Page 37 of What's in a Kiss?

“No,” Masha says. “You’retalking. I finished long ago.” And then my precious Masha turns and walks away.

Chapter Ten

I drift like flotsam from the party and wash up at the valet stand. The night is warmer here, pressed against PCH, hissing with cars. A streetlight hums overhead, painting me in tragic light. I take off my shoes, feet throbbing, lean against a brick wall, close my eyes, and implode.

My best friend just served me the kind of contempt I’ve only seen her give telemarketers. When I left the wedding tent, two of her cousins applauded.

If someone would just tell me what’s going on, maybe I could fix it. But the only person interested in talking to me is Glasswell.

My throat constricts.

Masha’s rage had afermentedquality, as if her complaint against me had been roiling for months. Far longer than last night’s rehearsal dinner. What is happening?

“Hey.”

“You again,” I say to Glasswell without looking at him.

He sweeps me into a full-body hug—torsos, hips, ankles, hearts. I feel his pulse, calling and responding to mine. He feels... safe. I’m past the point ofHow dare he. My heart has become homeless. I need something to hold on to.

I release myself into Glasswell’s arms and cry.

“It’s okay,” he whispers into my hair.

“Shehatesme.” I shake with fresh sobs, realizing the words are true.

Masha. My ride or die of twenty years. The gentlest soul I know.

Through the curtain of my tears, I see the valet standing nearby. I don’t usually care what strangers think of me, but I find myself wiping my eyes, trying to keep it together.

The valet clasps his hands behind his back. He keeps Glasswell and me in his peripheral vision, in the uniquely Angeleno manner of being one brunch table down from Zendaya and pretending not to care.

“Want a better view?” I ask the valet, stepping aside to offer him unobstructed access to Glasswell.

“I—what?” the valet stammers.

“Sorry,” Glasswell says. “We’ve had a rough night.”

“Do you have your claim ticket?” the valet says.

“I’m not even in line,” I say, thinking of my poor LEAF all the way back at the hotel. “I stopped here because there was a wall to lean on—”

Glasswell looks at me. “It isn’t in your purse?”

I wave him off. “I didn’t park here. You go ahead.”

He smiles. “I’m happy to drive you home, Ms. Dusk. If you’d like.”

There’s something in his voice that catches me off guard. A warm buzz spreads through my blood. Gently, he lifts my purse out of my hands. I watch as he opens the complicated vintageclasp—first the slide of pearl, then the twist of its gold-plated shell. It opens more easily in his hands than it ever has in mine. He reaches into the precise silk pocket—the one sewn under the label—where I keep valet tickets. And pulls one out.

As he hands it to the valet, my eyes fall on my phone in my purse.

“I’ll be right back,” I say to Glasswell as I slip around the corner. I swipe up on my phone’s lock screen. I don’t recognize the image—unknown mountain, unknown snow—but I can’t worry about that now. I’m seconds away from my mother’s soothing voice.

Lorena will know what to do. I tap my Phone app, then the star for my Favorites, but I don’t see my mother’s name. In her place... is Glasswell.

How didheget into my phone? I’ll kill him. This is one step too far.

But it doesn’t end there. I don’t recognize any of my Favorites. Who are these people? Why does one of them go by “Eddie Redmayne”? There’s a panic rising in me that I can’t confront. Clues point in a direction very far from my world.

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