The Facades

The sun was just a tad too ideal. Golden, warm, with the kind of radiance that made everything look like something that would be featured in a holiday brochure. Grass was thick under the picnic mat Zara had insisted on laying out with a rugged fervor, and the secret lake glimmered a few feet away, its water bumpy like a screensaver.

Rose hated that everything seemed so beautiful.

It was peaceful, fine—but the sort of peaceful that crawled under her skin. Like something wicked was hiding just under all that serenity.

Zara was hosting this party full-out, practically skipping around with a Bluetooth speaker blasting cheerful tunes. Damien had taken off his shoes and was slicing strawberries, holding them in front of Rose's lips one at a time like he was auditioning for the lead role in Flirty Farm Boy Falls for the Girl in a Wheelchair.

"Want another one?" he asked, holding it up to her mouth.