Written in the Stars(83)
“Found you!” Elle’s laugh sounded fake even to her own ears. Fake and forced and flimsy, a paper-thin front to cover what she was feeling. “I wanted to let you know I’m going to get some fresh air. I’ll be back.”
She turned before her face could do something terrible like crumble beneath Darcy’s mother’s scrutinizing stare. It made Elle want to shrink in on herself so she kept walking, kept moving in the direction of the ballroom exit, even when Darcy called out after her.
Chapter Nineteen
Darcy’s lungs burned as she quickened her steps, one heel catching on a crack in the pavement in front of the hotel. Thankfully Elle drew to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Darcy wasn’t made for running in shoes like these.
“Elle.” Her breath crystalized in the air, turning to fog in front of her. “It’s cold out here.”
Understatement of the century. It was freezing, the sort of cold that cramped your muscles and made your bones ache. Darcy hugged her arms across her body, skin prickling with gooseflesh as she waited for Elle to say something.
“’m fine,” Elle mumbled, back still to Darcy. Light from the streetlamp caught on the glitter that had rained down her shoulders, her arms, her bare upper back. Darcy’s vision went fractal again, all that glitter turning to crushed diamonds on Elle’s skin. Stardust.
Darcy’s teeth chattered when she tried to speak. “At least . . . at least get your coat or something if you’re going to stand out here. It’s—”
“I said I’m fine,” Elle bit out, voice wavering around her words, whittling them into something thin and sharp that pierced Darcy right through the chest.
She took a step forward, knees knocking as she shivered. “You don’t . . . you don’t sound fine.”
She sounded anything but. What the hell had happened? Everything had been wonderful, perfect, and sure, Mom had been brusque, but that wasn’t worth getting upset over. It certainly wasn’t worth dashing off into the cold without a coat. Yet Darcy had followed. Chasing after Elle had been instinctive, something she hadn’t thought about. Elle had looked upset, her smile forced, and she’d taken off and Darcy had been halfway out the ballroom before it had even occurred to her that she hadn’t said anything to Mom. She’d left their conversation, that stupid, worthless conversation hanging and had followed Elle out into the night.
Above them, the sky was dark, not a star in sight, not even the moon. Elle was, by far, the brightest thing Darcy could see, brighter than the streetlights and the lamps, a beacon in the darkness.
Elle’s shoulders curled forward, the curve of her spine enticing. Keeping one arm around herself, Darcy reached out to stroke the skin of Elle’s back, to run her fingers down that arch until skin met sparkling fabric. Elle turned before Darcy could make contact and something about her hand hovering in the space between them left Darcy feeling so vulnerable that she dropped her arm like she’d been burned.
Nothing about Elle’s expression looked fine. A furrow had formed between her brows, her eyes damp and narrowed. She’d licked the gloss from her lips, worried them red, and the cold air chapped them further, making her pout more pronounced.
“I’m . . .” With a shrug, Elle crossed her arms. One strap slipped down her shoulder and she slid it back into place absently, sniffing softly, because it was cold or because of something else, Darcy had no idea. Elle cleared her throat and lifted her chin. The look in her glossy blue eyes rooted Darcy where she stood. “I heard. What you said to your mom. I overheard.”
What she’d said to her mom . . . Darcy’s heart stuttered inside her chest. “What part?”
Elle scoffed gently and hugged herself tighter, elbows squeezing in, making the curl of her shoulders and the jut of her collarbone sharper, more pronounced. “All of it?”
All of it . . . okay. That was why Elle was not fine. Why she’d taken off, run out into the cold. Something about what she’d heard, she hadn’t liked.
Nothing about that conversation had sat well with Darcy. Not Mom’s prying, not her demeaning Elle, not her assumptions, and definitely not the part where she tried to force Darcy to reckon with her feelings. As if that were her place. As if Darcy needed that. Mom had no idea what Darcy needed.
Darcy shoved the heel of her hand into her breastbone and stared down the sidewalk. Empty. No one was crazy enough to be standing outside when it was this cold. No one except for her and Elle.
“Okay.” She turned, facing Elle once more.
Elle shook her head, lashes fluttering as she blinked, lights catching on the glitter. “Okay? That’s—” She blew out her breath, shivering softly.
“Let’s . . . let’s go back inside.” Darcy gestured over her shoulder. It was warm in the hotel and Darcy desperately wanted to head back inside just like she desperately wanted to not have this conversation. She wanted to step this whole night back, return to the dance floor, back to when everything had been far less confusing, the thoughts inside her head less of a jumble. The fear of what she felt would’ve still been there, but it wouldn’t have been so suffocating, bearing down on her with an intensity that made it difficult to do something as basic as stand there and act like she was okay. It had lingered in her periphery, but if she kept her eyes on Elle, kept looking ahead—not too far ahead— it was okay.