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𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘

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Coffee steaming in hand, Cora caught her own reflection, cast pale against the perilous drop below.

She had aged five years in the span of a night, dark circles beneath the hollows of her eyes, thin creases cut her forehead to slender valleys and peaks. She had tossed and turned so much that she was surprised that Matsson hadn't asked her to sleep on her own. She spied his reflection several degrees above her shoulder, heightened by the slant of glass and fast approaching, his hand against the back of her neck, pressing firm against a lump of bone.

"There they are."

She followed his pointed finger. Sure enough in the distance, the gondola lift creeped up the length of cable, an ant climbing a stem.

Cora knew for certain who was aboard, receiving updates since the Great Atlantic Road from both Tom and her step-father, neither illuminating anything the other hadn't, but nonetheless doubling her dread. This was to say nothing of the cryptic texts from Shiv, asking if she had time to 'talk'.

Cora had been too enraptured in her own turmoil at the wake to do more than offer an obligatory hug and some hushed condolences, but the sleepless night had given her ample opportunity to run over the events ad nauseum in her head, and further inspection did raise an eyebrow. Shiv had been a hair jumpy in her time of mourning. She supposed she would find out why.

The dark fabric of her parka rustled under Matsson's hand as he cleared a path to curl around the crook of her waist. Cora bit her lip. She'd barely had enough time to wrangle a cat sitter for Olenska, Olivia rising to the task at hand, and had departed from New York without bothering to pack a suitcase. Matsson explained away the fresh change of clothes as an errand he'd given to one of his staff but hadn't been able to meet her eye on the matter, arousing well-founded suspicion that they had been worn by another.

Cora didn't know what to think of Ebba and she assumed that the woman felt the same way, for to say that Matsson was unconventional in his treatment of his ex was putting the matter lightly. For one, Matsson had neglected to even inform Cora of his previous relationship until she'd met the woman several times over, in fact she hadn't even found out from him, but one of his other employees. When she'd confronted Matsson, he'd watched her rant, unable to hide his smirk as he gnawed at his thumb, waiting only until Cora was fully out of steam to ask, in the tone of a contrarian political pundit, if this ruled out the possibility of a threesome.

Ever since, Cora had merely tolerated the woman, bound by stubbornness to resist the urge to flee the room whenever she appeared, leaving her to squirm whenever Matsson's team descended upon the villa. For Ebba's part, she remained glacial, friendly enough to Cora in passing, but never betraying her true feelings, try as Matsson might to coax them from her, which he had attempted on more than one skin crawling occasion. Cora might have admired her poise if she hadn't been jealous of it. She suspected she read as plainly as the pages of a book.

Cora gasped. His hand was on her breast, crumpling the tight knit of her turtleneck, as what lingered of Ebba's perfume began to stifle her.

"You think they can see from all the way down there?"

Cora pushed his hand away and strode a distance, pulling shut the parka's zipper as if donning a particularly soft piece of armor. His chuckle stalked her.

"That's not funny."

"Eh, I thought it was."

"I told you, I want to be discrete."

"They wouldn't be able to." Matsson continued, as though he hadn't heard her. "I've tested it. Takes 15 more minutes for them to get close enough. I could be done with you by then."

She shook her head.

"I'm not fucking you within full view of the valley."

"Ah, but it'd be fun to, wouldn't it?"

Ha, maybe, if she wasn't clawing at remained of her sanity. Cora wove between the couches, stooping to pick up her mug of coffee, no longer steaming, she had nursed it for hours. Milk tepid against her lips, she drained the rest in a single gulp, guilt bucking as the Kahlua that had sunk to the bottom finally found passage down her throat. If she pretended she couldn't taste it, did it even count?

She was beginning to buy into his philosophy that maybe her problem had never been the alcohol. After all, hadn't it been Logan that had coaxed her from her sobriety? The irony that he was dead and she was still drinking was lost completely on Cora. Whatever Matsson thought on the matter, he only hinted in observation that morning, pointing out the obvious with no further commentary attached, but she had surmised that he approved, and even if he hadn't, saw no point in dissuading her.

"Speaking of their arrival." She didn't care for his tone here, arching a brow. "It'd be best if you went down to play mediator. Word's gotten out about head's on the chopping block. Metaphorical, of course. A pity, but still. Gotta play civilized with these people."

"You don't want me here for the negotiation."

Cora had meant it as a question but her voice dropped at the look on his face. If an invitation was being extended, it would've made itself obvious. This was punishment, pure and simple. She clicked her tongue.

"So how long do I have to play PA?"

"Long as you don't have a ring on your finger." He tapped the side of his nose. "Discrete."

"Right."

Of course he weaponized it against her, but she counted her blessings that he hadn't immediately taken it upon himself to go and fetch the ring in question. Cora wasn't yet convinced of the decision, left it open ended for convenience sake, but he didn't need to know that.

What she had become certain of in the turn of a night was that he was right. She was callous, or at the very least, was fully capable of callousness. Maybe the Roys had rubbed off on her, maybe it was just in her nature, for Christ's sake look at Reagan, her track record. And maybe that wasn't a bad thing to embrace. She'd felt at the mercy of her softness, why not square up and become unfeeling. The world around her was. The people she held closest were.

The muscles of her core deflated at the thought, but she forced herself to rise, heavily.

On the journey down the mountain, she passed by the group but they didn't pay her any mind. She could only imagine the atmosphere within the gondola's glass box. A place so small was not meant to hold so many egos.

She tried from the distance to spot Roman among the bodies, the sun's glare obscuring all but their shoes. Cora took an educated guess, then regretted it. She let out a groan and let the backing of her chair take her weight.

≪ °❈° ≫

"You're in a bad mood. She's in a bad mood, Frank. Look at her: as foul as the Mississippi."

Karl was right, she was in a bad mood, and the choice to join the pair on their drive to the spa had only worsened it. What started as a light pressure at lunchtime, fueled by a back and forth between Matsson and the Roys, had advanced to a full blown migraine. A pair of drum sticks were playing their part in a jazz number against the bone of her skull, and Roman was the one guiding the orchestra. Her one saving grace: if he couldn't meet her eye, he wouldn't be able to tell she was drinking again. This had to be what they called a small mercy.

Frank, however, could look her in her eye, and was doing so, avidly, like she was a child he was inspecting for mumps. If he had thoughts on the matter, he didn't voice them.

"I possess the necessary faculties to tell if my own step-daughter is in a bad mood."

"Well you weren't saying anything, so I thought I would interject," Karl said.

"You know what they say about interjections."

"Nope, I don't."

Would it be a better fate to fester among the rats as they scuttled to curry flavor amongst the Swedes? Cora wasn't the betting type, but maybe she could take it up. Collecting addictions could be her new favourite hobby if she tried hard enough. She'd played poker in college once and come out ten grand poorer. No surprise, given that she couldn't fool a geriatric.

"Aren't you going to ask her why?"

"I'm sitting right here. I can comprehend everything you're saying." Cora slurred. Karl's eyebrows rose as he chuckled.

"They had a cure in Rome for what you'll be needing tomorrow morning. Owl eggs. I bet there's a nest out here in the trees if you got out and gave one a shake."

"I'm good, I think." She said, glaring at the passing forest.

"What's the matter? If he's not going to ask, I will. It's not very fatherly to let your daughter suffer in silence."

"Step-daughter. And he's always preferred the hands off approach," Cora said, "can't get blamed for the fuck up if you never warned them about the ditch."

That had been harsh, but most honest statements were. Frank shifted uneasy in the seat across.

"Fine, I'll bite, so long as you don't take my head off. I am acting on precedent." He gestured towards her with a mute hand. "Go on. Clearly there's something you need to get off your chest."

"There's nothing." She paused, then couldn't help herself. "Ok, there's something. But saying exactly what would involve unpacking what feels like a lifetime. Whatever, I'll keep it simple. How come the one time I try to do the right thing in life, I get treated as if I'd done the exact opposite? Because I've been wondering that and the most I've managed to do is chase my own tail. Why is it that I'm surrounded by people who do the wrong thing, and yet no one ever bats an eye? And when I do nothing at all, when I remove myself entirely, it feels like a palpable relief to everyone involved?"

"Well that's simple," Karl said, "everyone's wrapped up in their own story. That's how life works."

"If that's the case, then why do I feel like I'm mapping out an entire galaxy just to make sure I don't accidentally piss someone off? Where's the concern for me? No, seriously, outside of how I can benefit some Machiavellian ulterior motive, what about me?"

Cora slumped back against her seat, vaguely aware that she had just telegraphed a litany of thoughts she'd been unaware she held, to an audience that contained the step-father she'd ignored for over a decade, his coworker and the nondescript driver of the golf cart shepherding them to their destination.

The longer she sat in silence, punctuated by the cart's electric hum, the more she regretted opening her mouth. Karl, who had been so intent on engaging with her, suddenly found extreme fascination in the passing Norwegian flora. Meanwhile, Frank had fastened his gaze directly on her. After some time, he spoke.

"Did you realize that you haven't asked me how I've been after Logan passed?"

Cora flushed.

"What? No?" She stuttered. "Sorry ... I've been preoccupied."

"There's your answer. People care for themselves. Just a fact of living."

Cora, who's mouth had been flapping open in the wind since he'd mentioned Logan, tightened her jaw.

"Right. Fantastic. Got any other gems?"

Karl scratched the top of his head in thought.

"I have a few. The wife always gets the last word. Worrying is praying for the worst to happen. Never ask a barista if they've put sugar in that."

"And maybe the greatest one of all," Frank interjected, "when someone tells you who they are, believe them. Don't try to will them otherwise."

She shifted in her seat. Why did it feel like he was looking directly through her? Maybe because he was. It crossed her mind that if there was someone who could objectively judge her character, it was him.

"Do you think I've changed?" She asked, before she could think through the consequences of opening her mouth.

Frank's lips formed a thin line. There was no question in her mind that the answer had popped instantaneously into his head. His hesitation was a matter of wording: the weight of how he might be received. Cora's fingers tapped impatient against her thigh. He leaned forward, weathered palm planting firm against the back of her own. She froze beneath the pressure.

The golf cart slowed to a halt. There was a stilted moment, before Frank motioned with the dome of his head towards Karl in dismissal. Karl pulled a face.

"I want to know the answer."

"Later, Karl."

"I would prefer to not be a topic of conversation." Cora muttered quickly, but she knew that this would fall on deaf ears.

With Karl left to loiter at the spas entrance, a safe distance where aged ears did not allow for eavesdropping, Cora levelled her gaze with that of her step-father's.

"I want the truth." She did not sound entirely sure of this.

"And I'll give it to you, kid, but you can't blame me when you don't like it." Frank said. Her brow crumpled. "I'll give you a chance to reconsider."

"I'm not reconsidering, I'm just wondering if you need to be checked into a home."

"No need to get alarmist," Frank said, "look, Cora, the truth is you have changed. Even if that change is a little ... Asymmetrical. You have. The problem is, no one else has, and that's the hard part. You can do all the self-improvement you want, but that's not going to do much of anything to the people around you. People are going to do what they want to do, they're going to care about themselves and they won't make that a secret. So you either take them as they are, or you move on."

Cora winced. Somehow she hadn't accounted for an answer worse than the one she'd been bracing for. A harsh truth as immutable as the very people he was referring to. Was Frank really right? Would sticking around be the equivalent of banging her head against a brick wall? Cora didn't want to believe him, but the evidence was all around her, hell, months ago she'd been a veritable cork board of proof.

"What would you do?"

Frank's expression was solemn as he squeezed her hand.

"I made my choice before I met your mother. Not all sacrifices are dramatic. Some of them barely even make a sound."

He left her staring into the distance. Cora's mind churned. His words had answered something she'd always wondered in the back of her head: why had he stayed by Logan's side through all these years. Maybe he'd had to grapple with the very question now burning a hole in the back of her throat. Who the fuck was she without these people?

≪ °❈° ≫

To her surprise, she didn't feel like drinking. Past dinner, she'd arrived back at sober and on solid ground despite the festivities that ensued with the oncoming night. The sun hadn't grown shy when the bottles were brought out, a bag of Norwegian ecstasy passing hands around her like a perverse game of pass the parcel. She took tepid hits from Greg's vape to stay her nerves, a crisp white cloud of watermelon ice chilling the inside of her lungs. Every so often she was forced to field the anxious jittering of a Waystar employee, though none as insistent as Hugo, probing for a temperature on the tentative kill list.

Her responses remained noncommittal. Even if she'd known its contents, Matsson was being stony towards her, casting sidelong glances through the throng. A million looks and yet no attempt to forge the gap. Cora returned the favour. She needed her head as clear as possible. Curiously, the only person who appeared to not have had a drop was also the other one who'd caught Matsson's attention. Shiv.

She had tried to corner her friend earlier in evening and had been rebuffed. Apparently the Scandinavian air had managed to cure what had been gnawing at Shiv's mind. Bullshit, Cora thought, this felt strategic. It felt like whatever ground beneath her was merely an illusion, its material reality ever shifting with each hushed conversation held. Cora knew the steely grin etched across Shiv's lips well. Her game face.

Tom sidled up to her with a tall glass of red, glaring foul and interrupting her thoughts. She held up a hand.

"What? I haven't even said anything."

"No but I know you're going to."

"Fucking Odin over there had laughed at me in Swedish this afternoon," Tom muttered, "you missed it, like you missed most things today. What were you even doing? Hugging a tree? Hiding under a suspiciously smooth rock?"

"Thinking." Cora chewed her lip. "I would've done a bit more if I knew I was going to get the third degree. Nice to see you too."

"I'm just saying, it would've been helpful, you know. You, me and Greg. Talking strategy."

"Uh huh. Strategy. Well, I say pawn to f3."

"Not really the time for jokes, is it." He paused, ducking his head as if he'd only just caught sight of her. "Are you alright? Are you sober?"

"Very. Can't you tell? I'm not lying in a bush."

"I don't appreciate this ... Cavalier attitude thing you have going on right now, it's making me nervous."

"Nervous about what?" Cora sighed, turning to face him. "Look, Tom, I have no idea who's on that list, and even if I did, there's not a thing in the world I could say to change it. I'm window dressing at best."

"Jesus, Cora." Tom muttered, taking a long sip of his wine. He seemed to be buying himself time, then thought better of leaving her the opportunity to fill the silence. "Don't tell me someone slipped you a Prozac."

She didn't reply.

She'd caught sight of Roman combing the lip of the party. Cora had spotted him earlier, off in the distance when the sun had finally set, passing tepid words with Kendall. He'd spotted her then too, immediately turning away. Now he lingered, their eyes locking. She dared him to look away again. He didn't.

Tom snapped his fingers, causing her to startle.

"Well?" He cocked his head to the side.

Cora whipped her head back and found the spot where Roman had stood empty. Her gut twinged, nostrils flaring. This was a sign, right? The universe throwing her a bone. She had to talk to him. If he was open to meeting her eye, surely he was just as open to talking.

"No. No Prozac, but look, if it makes you feel any better, throw some my way if they're handing them out." She cleared her throat. "Sorry. Fuck. I gotta go."

"You gotta ... Ok, alright."

Cora pushed her way through the crowd, batting the haze of flailing limbs and only narrowly avoiding a shove from an erratically dancing Greg. Free of the thick of it, she gazed around the cold night and found Ebba smoking a cigarette on the edge of the concrete platform. She shifted languid, an elbow balanced atop her slender forearm.

"Are you looking for Lukas?" She intoned, her dark eyes swimming with thin flecks of multicolored light.

Cora felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise. She couldn't have thought of a worse person to have run into, much less when the question of where Roman had gone was playing on her mind. She considered the possible consequences of probing, but the strength of his gaze flashed into her mind.

Doubt prickled her skin, keen as the flicker of amusement on Ebba's brow. She needed to find him but she also needed to be cautious.

"Sure." She said, slowly.

"He's having a drink." Ebba replied, her voice demure. "With Siobhan."

"Ah," Cora said, "Siobhan."

"Yes."

"He does that, sometimes. Drinks. With other women."

Cora suppressed a grimace. She didn't know whether the smile on Ebba's face was one of commiseration or taunt, perhaps somewhere in between, but chose to ignore the bait being laid. She knew in her gut she didn't have time for this. She'd made her decision.

"You wouldn't have happened to see which direction Roman Roy went while you were watching my boyfriend, would you?"

Ebba thought for a moment, her eyes dark semi-circles as she cast them upwards in thought. Her brow twitched. She was weighing her answer.

"Mm ... I think that way. Looking for his cabin, maybe," she said, "didn't hear it from me."

Cora nodded, breathing a curt sigh of relief.

"Got it. Thanks."

"Mmhmm."

She felt eyes on her back as she darted off in the direction of Ebba's pointed finger. Quickly she was swallowed by the dark, the path snaking up towards the cabins, gravel and stone lit either side with low-set lanterns. While her footing was certain, the mass of trees around her were shrouded in thick shadow, delineated only by thin shards of grey night sky peeking through the canopy. If the path forked, she could easily lose her way.

Thankfully it didn't. The cabins came into view through the gloom, Cora squinting her eyes to just make them out. She felt her heart sink as she saw not a single one was lit up. She came to a slowed stop in the middle of the path, standing between two still structures, each of their windows lifeless. Without the crunch of her footsteps, the low hum of the forest danced in her ears.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she jumped, her heart hammering. She quickly slipped a hand into her pocket and brought the phone to her ear. The name on the screen sent a shock of electricity through her fingertips.

"Yes?"

She tried her best to sound casual, like she hadn't just trekked her way out of the party to find him. Craning her head up to search the cabins again, she just managed to catch a sliver of his silhouette in the one to her left. He stepped closer to the window.

"I can see you."

"I know. We're literally making eye contact, Rome."

"Don't call me that." His voice was sharp but she saw no hostility cross his face.

Cora shrugged, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Ok, I won't then."

He nodded, then tilted his forehead to press against the glass. He looked tired, like the day had wiped him clean. She could only imagine how the meeting with Matsson had gone. Not well, if the smugness written across Matsson's face was any evidence. But this was not what struck her. Roman did not look fine. He hadn't looked fine when he'd told her he was, and he certainly didn't now.

"Don't you have something better to do than spy on me? Not tempted by all the happy pills?"

"Not particularly."

"Right, right."

"You borrow some of Matsson's clothes?" He gestured his head.

"No ... They're Ebba's."

"Classy of him, he's a real catch. Reckon he took that pointer from Hefner?"

Cora didn't answer. She should hang up. There was a heaviness in his voice blurring the edges of his words. On anyone else it would have sounded like intoxication, but Cora knew implicitly that it wasn't. The same haunted tone from the wake, ringing hollow in his throat.

"Can I tell you something?" He asked abruptly.

Cora inhaled sharp.

"Am I going to regret saying yes?"

"Mm, dunno, give it a try."

"Sure."

"I've been thinking about the last time I saw you naked."

Her mouth felt dry. She opened her mouth, then closed it, opened it again.

"On the yacht?" She managed finally, unable to think of anything else.

"Yeah. On the yacht."

"Well, when did you start thinking about that?"

"When I saw you going back down the mountain."

"Thinking about me naked around my step-father?" She snorted, aware that she was trying to buy time for her brain to reboot. He had thrown her so severely off course, if there had been one to begin with.

"Eh, wouldn't have been the first time."

"Amazing."

"Are you gonna ask me why?"

"Maybe." Cora hugged her free arm against her chest. "Fine. Ok. Why?"

"Guess it was the last time that ..." Roman screwed up his brow. "I don't know. I just like thinking about naked women."

She felt herself deflate as she thought back to that night, how she had felt. Exposed, liberated. In retrospect, foolish. Funny how things always repeated when she was around him. Frank's words swirled the drain. People didn't change and neither did the circumstances surrounding them.

"I felt like you didn't look at me then." She admitted, drawing the cold night's air deep into her lungs.

"I didn't."

Roman softly thudded his head against the glass, like he was trying to convince himself not to open his mouth any further. Wherever this was going, he was just as aware as her that the water was murky.

"Because you were being a gentleman?"

"No. Because I didn't know what that would do to me. If I looked."

"Why've you been thinking about it?"

"I think I want to look this time."

Her hand flew to her mouth but not quick enough to obscure the stutter of her breath. Maybe the dark obscured the flush that lit her cheeks, or maybe it didn't. The pounding of her heart filled her ears, so much that she didn't detect the footsteps behind her until a hand brushed her shoulder.

Cora yelped in surprise, the grip on her phone loosening. It fell to the ground. When she turned, her body grew cold. Matsson, towering above her, his lips crooked with a smile.

"Oh." She said, ducking down to retrieve her phone. She thanked God that it had landed face down.

"Whatcha you doing out here?"

She realized she was shaking as she straightened up. His appearance had rattled her, but Roman's words were what had left her weak. Cora subtly flicked her eyes to her phone screen and found it blank. Beyond her relief, she itched to turn her head, to see if Roman was still watching.

"Oh, um, I was ... I came to look for you and I got turned around. You disappeared, and I ..."

The ground scraped with the sound of another pair of feet. She ducked her head out to spot Ebba in the distance. Fuck.

Matsson's craned his head to take in the cabins above. His eyes searched as Ebba appeared by his side, still smoking, a new one Cora assumed, tilting her head as she came to a stop.

"Evening." Ebba said, greeting them both in turn.

Matsson glanced towards her, his brows rising. Cora held her breath. Maybe she hadn't ratted her out. Maybe Matsson's suspicion was a general one.

"Looking for me." He replied finally. "Ah. I was missed then, was I?"

She dug her nails into the palm of her hand and nodded.

"Right. Thought Ebba was lying when she told me. Seemed you were doing everything to avoid spending any time together."

An exhale, quickly shaking her head, barely tamping her relief.

"Of course not. I was looking for you. I'm sorry, I guess I was playing hard to get earlier." She laughed, shrugging. "I want to go to bed. I'm tired."

"Right."

There was a note of hesitation in Matsson's voice. Moments later and he swept an arm around her shoulders. She eased against him. A bullet dodged.

"Have to be up early tomorrow anyway. You're joining me, on the mountain. Bid our visitors a last farewell."

Farewell? Did that mean things had gone through? Cora's stomach turned. She felt like she was seconds late for a train, left stranded at the station, only able to watch as the carriages pulled away.

"Lovely." Cora said robotically. "Sounds perfect."

He steered her away, into a cloud of smoke puffed from Ebba's lips. It was only when the path wound in such a way to naturally guide her eye to the cabin windows that she dared look for Roman.

A blank window met her gaze, but she knew, in the pit of her stomach, that he was still watching.