Page 74 of Prince of the Palisades

He bows, kissing the back of Grace’s hand. “Enchanté.”

She raises an eyebrow. Asking her permission to bring Léon was a chore by itself. “Charming,” she says, smirking. “Glad you could come.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Whoa.” Nathan nearly spills his glowing orange drink, tiny umbrella included, sidling up to Léon’s side. “Immortal enemies at the same soirée? Fuck Edward and Jacob. We’re hot.”

Léon inspects him. I know that look. One second from saying something cold and rude.

I almost step in to spare Nathan, but Léon surprises me with a grin.

“I like you,” he says.

The semi-dark club can’t hide the brightness in Nathan’s cheeks.

“Join us,” Grace insists, and I find myself wedged between her and Morgan.

All around, phone cameras flash. Selfies and videos of weird, offbeat dancing to Halloween-themed songs. I pose for the occasional photo, shout lyrics along with Grace for her TikTok.

A sofa away, Léon is absorbed into multiple conversations. This is his element, thriving under the spotlight, instantlyfitting in with strangers. He doesn’t have to force it. Unlike me.

“Smile more,” Morgan advises, bumping my knee. “You look miserable.”

“Didn’t we discuss this?” I say, nudging her back. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a tiny grin at the corners of her mouth.

When Rihanna’s “Disturbia” comes on, someone shouts, “Fuck yeah, this is my song!” The crowd erupts. I half-turn to Morgan.

“No date tonight?”

“As if I’d date anyone from our school,” she says dryly. Her phone lights up. She checks it. “Willow Wood is fine, I guess. The people? Not so much.”

“Present company excluded?”

She pointedly looks toward Kaden. “Included.”

I shake my head, chuckling.

Her attention shifts to where Léon is laughing at something Nathan says. “Bringing your ex here? That’s shocking.”

I want to tell her it wasn’t my choice. That, like everything these past two months, I’m doing it for a reason. A reason I’m questioning a lot lately. But we’re not on that level. We’re not even friends, despite the weird ache in my belly that wishes we were.

“In a good or bad way?” I ask.

“Undecided,” she shouts, eyes on her phone again.

Kaden flops next to her, almost tipping over his mock-margarita. “What’s with the face, Morg?” He tips his chin up. “Or are you just in character? Wednesday Addams, right?”

She exhales. “Go be basic somewhere else, Kaden.”

He peeks at her phone. “Oh, fuck me. Again? Who readsthe newsat a party?”

“Me,” she snaps. “Don’t act like I haven’t seen you checking ESPN at these things.”

“That’s different,” Kaden moans. He sips, then sighs. “What’s Anderson Maddow, Rachel Anderson, or whoever yelling about now?”

For a beat, Morgan stares, like she’s considering leaving him without an answer. Or simply leaving. I am too.

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