“Sorry isn’t going to cut it,” Byron said sadly, shaking his head. “Sorry doesn’t matter to the judge.”
Aria ducked her head as the officers pushed her into a waiting car, tumbling onto the smelly, faux-leather backseat. An officer checked her cuffs. A second officer strapped her in, then swung into the front seat, which was visible through a set of heavy bars. The reporters rushed the car, still screaming questions and snapping pictures. Aria could only imagine what sort of caption would accompany her pasty, bloated, tear-stained face on tomorrow’s front page. She glanced out the window past the reporters, toward her grieving parents on the curb. There was a tug in her heart so painful she let out another sob. They looked destroyed.
She could just add them to the list of people whose lives she’d ruined.
“There’s milk in the fridge,” Ella said woodenly as Aria stumbled down to breakfast the next morning. Ella was sitting at the table in a dressing gown and a pair of embroidered silk slippers. Her gaze was on the New York Times Saturday crossword puzzle, though she hadn’t filled in any of the squares. Several cereal boxes were also on the table, along with a bowl of fruit, a carton of orange juice, and a coffee carafe. Mike sat there as well, tapping incessantly on his phone.
“Okay,” Aria mumbled, not sure if she should sit down with them or scuttle back up to her room with her breakfast. She wasn’t in the mood to eat. Half the night she’d heard her mother sobbing. Byron had stayed, too, and Aria had even heard him crying—and her dad hadn’t cried even when an Icelandic pony trampled him in Reykjavík and broke three of his toes.
She poured a very small bowl of Weetabix and sat at the island on the very edge of the stool. Her new ankle bracelet clanked against the metal leg, and Mike winced, as though she’d just scraped her nails down a chalkboard.
“Sorry,” Aria mumbled, hunching her shoulders. Needless to say, the cops had slapped the thing on her when they’d pulled into the Montgomerys’ driveway last night—and they took her passport, fake passport, driver’s license, Rosewood Day ID, cell phone, and anything else that could connect her to the outside world.
Ella scraped back her chair and looked at Mike. “So we have to pick up your tux in an hour, and then you’re due at Chanticleer at noon. Dad’s picking up Grandma at the airport, and I’m going to have to scramble around because Aunt Lucy is coming in from Chicago. So take the Subaru, okay?”
“Sure,” Mike answered.
Ella nodded, then touched her face. “And I need to figure out how I’m going to fix my puffy eyes before tonight.” She left the room quickly, her dressing gown trailing behind her.
Aria looked at her brother. “Your wedding’s today. I forgot.”
Mike sniffed. “Yeah, I guess you’ve been too wrapped up in yourself.”
Aria hung her head. “I’m sorry.” Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.
The only sounds were Mike crunching his cereal and Aria’s small, pathetic sniffs. Finally, Mike sighed. “So are you going to come?”
Aria flinched. A long beat passed. “You don’t want me there,” Aria answered.
Mike shrugged. “Get over yourself. You’re still my sister. Hanna would probably like to see you, too.”
Aria swallowed hard. Hanna probably hated her for disappearing and leaving her the burden of dealing with the trial on her own. Besides, things felt too tarnished after Emily, too damaged. Could they really be friends again, after all they’d been through?
She took a tiny bite of cereal. “I don’t know.”
“Come on. There will be Hooters girls.”
Aria stared at him. “Hanna’s letting you have Hooters girls at her wedding?”
“It’s one of the reasons I’m marrying her.”
Aria wanted to laugh, but she still felt too numb. “I’ll think about it,” she said.
Mike rolled his eyes. “You should be thrilled I’m inviting you. I’m pretty pissed, you know.”
She peeked at him. “Because I got Noel in trouble?”
He stared at her crazily. “That’s that dude’s own fault. No, I’m mad because, one, no one has really slept since you took off. Pretty uncool, Aria. And two, because you went to Amsterdam without me—again! How many times have I told you that the next time you go, you bring me with you?”
He slammed his coffee cup into the sink, let out a groan, and stomped up the stairs. Aria watched him go, swirling her spoon in her cereal bowl again and again. Huh.
Then, she looked down at herself. Of course she should go to her brother’s wedding—as long as she was with her parents, it was probably allowed. Suddenly, something struck her. Noel would probably be invited, too. Would the police let him attend? Maybe they’d get to talk. Maybe she could apologize. Beg for his forgiveness. Tell him that if she could serve his sentence for him, she would.
It was a tiny, shiny ray of hope. Aria might have to go off to prison for the rest of her life, but she would make things right with him before she did. Or else she would die trying.
23
I DO!
At T-minus thirty minutes until the big moment when Hanna walked down the aisle, Hanna, her mother, and Ramona stood in a dressing room at the Chanticleer mansion. Ramona held a tiny pair of nail scissors aloft. “Once you get this dress on, I don’t want you sitting down,” she instructed. “It’ll wrinkle, and that’s the biggest faux pas for any starlet on the red carpet—and any bride, for that matter. And since you’re going to be both, you’re just going to have to stand up for the rest of the day.”