Each day, Calla and her fragile heart are that little bit closer to death... but before she goes she'll prove to the world the boy she loves is no murderer.
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With a life steeped in wealth and privilege, Calla Pierce should be protected from t...
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I walk through the door and hear a loud crash coming from the kitchen. Rushing forward, I see Mum unpacking boxes from an array of paper bags, each printed with a logo of a restaurant I didn't even know delivered. Dad is bent over the counter, arranging entrees on a tray in a fashion Mum will redo in minutes. I lean against the door frame, but neither notices me. From somewhere on the floor above, I hear Mari yelling at the twins and Tchaikovsky playing from Alice's room.
"You could have checked, Alex. You could have asked," Mum hisses, her face drawn, her movements shaky.
"They've just lost their son. You think..." She stops, her bottom lip quivering.
"Don't. Don't try to manipulate me. It won't work. Not on me."
"He didn't really give me a choice."
Mum snaps upright. Plates crash onto the counter. Her body brittle enough to snap.
"Since when do you do anything you don't want to do? Don't waste your lies on me. I know why you agreed to this. I know what you're doing. This family is not some tool you can use when it suits you!"
"Helena, I don't know..." The floor creaks under my feet. Their eyes snap to my face, both frowning unhappily.
"Hi," I mutter limply.
"Where have you been?" Dad's iron voice presses down on me and I give him a deliberately bewildered expression.
"To get Damien's book signed... I think I'm nearly..."
"You've hardly been home the last few days. Look at you. You look terrible, Calla." I bite my lip, but Dad's face is daring me to try him. "You just got over one infection. Do you want another? Are you deliberately trying to get yourself taken off the transplant list? Is that what you want?"
"Alex!" Mum bites.
"I know," I mumble. "I just needed to do something..."
"Calla..." Mum interrupts, her face softening. Her eyes look drained, like something has been taken and isn't coming back. I feel that knowledge low in my belly, and it makes me feel small. "If you're feeling up to it, we're having dinner tonight. Can you go get ready, please? The Steele's will be here in a little while. We didn't get a lot of notice." She adds, glaring at Dad.
I nod and turn away. Leaving them bickering behind me as I walk upstairs.
***
I slip out of the bathroom, finishing the braid I'd hastily started in front of the mirror. The itchy knit dress I'm wearing feels like a uniform, but it's one of the few things I own formal enough for something like this. The smell of roasted meats fills the hallway, and the sounds of clanking glasses chime up the stairs. A gentle murmur of voices. There's the scraping of chairs as everyone sits down for the meal.
The Steele's have already arrived.
I'm walking past Dad's office when I hear voices - the grit of Dad's voice, clashes with the slickness of David's cut-glass accent. I slow down, thinking of Detective Harrison's words, and once again, I find myself pressed against the wall, listening in. Trying to make out words through the closed door. Memories of that night, the night Damien died, are etched on my brain.
