“A dream? Why?”
She shrugs. “I can literally make your dreams come true. Well, for one night. Think of me like your own private box office.”
OK, this could be interesting. “Anything?”
“Whatever you want.”
“I would like to dream of Idris Elba,'' I begin. I look around at the dusty shelves of old textbooks. “And he’s helping me organize my glamorous book launch, in London, which happens to be at Timothée Chalamet’s house. I’m a huge bestseller and at the end of the launch Elba and I do it on a massive pile of books. My books.”
“In front of Chalamet?”
“Sure, why not.”
I grin, and she rolls her eyes at me as she heads for the door. “Consider it done.”
She’s nearly out of the door when something like regret pools in my stomach.
“Actually,” I call out after her.
She whips around, her smoky ballgown gathering around her like clouds of coal dust.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
She crosses her dainty arms. “What? Chalamet no longer watches? Want one at each end?”
“No... I...” I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “I’d like to dream of Mikayla. My sister.”
Her exasperated expression softens. “OK. What do you want to happen?”
“Not much. I just want to hold her hand on the beach, like we did as kids. I need to talk to her.”
It’s Beatriz’s turn to rub my arm, giving it a friendly squeeze.
“I can do that. And thank you, again, for not ratting on me and Xavi.” She says his name softly, like it’s a secret.
“Wait…” I’m so stupid. “So, all that stuff on the roof, about writing to your mom. That was all bullshit to cover up for Xavi?”
Beatriz’s eyes swim with tears again. “I can’t lie to you, remember?”
“Fine, but there are still ways to evade and embellish.” Ways to lie without lying. “And I don’t appreciate being fed a sob story about your sick mom to cover up for sex.”
She gives a weary sigh. “Xavi keeps me company. When I send my mother messages.”
I can tell it took a lot for her to admit that, proving this Xavi boy is far more than a casual fuck.
“I promise I won’t tell anyone that either,” I say.
With something as close to gratitude as Beatriz can manage, she links arms through mine, and we head back to the party.
“He seems nice. Hopefully, I can meet him properly next time,” I say.
“If there’s a next time.” She throws a regretful look in the direction of the kitchen. “Hey, how about a nightcap at mine and Luisa’s after the ball?”
“But Luisa hates me,” I mumble.
“Why?”
“I acted like an asshole last night.”
Beatriz doesn’t reply but is still laughing when we step back into the crowded ballroom. She nods over at Luisa, who is leaning against a wall chatting to Rafi. My stomach clenches at the sight of her. Her dress is currently long and gothic, sleeves trailing over her slender fingers. As soon as she looks over at us, her gown tightens, a long slit appearing from the floor to the top of her thigh.
“I wouldn’t worry about Luisa,” Beatriz whispers into my ear. “Something tells me she’s willing to forgive.”
Chapter Thirteen
The sand between my toes feels like a trickle of memories. It wavers beneath me, unsteady. I’m sinking as I make my way forward, reaching out to a form near the sea.
To her. Always her.
“Took you long enough.”
Mikayla beams up at me. It’s the same thing she said in the last dream, and the one before that. It’s what she used to say to me when we were kids and I was always last to the beach, making her wait. But no matter how long I took, she always sat on the sand patiently until we could take the first dip together.
I give her the same reply I used to give her back then.
“Last one to the waves will never get a boyfriend!”
In a flash, she’s on her feet, racing me, sand ricocheting off my calves. I reach for her, and her fingers grasp mine, then she yanks them away as she sprints onward laughing. Her touch is real. She’s warm and whole and right here beside me. My sister and I are together again.
Then she’s gone.
Mild panic has my chest aflutter until I spot her in the water. Waiting for me. Always waiting for me. I rush forward but stop shy of the watermark in the sand.
The sea. I can’t get near it.
“Get out,” I scream. “It’s not safe!”
The sand scratches my knees as I sink onto them, my fists pounding the beach.
“Mikayla!” I cry out. She’s going to get hurt. She’s going to go missing. “Mikayla, get out of the water.”
Please.
My sister looks right through me as if she’s seeing something else. Somewhere else. A different person, or perhaps a different time.
A light splintering sound pierces the air, a crack slowly traveling across Mikayla’s face.
“You can’t reach me,” she says.
The crack slithers across her arms, over her chest, and down her abdomen. Her skin is delicate eggshells, crumbling before my eyes. The waves lap at my toes, but I can’t move.
“No!” I scream. “Come back. Come back to me! I’m sorry.”
She’s leaving me again. I won’t be able to find her. Her skin falls away, slivers of shell-like leaves falling to the darkening waters. She’s disappearing right in front of me, the puzzle I can’t solve.
Paralyzed, I can do nothing as piece by piece she disappears into the sea until she’s completely gone. Nothing left but her soft whispers on the waves.
You can’t reach me. You can’t reach me. You can’t reach me.
I rake my fingers through the sand, grit collecting beneath my nails that split and bleed. I scream.
I’m still screaming when I awake, sitting up violently and drenched in sweat. My sheet is painfully twisted around my middle, tightening like an anaconda as I struggle against it.
What the fuck just happened? Where did she go?
Scrambling out of bed, I pull on my jeans and
