The first round of guests arrived on Thursday.

Diana's best friend (and Alisdair's mother), Margaret. Lawson's family. David's long-time business partner. Only family and close friends were invited to the Thursday night cocktail party. Not, Harper thought wryly, that it took any of the pressure off; she'd still spent most of the day running around with armfuls of streamers and Italian wine.

And Diana was even worse.

To her credit, Diana had taken the bedbug incident surprisingly well. Too well. Her stepmother had spent the last 48 hours very calmly meeting with the caterers, attending last-minute dress fittings, and greeting guests. Then Harper had gone into the kitchen at three o-clock in the morning for a glass of water and found Diana mashing a bowl of fish.

"Smoked salmon mousse," Harper explained now, leaning closer to the mirror. "She was prepping a tray of canapés."

They were standing in her bathroom, surrounded by pots of glittery make-up, discarded heels, and tissues stained with lipstick. Cass — who was in the process of yanking on a black pump — frowned.

"Doesn't she have a catering team?" Cass asked.

Harper swiped on mascara. "They didn't add enough salt, apparently."

"Shit."

"I know," Harper said. "I won't be surprised if Diana redoes the whole menu on Saturday."

Cass held a hoop up to her ear. "Do you want me to get Pembrooke to talk to her?"

"Griffin?" Harper asked. "No, it's okay. He's busy."

Cass's smile was wry. "Exploding things, no doubt."

Cass leaned closer to the mirror. Her dress — a burnt orange number that plunged low in the front — tipped dangerously forward. Her blonde hair was swept up in shiny clips, and she was wearing only moisturizer and blush. Not because she didn't like make-up, Cass had explained, but because she couldn't be arsed to take it off later.

Which, you know.

Fair enough.

Harper swiped on lipstick. "How'd you two even meet, anyway?"

"Pembrooke and I?" Cass put on a hoop earring. "I don't know. We've been friends for so long that I can't remember not knowing him." She dropped her hand. "Our parents — mine, Pembrooke's, Dalton's and Granville's — were friends at uni. They all got pregnant at the same time."

Harper capped the lipstick. "Did you go to Wilder Academy, too?"

"Oh, no," Cass said, looking amused. "It's an all-boys school. Not for lack of trying, though; I begged Mum for weeks to let me go. Imagine my fury when she explained that I couldn't get in because I don't have a dick."

"Seems unfair."

"Exactly." Cass started on the second earring. "And it was always like that, you know? Whatever the boys did, I wanted to do it, too. Climbing the highest tree. Eating the spiciest pepper. I wanted to prove that I could do it better than they could."

Harper — who had been rummaging through her make-up bag — paused to smile at Cass in the mirror. "I bet you succeeded."

"For a time," Cass allowed. "Then the boys lost interest in climbing trees and started focusing on girls." She slipped on a gold bracelet. "Pembrooke's the only one that actually spoke to me when we were teenagers."

Harper pulled out perfume. "What about Lawson?"

"What about him?"

She kept her voice casual. "You and him never...?"

"Oh, no," Cass said, pulling a face. "God no. I don't think any of the boys would try anything; they're like brothers to me. And anyway, Hale is..." She frowned slightly. "He's gone through a lot. More than most people ever do. He doesn't really date."

Something in her chest twisted. But she'd known that, Harper reminded herself; Lawson had made that clear from the beginning. It was silly to hope for anything more. She sprayed her perfume — "Lilac Dreams" — and shuffled a few things around in the make-up bag.

"He's never had a serious girlfriend?" Harper asked.

"Not in recent years," Cass said. "Why?"

"I'm just curious." Harper zipped up the bag, her thoughts straying to the day in the kitchen. Moira and the lavender biscuits. "Have you met his mother before?"

Cass raised an eyebrow. "Moira?"

"Yeah."

"Loads of times."

"What do you think of her?" Harper asked.

She didn't want to pry. Had tried not to pry, up until now. And yet — if Harper was being completely honest with herself — she had questions. Why had Moira shouted that day in the kitchen? And why had Lawson been so adamant on keeping them apart?

Harper frowned. Sure, parents could be embarrassing, and yes, Moira seemed like the type of person to show her baby pictures of Lawson and gladly divulge about his favourite childhood toy (a stuffed elephant named Blinky — Harper had asked).

But was that all?

"Moira's amazing," Cass said, picking up her clutch. "When the boys were at cricket, she'd invite me to come garden with her. Obviously, I spent the whole time complaining that I couldn't join their team, but I actually had the better end of the deal." She smiled as she met Harper's gaze in the mirror. "Moira's biscuits are legendary."

"They really are."

Something about Harper's voice must have been off because Cass's smile faded. "Why? Don't you like her?"

"No, I do," Harper said. "A lot."

"And the meeting went well?"

"It did."

Cass's frown deepened. "Then why—?"

Someone in the corridor called Harper's name.

"That's Diana." Relief filled her. "We should go."

Cass sighed. "Lane..."

"It's okay." She squeezed Cass's arm. "I was just curious."

Cass didn't look convinced. Still, she looped her arm through Harper's, her bangles jangling together. With her golden curls and flowing orange dress, Harper thought, Cass would easily be the prettiest girl at the party; it was no wonder Griffin fancied her.

Not that Cass had any idea.

"Come on," Cass said. "Let's go find the free tequila."

Lawson wasn't looking for Harper.

Definitely not.

And yet, Lawson couldn't help but notice — purely by coincidence — that Harper was nowhere to be found. The cocktail party was in full swing; guests bathed in sparkly jewelry mingled beneath a vaulted ceiling, sipping glasses of champagne. Violin music floated above the crowd. Lawson caught sight of his sister by the cupcake tower, chasing a group of giggling children around the banquet table.

But no sign of Harper.

"Who are you looking for?" Haz asked.

He was leaning against a pillar, swirling a glass of what was either water or gin (but was probably the latter, Lawson thought, knowing Haz). His dark hair was neatly combed, and he'd shaved tonight. Someone — Alisdair, Lawson suspected — had even convinced Haz to put on a suit for the occasion, which was nothing short of a miracle.

Lawson frowned. "What?"

"You're looking for someone," Haz observed.

"No, I'm not."

Haz gave him a look. Lawson sighed. Whereas Alisdair was an expert in saying too many words, Haz was an expert in saying nothing at all; both methods were equally effective when it came to an interrogation.

"Fine," Lawson said. "I'm looking for Pembrooke."

Haz's mouth curved. "Liar."

"It's the truth."

Haz didn't look convinced. "There's something going on."

"How do you know?" Lawson asked.

Haz tipped his head towards Alisdair, who was watching Lawson with narrowed eyes. It was a variation of Alisdair's Disappointed Look, reserved for times when Lawson was about to disappoint him. Like when Lawson opened his mouth to say something offensive to a teacher. Or when Alisdair had found an unopened packet of marijuana in their dorm room when they were thirteen (Lawson had tried to blame it on Haz with no success).

Or, apparently, when Lawson was looking for Harper Lane.

Not that he was looking.

Absolutely not.

"Oh, that," Lawson said airily. "We had a disagreement."

Haz took a sip. Lawson waited for him to ask the obvious follow-up question — over what? — and then realized that he wouldn't. This was Haz, after all; he was naturally secretive, and therefore expected everyone else to be secretive, too.

Lawson nodded at his wrist. "Are those permanent now?"

"What?" Haz asked.

"The grease stains."

Haz — who had been rubbing idly at the dark smudges on the back of his hands — pulled his sleeve up. "Appears so."

"Don't be silly," a female voice said. "Granville just doesn't shower."

Cass appeared, holding a glass of champagne and a fancy blackberry cocktail. Her blonde hair was done up in some sort of fancy poof, and Lawson resisted the urge to ruffle it. He'd learned the hard way that Cass didn't appreciate him messing with her hair.

"Alright, Squirt?" he asked.

Cass frowned. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

"We've always called you that," Lawson said.

"Yes," Cass said, "but it doesn't mean I like it."

"You look adorable," Haz told her, patting her head. "Like a small orange."

She glowered. "Oh, fuck off, Granville."

He smirked. "What?"

"I know it might be hard for you to believe," Cass said, batting his hand away, "but some men do find me attractive."

"A disturbing thought," Haz muttered, and Lawson was inclined to agree.

It wasn't like Lawson hadn't noticed that Cass was pretty — it was hard not to — but it was Cass. The idea of dating her was like... well, it was like... Lawson repressed a shudder. No, it was just too gross to even think about. Hell, the Wilder Boys had even made a pact when they were fourteen that none of them would date her, which seemed ridiculous now.

None of them would go for Cass.

It would be far too weird.

"Where's Harper?" Lawson asked.

Haz gave him a wry "I-told-you-so" look that Lawson pointedly ignored. Cass shrugged. "I don't know. I think I saw her talking to Moira."

Something icy formed in the pit of his stomach. "What?"

"You know," Cass prompted. "Your mother?" She squinted up at him. "Fuck's sake, Hale, did you hit your head recently?"

His pulse picked up. "Where are they?"

"How should I know?"

Lawson clenched his hands. "Think, Cass. Please."

"Calm down, Hale," Cass said, looking alarmed. "You'll give yourself an aneurysm."

"No, you don't understand." Hot blood pounded in his temple. "Harper doesn't know. About what happened two years ago. I couldn't — I didn't... I thought about explaining it to her, but every time, I just couldn't bring myself to do it."

Cass's face softened. "Oh, Lawson."

"I need to find her." He could hear the desperation in his voice. "She should hear it from me."

"I'll help you," Haz said, and his voice was... well, not gentle, Lawson thought; he couldn't imagine Haz ever being gentle. But he didn't sound as pissed-off as he normally did, and that was something.

Cass nodded. "Me, too."

Lawson swallowed, scanning the room. Shit. He should have told Harper the whole truth about the incident when he had the chance, but he hadn't, and now he was going to pay for it. Cold sweat formed on his back.

He needed to find her and explain himself.

Before it was too late.

A/N: Hello lovely readers,

You've got a BIG twist coming your way on Thursday — don't say I didn't warn you ;)

Question of the Day: what TV series are you bingeing at the moment? I'm halfway through "Inventing Anna" on Netflix and I'm hooked!

Affectionately,

J.K.