Page 41 of Love and Lies

The line in front of the Glowfly reached halfway around the block when I got out of the cab, noticing happily that it was finally getting warmer out, now that it was early April. So far I’d managed to avoid having my own driver; my mother didn’t seem to be in a hurry to employ one—and why should she, when she had me under control most of the day anyway?

I stood up straight, jutting my chin an inch or two, and marched past the line with a pounding heart. I’d never been in the Glowfly before; when I’d left for England, it had hardly been more than a backstreet dive. Nobody knew who I was here, and I didn’t know if they would even let me in. A few years ago it would have been easy; no club that valued good PR had turned Valerie Weston away. But tonight I was alone, and I was about to find out if my name was worth anything at the Glowfly.

“Hi,” I said to the bouncer, who was busy denying entry to a group of drunk girls.

He turned to me in irritation. “Yes?” he asked, letting his gaze wander down my outfit—black dress, not too short but short enough, high heels, a classic Chanel clutch, and an outrageously expensive sequinned Prada jacket. I had another card to play besides my pricey getup, though.

“Helena Weston.” I spoke in the same tone of voice I’d often heard Valerie use: self-confident, almost to the point of arrogance. “I’m expected inside.”

Just like I’d hoped, the bouncer’s eyes widened a little, and something like recognition flitted across his face. He released the black velvet rope from its stanchion and pulled it aside. “Welcome to the Glowfly,” he said, barring the way behind me again and turning back to the group of girls.

I gave a sigh of relief. That was easier than I’d thought. But the hardest part of the night was still ahead.

I left my jacket at the coat check before making my way into the club proper. It was full: crowds of people in outfits on a scale from chic to eccentric occupied the dance floor, or else sat in the lounge areas on low armchairs or chaise longues with velvet upholstery and sparkly, tufted cushions. All along the dark walls, tiny lights pointed toward the ceiling, twinkling subtly, the club living up to its name. It made me smile; Valerie would have liked it.

The bar was busy, but it didn’t take long to catch the attention of one of the guys serving.

“Hey,” he said. “What can I get you?”

“Gin and tonic, please,” I replied, before following up with the question I’d rehearsed in my head a hundred times. And maybe once or twice in the mirror too. “Hey, you haven’t seen Colton Pratt around tonight, by any chance?”

“Pratt?” The bartender shook his head. “No, not yet. But he’ll be here soon for sure, it’s still early.”

Luckily, I had plenty of time—my parents were in Boston meeting business partners. My family had owned real estate there for years now, so they made regular trips to the city. Which was good for me, since I couldn’t use Malia as an alibi this time. I hadn’t told her about my plans at the Glowfly—drug dealer Colton Pratt wasn’t exactly an upstanding citizen, and she would definitely have been against the idea of my talking to him alone.

“Here’s your gin and tonic.” The bartender put the glass down in front of me, and I gave him a fifty.

“Keep the change.” I flashed him a smile. “And if you see Pratt, feel free to give me a heads up.” I knew what he looked like from his Instagram photos, but better to be on the safe side all the same.

“Sure.” He nodded and thanked me before turning to his next customer.

I took my drink and made for the seating area behind the dance floor, since it had the best view of the door. But I didn’t go under the radar for long.

“Helena?” A startled voice reached me above the pounding bass. “Helena, is that you?”

I turned around and saw someone waving at me. It was Madeleine Richardson—known to her sizable YouTube following as Maddy Rich—onetime girlfriend of Valerie’s, and also the first to return to business as usual after her death. I thought about pretending she had me confused for someone else, but then I got ahold of myself. Every source of intel that could help me was valuable. And Maddy knew absolutely everybody.

“Hey!” I greeted her with fake enthusiasm and made my way over.

She air-kissed me on both cheeks. “It’s so great to see you.” She beamed at me. “We heard you were back in town, but after you disappeared, I thought it was just a rumor.”

“It’s true,” I said with a smile. “I’m back.”

“So I see. And you look amazing. Like, so grown-up. Come and have a drink with us.” She dragged me over to a raised platform where four or five others occupied a velvet seating area. I wanted to say no at first—I was waiting for Pratt, after all—but then I realized that I could see the door even better from there, so I let her rope me in and present me to the group. “Guys, you remember Helena, right? Valerie’s little sister.” I saw a combination of confusion and excitement on their faces, but not a single one of them showed any trace of guilt.

Despite the rage I felt deep down, I greeted them affably and sat in a free space between Maddy, who was pouring champagne, and Preston Whitaker, who was just as arrogant as his name suggested. We’d never had much to do with each other, so it was no surprise that he looked at me like he’d never seen me before. Not that it mattered, since Maddy was soon monopolizing me.

“So how was it in England? Did you meet any of the royal family?”

That was what she wanted to know? I suppressed a snort, but I shouldn’t have been surprised.

“No,” I replied, gesturing toward my gin and tonic as Maddy offered me a glass of champagne. “And being sent into exile wasn’t much fun, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Well, you’re back now.” She pulled out her phone. “We should announce it right away. What’s the hashtag for your big return?”

I held up a hand to stop her photographing us together. “Sorry, no can do. My parents would throw a fit if they knew I was here. You know, because of all the Valerie stuff. Better if I stay incognito.”

Maddy’s eyes widened and took on a sorrowful expression. “I’m so sorry we didn’t do more back then, you know, after Westwell—after the pair of them came to such a terrible end. But my collab partners weren’t on board, and Valerie wouldn’t have wanted me to lose my contracts for the sake of getting into a pointless war with Trish Coldwell. The show must go on, right? Val would have done the same thing.”