Invitation Only (Private 2) - Page 78

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Then they kissed. Slow­ly, ten­der­ly, com­fort­ing­ly. When they pulled away, Natasha touched her fore­head to Leanne's and they both breathed.

This was not just a cou­ple. This was a cou­ple in love.

And as I re­al­ized this, I com­plete­ly for­gave Natasha. She had done it all for love, just as I had kept Thomas's note a se­cret, just as I had kept alive the hope that I would see him her

e tonight. Plus she had done it un­der threat from Noelle, and if there was one thing all three of us knew, it was that Noelle made good on her threats. Natasha, like me, had been giv­en no choice.

I took a deep breath and tried to lock on to one co­her­ent thought, tried to fig­ure out what I had to do next, what I might need to know in or­der to do what I had to do next. There was one ob­vi­ous ques­tion to be asked.

“Why would they do this?” I asked, grip­ping the soft cush­ion at my sides. “Why would they black­mail you to get me to sneak around their rooms? They had to know I would be screwed if I got kicked out. They had to know I would do it. I mean, you should have seen some of the em­bar­rass­ing crap I found. Weren't they wor­ried about that at all?”

“Maybe you should ask them,” Leanne said flat­ly.

“She's right. You'll have an eas­ier time be­liev­ing it if it comes di­rect­ly from them,” Natasha said.

I nod­ded, still sem­icata­ton­ic from the shock. Hear it from them. Right. They did have a lot of ex­plain­ing to do.

“Would you mind leav­ing us alone now?” Leanne asked,

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hold­ing Natasha's hand in her lap. “We don't get to see each oth­er much any­more.”

She said this with a hint of blame. As if it was my fault. But I sup­pose, in a way, it was.

'Yeah. Sor­ry,“ I said, ris­ing shak­ily on my three-?and-?a-?half- inch heels. I paused in front of the cur­tain and looked over my shoul­der at Natasha. ”And don't wor­ry. Your se­cret's safe."

Natasha smiled. The first gen­uine smile she had ev­er graced me with. “Thanks, Reed.”

I lift­ed the cur­tain and ducked out.

233

THE PAWN

Why? Why would they do this? Why, why, why?

I paused for a mo­ment out­side the al­cove to catch my breath, the bon­ing in the bodice of my gown cut­ting in­to my raw, hot skin. My brain searched for an an­swer, but could find none. What would the Billings Girls pos­si­bly have to gain from mak­ing me snoop through their rooms? Had they want­ed me to find all their sick, se­cret stash­es? Had they want­ed me to find the proof of what they had done to Leanne? And if so, I was back to ques­tion one:

Why?

It was all just some big, twist­ed game. It had to be. And Natasha and Leanne and I were the pawns. Play­ing with us amused them. See­ing how far we might go gave them a hap­py lit­tle thrill. It was the on­ly ex­pla­na­tion. Ear­li­er that day when I had gone in and con­fessed and hand­ed back the disk, they had known what I had done. They had known all along. They had en­gi­neered the whole thing.

They must have been laugh­ing at me be­hind my back for days. Look what Reed's do­ing. Look how stupid she is. Look how much pow­er we have over her.

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The more I thought about it, the more I want­ed to tear some­one's hair out.

I stood up straight, took a deep breath, and homed in on the dance floor. This was not go­ing to be pret­ty.

Cling­ing to my livid adrenaline rush, I stormed through the crowd, tak­ing an el­bow here, a hip knock there, and found Noelle, Ar­iana, Tay­lor, and Ki­ran just where I had left them, in the cen­ter of the dance floor. I stepped in front of Noelle, seething for breath. She stopped danc­ing.

“We need to talk,” I said.

“Reed, re­lax,” she drawled, rest­ing her wrists on my shoul­ders. “It's a par­ty! That's what you're sup­posed to do. Or don't they have par­ties in Bum­ble-?fuck, Penn­syl­va­nia?”

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