“I think it sounds like a great idea,” Melissa said softly.
“Yeah, it sounds cool,” Amelia chimed in.
Wren squeezed her knee. “You’d make a great lawyer, Spence.”
“That’s what I’ve always told her, since she loves to argue,” Mr. Hastings said, rolling his eyes.
Mrs. Hastings let out a breath. “Well, I suppose it’s your decision. As long as Princeton has given their blessing about deferring.”
“Really?” Spencer cried, her whole face erupting into a smile. “Thank you, Mom!”
She circled the table to give her mother a hug, but Mrs. Hastings swished her away. “I’ll wrinkle,” she said, gesturing to her linen dress. But then after a moment she smiled, and hugged Spencer anyway.
Wren touched Spencer’s arm and asked if she wanted to get some air on the patio. They walked outside together, taking in the pretty vantage. The golf course was so green, the trees behind it so lush. Spencer could just make out the Hollis Spire through some of the branches.
“That went well, don’t you think?” Wren murmured.
Spencer nodded. “Better than I thought.”
Wren touched the tip of her nose. “I’m so glad you’re going to be in Philly. Because you know what else is in Philly, besides the Legal Aid office?”
Spencer put a hand to her chin, pretending to think. “Um, the Liberty Bell?”
“Not that,” Wren said playfully.
“Independence Hall?”
Wren chuckled. “How about me?”
Spencer’s heart did a flip. “Oh, right!” she exclaimed, in mock surprise. Then she sighed. “I can’t wait to spend more time with you,” she said softly. She was really excited at the prospect of getting to know Wren better.
Wren leaned in, and their lips met in a passionate kiss. Spencer shut her eyes, sinking into the sensation. Her world felt utterly right. She was so glad she hadn’t disappeared. She’d remained Spencer Hastings, and she didn’t have to give that up for freedom.
But then her gaze drifted back into the dining room, landing on a certain table near the window. She’d probably sat at every table in this place at one point or another, but that particular table carried a particular memory. It was shortly after Courtney had tapped them for her new clique, right after they’d all become friends, and Spencer had brought the girls to the formal dining room to show off her parents’ expensive country club. They’d all dressed up, and everyone had tried to act extra-genteel, ordering complicated items off the menu and behaving with impeccable manners. Aria had even spoken with an accent.
Halfway through, however, Hanna had knocked over an enormous carafe of iced tea, which had doused their sweet potato fries, the candle in the middle of the table, and somehow even sprayed the grumpy old couple sitting to their left. For a moment, the room had been absolutely silent. The old woman stared at Hanna with disdain, her ugly white suit ruined. Spencer had glanced at Their Ali—Courtney—certain she’d blacklist all of them for Hanna’s clumsiness. But to her surprise, Courtney had thrown back her head and laughed. And then the rest of them had laughed, hooting so loudly and uncontrollably the waiter had asked them to leave. They’d tumbled onto the golf green, holding one another, not even sure what was funny anymore. Spencer had never loved Courtney as much as she had that day. And she’d loved the others, too—just as much as she loved them now.
Spencer’s attention drifted to the TV above the bar, in the casual lounge side of the restaurant. Not very coincidentally—for Ali was everywhere right now—the Ali story was on the news. There was a picture of an overweight brunette being led into prison in handcuffs. Psychopath Awaits Trial in Psych Ward, read the banner underneath.
Suddenly, the girl turned and stared straight into the camera. Her mouth was small. Her expression didn’t change. Her eyes didn’t look scared or sad, but angry. A shiver traveled up Spencer’s spine. It felt like Ali was looking straight at her. And her eyes were saying, We’re not over. There’s still a lot of fight left in me. You just wait.
One of the guards yanked Ali hard to turn her around, and they shoved her into prison, slamming the doors shut behind her. Heavy iron doors, Spencer was happy to note, with industrial-size locks, guarded by vicious dogs and men with high-powered rifles. Ali wouldn’t be escaping any time soon.
And Spencer would never have to worry about her again.
34
THE JOYS OF MARRIAGE
On Thursday morning, Hanna and Mike sat at Hanna’s kitchen table for breakfast. They were dressed in monogrammed, terry-cloth bathrobes they’d received as wedding gifts, plaid pajama pants, and interesting footwear. Hanna’s high-heeled slippers with a pouf on the toe were a wedding gift from Hailey Blake. Mike was wearing the ugliest Icelandic-wool socks Hanna had ever laid eyes on. When she asked him to take them off, he’d just looked at her and said, “These are my favorites. They keep my feet warm.”
Those were the intimate details you were forced to deal with when you married someone. You learned to take their ugly socks. You witnessed their drool on the pillow while they slept. You kicked them gently when they snored. She’d gotten all of that and more the past few nights.
And it had been wonderful.
Now they were plowing through the enormous pile of wrapped gifts on the floor. Even though Hanna had explicitly said No Gifts on the invitation, people had bought them all kinds of crap anyway. And not just their wedding guests, but people from all over the country who’d felt for Hanna after Ali reappeared and their verdict was reversed.