Page 63 of Secret Obsession
We nod our agreement. Aspen catches my hand and squeezes, and I force a smile. I squeeze her fingers back, then find some excuse to pull free. We kick the snow off our shoes and then toe them off. Violet’s house is so warm and cozy, it’s enviable.
Mine never feels warm—and now, with the break-in, it definitely doesn’t feel safe. Not that Miles is going to let me back there anytime soon.
“You’ve been going through it,” Aspen says, nudging me. “We’re here for you.”
I take a deep breath. “Yeah. Thanks.”
We move into Violet’s room. I didn’t even notice that Thalia brought a whole bag of makeup and clothes with her, which she spreads out on the bed. Violet drags me into the closet and starts flipping through clothes.
“What’s wrong?” She glances back at me.
I shake my head. “No, nothing.”
She pulls out a dark-blue dress. “This goes well with your eyes.”
I snort. “Okay.”
I strip right there and tug it on. It’s high in the back, needing to be zipped up, but the front plunges into a low V. My bra is showing. I unhook it and slide my arms out, dropping it on top of my clothes. Violet moves behind me and does up the zipper, shifting my hair over my shoulder.
“What are you wearing?”
She shows me a lavender skirt and crop top. It also matches her name, which is kind of cute. And I’m glad she’s not ashamed of the scar on her leg. There was a time when she wouldn’t wear anything but pants.
I step out of the closet, and Aspen pushes me to sit on the bed. Her and Thalia spend the next thirty minutes doing my hair and makeup unprompted. They take turns getting each other ready, too, but I’m done first.
My phone buzzes in my bag. I go for it, and my heart squeezes.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell them.
Not that anyone pays attention. Violet is doing her makeup in the bathroom, and Aspen and Thalia are giggling about something.
I slip from the room and answer the call.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Reed?”
“Speaking,” I answer, my voice cracking slightly. I hurry downstairs and into the kitchen, leaning my hip against the counter.
“This is Detective Barrister,” a woman says. “Our officers went over to your apartment for the break-in, and I was calling to follow up.”
I blink in surprise.
“You’re calling on a Sunday evening?”
She chuckles. “Yes, well, crime never sleeps, right?”
Right.
“I was hoping that you could provide me with a little more information. Your boyfriend said that you don’t have any enemies, and that you keep to yourself and your friends at school. Is that true?”
“Boyfriend…?”
“Miles Whiteshaw?”
Fucking hell, Miles.
“Yeah.” I swallow, fumbling to recover. “I know who he is, obviously. Um, when did he say that? I mean—I agree, I don’t have any enemies.”
