with you at Rosey, Abby. Roses for our time at Rosey.” He smiled like what he had said and done was sweet, not absolutely terrifying.
His words hit me like a struck gong, and I gripped the railing harder. I thought back to my time in Switzerland. I’d attended boarding school until age fourteen, my brother fifteen, my sister sixteen, when Dad was barely in the ground and Grandpa thought we should attend public school for “appearances.” I’m sure it had nothing to do with his briefly considering politics.
Rosey was a blur of drugs, partying, and going to school hungover. Boys and girls were divided into two campuses, but that hardly kept us apart.
All this time I’d assumed he was some weird, obsessed fan.
He was one of us?
“You promised you would stay in touch,” he continued. “You wouldn’t even accept my friend request. You never followed me back. You blocked me.”
The music warbled and bent inside itself.
“You give someone like the dog attention and not me? I could give you the world.” He traced his knuckles along my jaw. When did he get so close? “You’re Abigail Crowne. You deserve so much more.”
I tried to focus on the man in front of me. My tongue felt thick. I moved it around my mouth, as if that would help. My head was suddenly fuzzy. I rubbed it but it didn’t help.
Suddenly, it came to me.
“Newt?”
A flash of violent anger cracked across his face like lightning, and I sucked in a breath. “That’s what you remember?”
I knew it was a nickname, but my head was spinning so hard I couldn’t remember his real name. His last name was something with an H? Hollingsworth? Hathaway? That didn’t sound right…
Newt had gone through a growth spurt. He’d also lost the baby fat. But I saw it now. He was Newt, the boy I’d played spin the bottle with.