The Game That Breaks Us (Us 3)

I rip into the paper and it reveals a plain white box in my hands. I take off the top of the box and I’m greeted by an explosion of green and red tissue paper. I move it out of my way and begin to reveal the items inside. A pack of Sour Patch Kids, a notepad—like the ones I piled in the cart that day in Target—and other little mementos from our time together. Each and every item brings forth a memory and the time and energy she put into thinking of each thing is what means the most.

“Creative,” I tell her with a grin. “You did good.”

This time, I’m the one leaning over to kiss her.

The rest of the presents are opened and then Olivia dismisses us all to shower and change before we have a late lunch.

The day passes quickly, and I’m surprised by how much fun I have. I wasn’t expecting today to actually be enjoyable—I know that’s not very nice of me, but after how things have been with Trace, it was a legitimate assumption.

I can’t help but think that I might actually miss these people. I’m sure I’ll see them again, though, because despite what Trace said, I won’t ruin this with Grace.

I won’t.

I swear it.

Break is going to be over before I know it. It’s already New Year’s Eve—the day of our annual party—and I only have a week of freedom left after that.

Bennett and I drove over to the Wentworth Mansion earlier in the afternoon so I could start getting ready and he was blown away by it. I’m used to it, so I forget how big it actually is. Bennett couldn’t believe my dad and his brother grew up in the mansion. Sometimes, I can’t believe it, either, for the fact that they’re both so normal.

I have a room in the mansion—all of us kids do, and there are plenty more to spare—and that’s where I’ve been since I arrived while a team of hair and makeup artists tends to me. I guess to some people that would be weird, but it’s something we’ve always done for this night. It’s the one night out of the whole year where I don’t feel normal and I instead feel like royalty. I’m sure the parties were even more glamorous when my grandma had more control over it. My dad and uncle have definitely toned down the event some—but not much. It’s still black tie: women wear ball gowns and men wear tuxes, but instead of the classical band my grandma prefers, there’s always a more current band that you hear their music on the radio, and the food is more normal instead of fancy French dishes or something like that.

The hair stylist curls and twists my hair around. She pokes bobby pins into it and uses enough hair spray to kill the ozone layer above my head.

I asked the makeup artist for a soft pink and gold look to match my dress and hopefully she knows how to do soft. I’m going to be pissed if I come out looking like a clown. Now that I know what I’m doing, having someone else do my makeup is akin to torture.

“What time is it?” I ask and wait for one of them to reply.

> The makeup artist looks at the clock on the TV. “After seven.”

The party’s already begun, so hopefully I’ll be fashionably late and not obnoxiously late.

They finish and the hair stylist hands me a mirror. My eyes sparkle with a shimmery golden color and the winged eyeliner makes it pop even more. My lips shine with a shimmery pink gloss and my face glows. I turn my head, admiring my hair. She’s curled it and pinned it all on one side so it cascades down my shoulder. Shorter pieces in the front are pinned back, making my hair look thicker than it is. It’s an elegant look and I know it’ll compliment my dress.

“Thank you, ladies,” I say and stand. My dress is hanging in the bathroom.

They nod and begin to pack up their things.

I shut myself in the bathroom and remove my robe. I lift the dress off the hanger and slip into it, wiggling it up my hips. It’s a fairly simple dress, compared to what I’ve worn in previous years, but I feel like it suits the woman I’ve become.

I slip my arms through the top of the dress just as there’s a knock on the door.

“Grace, are you ready?”

My heart accelerates at the sound of Bennett’s voice. As stupid as it sounds, I’ve missed him, and it’s only been a few hours since I last saw him.

“Hang on,” I say and flick the button on the door to unlock it. “You can come in.”

He eases the door open and hisses between his teeth. “Damn, Grace, you look … you look … Fuck.”

“I look fuck?” I suppress a laugh and turn around with my back to him. “Zip me up, please?”

He chuckles. “You definitely look fuckable, but that wasn’t what I was trying to say.”

“It wasn’t? Should I be hurt?” I smile at him over my shoulder.

He steps forward and grazes his fingers along my bare back. I shiver and my body tightens all over. I want to grab him by the collar of his shirt and kiss him and then maybe fuck him right here in this bathroom, but I have to be good tonight. At least, until I’m seen at the party.

He sees the look in my eyes and his own grow a stormy brown color speckled with green and gold. “You’re treading in dangerous waters looking at me like that,” he warns, zipping up my dress.