CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

ATTACHMENT

( — emotional relationship between a child and the regular caregiver. )

— ♡ —

          "THE DOG DIES."

          Jude gasps. "You're a horrible human being."

         Roman simply smirks at that comment, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. In front of him, there's a small box of Chinese food. "I'm just saving you the trouble of watching the movie just to see a dog die. I'm looking out for you."

          Jude huffs, slouching in his seat with a pout, and Rhiannon throws him a reassuring smile. After all, it's not as though they didn't know Roman knows the ending to basically every movie in existence and will not hesitate before spoiling it for everyone.

          Granted, no one else finds it particularly amusing, but Rhiannon figures it's about compromise. After all, it's one of the lightest conversations they've had in what feels like an eternity, and she's glad to have these people by her side in a time like this. So, she merely grabs her cutlery and carefully picks up a spring roll.

          Jude scowls. "So, if I name a movie, you're able to tell me how it ends or a really massive spoiler?"

          Roman's smirk turns into a gentle smile. "Try me."

          "Okay." Jude interlaces his fingers over his stomach and stares up at the cafeteria ceiling, pensive. Rhiannon can't help but wonder how he's not blinded by the fluorescent lights. Next to her, Laura calmly sips her lemonade. "I can't stop thinking about Titanic—don't," he quickly adds, before Roman can reply. "Uh . . . Inception?"

          "Leonardo DiCaprio goes home. The top never stops spinning."

          Jude slams his hands against the table and everyone jumps with a start. "How do you know these things? Do you have a special compartment in your brain where you store movie endings, plot twists and ways to make me hate you?"

          "Yes, yes, and no. You could never hate me."

          "Rub it in my face, will you?"

          Roman grins. "You love me."

          Jude leans forward, taking his hands in his. "I do. But stop ruining movies for me." Roman bursts into laughter, something that easily carves its way into Rhiannon's chest, and, when Jude mimics him, she no longer feels hollow—not as much, anyway. Jude then brings Roman's hands to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to his major knuckles. "Good. It's nice to know we can compromise."

          "So, when's the wedding?" Laura casually asks, and Jude drops Roman's hands, startled. It's almost the same reaction he had when his father dropped the same question back during brunch, but that was about his brother's engagement and this is just a joke.

          He's been awfully jumpy lately, not just about marriage-related questions. Rhiannon supposes it's a common theme between all of them, especially when a phone buzzes and their hearts race in anticipation. There's always some kind of danger lurking around the corner, some kind of threat that could easily blow their cover.

          Their cover is made of paper, something that can easily catch on fire after being ignited. It will burn to a crisp, almost like the experiment house, and it will be as if they had never said anything—in fact, it will only make things a lot harder for all of them.

          She understands the concept of a scary future. She understands how utterly terrifying the uncertainty of an actual future can be even more.

          "I was thinking about a summer wedding," Roman calmly replies. "Spring is too soon and my allergies always act up. I'm leaving in September and winters here are absolutely dreadful, so . . ."

          "You're leaving?" Laura questions. "Where are you going?"

          "Back to London." He yawns, stretching his arms above his head, and Rhiannon's stomach sinks. She selfishly believed he was one of the few people she'd stay in contact with after graduation, regardless of whatever the outcome of the experiment is, as long as it's positive for the two of them. "I think I've had enough of this place, and there are other things I want to do besides being away from my parents. I get homesick a lot during the school year," he admits, with a delicate pinkish tone tinting his light-brown cheeks. "Most of my family is over there."

          "What made you want to study here? I mean, it's not like this place is particularly renowned when in comparison to the rest of Canada."

          "Well . . ." He shifts in his seat, and Rhiannon sets down her cup slightly harder than necessary. Jude glances at her, raising an eyebrow in concern, but she merely straightens her shoulders. Pretending the subject doesn't bother her is the mature thing to do. "A few years ago, my parents . . . they got involved in a research project belonging to a company from here. It paid well and they've always loved seeing their names on published scientific papers, so they took the job and brought me along. Once they left and kept partnering up with that company from home, I chose to stay with some distant relatives. It gave me a sense of purpose."

          "Really?"

          "No. I just didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, but Crowcrest has a nice and accessible investigation program I'm interested in. After graduation, I'll stay home for a little bit and then see what I can do." He lets out a dramatic sigh, placing a hand on his chest, right above his heart. "You know I'm going to miss you the most, Jude."

          "Of course," Jude retorts. "When we meet at the altar, I'll be the one drowning in cologne."

          A few moments later, the conversation is cut short when everyone realizes just how much coursework they're buried in. It was nice to have a break, regardless of how small it was, and it helped put things in perspective . . . in a way. They didn't discuss stuff Rhiannon wasn't already aware of, but it was nice to hear the words come out of someone else's mouth instead of acting the scenes in her head.

          Of course no one wants to stay here on the long-run. Roman might be interested in that investigation program Crowcrest offers, but he has to take a break before coming back to town. Isla already has her sight set on bigger cities, Toronto and Ottawa, and her brains can easily take her even further. Jude is, technically, the heir to the Sargent empire, as Ezra stepped down from his seat on the board, but he can work wherever there's a subsidiary.

          Rhiannon is the only one who's stuck. She just knows she doesn't want to stay, as there's nothing holding her back besides graduation, and can only hope things will stay that way. It's almost as if leaving Vofield meant leaving everything else behind, forgetting all about the horrors she has witnessed; Connor's betrayal, getting disowned, losing her place as Stephanie's bridesmaid, the experiment, Frances' death—it could all drift away in the wind as she stepped inside a plane.

          Or a boat. She's not picky.

          Besides, there are more pressing matters at stake at the moment. Rhiannon still hasn't managed to stop thinking about Hailey, Gabriella and that diagram, as if there was anything else she could think about—or anything unrelated to Frances' death, for that matter. It's always there, even while she's asleep, and she, much like Soraya, won't rest until she gets the answers she so desperately seeks.

          She, Sutton and Laura (and Rowan, Isla and the rest of that group by association) could have reached the wrong conclusion. They assumed that diagram represents how Beatrice and Frances chose the participants, connecting them to Taylor like Gabriella had always suspected, but they don't know anyone else's side of the story.

          One professor is dead. The other isn't and appears to be on their side. They seem to forget about that detail awfully often, and that's why Rhiannon thinks it would be useful to talk to her, even if the other two seem slightly hesitant about doing so.

          Jude walks her to her room, just because. He blurts it out so awkwardly the words get jumbled and mixed up with one another, and it could almost be comical if he wasn't looking over his shoulder nearly every twenty seconds.

          Her nervousness skyrockets when he closes her bedroom door behind him and announces he has something important to tell her. Isla shouldn't come back anytime soon, as she announced earlier she needed to stop by the library, and most people on their floor are in their own rooms, so the odds of having someone eavesdrop in their conversation are minimal.

          "Jude?" she murmurs, rubbing her eyes when exhaustion hits, and momentarily forgets she's wearing mascara. It smears her hands and she doesn't even want to think about the state of her cheeks. "Is everything alright? You've been acting kind of . . . strange lately."

          "There's something I have to tell you," Jude confesses, stepping closer to her when she stops by her bed. His light-brown waves glow golden under the warm lighting in the bedroom and the amber speckles in his hazel eyes are more noticeable than ever, especially when she tries to find a makeup removing wipe. "No, no, it's okay. You're beautiful. You're the most beautiful human being I've ever seen."

          "Don't let Matteo hear you."

          One of the corners of his mouth rises for a fleeting moment, but then it's back to seriousness. Rhiannon's heart jumps in anticipation. "Listen. I've been thinking about this for a while now, and I couldn't help but think about all the ways this could go wrong. Then, I remembered how it could go right and . . . and I decided that weighed more than everything else." He shifts his weight from one leg to the other. "You've always been there, through the good times and the bad, and I never really knew how to properly thank you for it. You've put yourself through hell over me, you went against your parents for me, and I threw it all away as if it meant nothing. As if you had the opportunity to keep doing it whenever things got bad.

          "I couldn't keep doing that to you, or to anyone who cared about me. I pushed myself to get better, with all those appointments my parents scheduled for me. It took, like, an eternity and it was the hardest thing I've ever hard to do, but none of you ever gave up on me, even when I did. I learned to do the same, and I'm not willing to give up on what I care about—I care about myself. However, that's not the only thing."

          "What are you . . ."

          She never gets to finish her sentence. Jude pulls out a small box from his jacket's pocket, and her breath gets itched in her throat as she follows his hand with her eyes. He has to breathe through his mouth, inhaling and exhaling as deeply as if he was preparing to run a marathon, but all he does is flick the box open with a quick flex of his fingers.

          He's not breathing. She isn't either.

          When Jude speaks again, his voice comes out croaky, almost like Gabriella's on the days following the fire at the experiment house. It's definitely not an association Rhiannon is happy to make. "Rhiannon, I love you. I know I don't say it nearly as often as I should, and maybe I've been distant enough to make you think my feelings have changed, but they haven't. That's one thing I've known all along, and it's something I don't want to lose; I can lose everything else, but I can't lose myself or my faith in my beliefs. That includes you. That includes my friends. That includes my family. But you . . . you're my best friend. I love you more than The Beatles. I love you more than my cats."

          "Jude," she blurts out, in a breathy voice, and he carefully sets the tiny black box on her open palm. The diamond ring is so delicate, with the small carved rose glistening under her bedroom lights, she doesn't want to touch it out of fear she'll accidentally break it. "Jude."

          "You don't have to give me an answer right now. Take as long as you need to, because we both need to be super certain about . . . about what we'll do. But I'm fully certain this is what I want—you're who I want, and it would truly be an honor to spend the rest of my life with you . . . or for as long as you want me." He throws her a weak smile, with the dimples poking small indents on his cheeks. "Whenever you're ready."

          The ring looks so fragile, so pure for someone like her. Rhiannon closes the box and a genuine flash of hurt crosses Jude's eyes as she sets it on her bedside table, most likely interpreting it as rejection.

          That breaks her. He knows her better than that, even after all they've been through during the past twenty-two years, and especially after all of it; even so, he's putting himself in a vulnerable position, one he rarely lets people take the smallest glance at, and she swears she can hear his neurons go into short circuit.

          The electricity crackles between her fingers and beneath her feet when she takes a step forward, cupping his face with both hands.

          "Rhea," he whispers, his eyes never leaving hers.

          "I love you," she whispers back. "I love you so much. Don't doubt that. Not even for a second." Her thumbs caress his cheeks, and she feels him relax with her touch. "Even after all the bumps in the road, even after all the wrong turns, we still found each other. If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't; all our choices, all our decisions . . . it all led us to this moment. We've done some really messed up things throughout the years, and I'm sure you and I would like to change the past—me with my parents, you with yourself—but we're here now. And I wouldn't want to do this with anyone else."

          Jude's hands slowly trail up her arms, raising goose bumps on her arms, even under the heavy fabric of her sweater, until his fingers curl around her wrists. "You're shaking."

          "I know." She sniffles, briefly moving her gaze away from his. "I'm so scared. I don't know what's going to happen next, with the experiment and . . . and Hailey . . . and all the others . . ." Rhiannon sharply inhales, focusing on regaining as much oxygen as she possibly can, and forces herself to look back at him without backing down. Of course he knows all about it, as she can never keep her damn mouth shut, but also seemed hesitant about believing Hailey and Gabriella had had anything to do with what happened to Taylor and Frances. "What I'm sure of, is that I want this. I want you. Together or not at all."

          "Together or not at all," he echoes, and reaches out for the velvet box. "Can I?"

          "Please." Rhiannon steps back to give him enough space to move, and her heartbeat reverberates in her ears. His own hands are shaking as well, even when he takes a deep breath, and he carefully slides the ring down her ring finger, the material chilly against her skin. It fits perfectly, as if he had been planning this for a while instead of being an impulsive decision, made on the spur of the moment. "Do your parents know?"

          "There are many things I want to think about right now, and none of them include my parents." He drops her hand to hold her shoulders, and, this time, he's grinning. "Stop shaking!"

          "I can't!" Rhiannon laughs, throwing her head back. "I'm engaged!"

          "We're engaged. Kind of takes at least two people to pull that one off." His lips tremble with laughter. "But they know. They've known for a while, which is why my dad pulled that trick during brunch, but, fortunately, Ezra came to our rescue."

         Her eyes widen. "Is he really engaged?"

          "Oh, absolutely. Mackenzie is super excited." He exhales. "As for me, I lucked out and it was a total coincidence, especially since I thought . . . I don't know. I guess part of me didn't think you'd say yes. With all that's been going on around this place, especially with the aftermath of the experiment, it would totally be normal if you . . . if you thought you needed to focus on yourself. Maybe both of us needed to do that. I wanted to give you your space. I wanted to give myself space to think."

          "I want this. I want you." Her bottom lip quivers. "I want you today, tomorrow and forever."

          "And you'll have me. Today, tomorrow, and forever."

          Then, his hands drop down to her hips to pull her closer to him and his lips find hers. When she slides an arm around his neck, with the other finding support around his back, she's certain this is exactly where she's meant to be—and with whom. There was never any doubt about it, even after all the wrong turns.

         He's the finish line.

— ♡ —

          THE NEXT MORNING, RHIANNON MAKES YET ANOTHER STUPID DECISION. Instead of waiting for confirmation from Laura and Sutton about whether they should talk to Beatrice about the diagram or not, she decides to do it herself; after all, knowing those two like she does, they'd probably postpone it until the point of no return and ruin things for everyone else.

          If that's even possible.

          So, after sunrise, she rolls out of bed, being as careful as possible so as to not wake up Jude, who stirs and grumbles something through gritted teeth. Rhiannon inhales, already standing up, but he doesn't move again, so it's safe to assume he has drifted back to sleep.

           The diamond ring hasn't even been around her finger for twelve hours and it has already begun to weigh more than it's supposed to. She's not regretting her decision from last night, or anything remotely close to that—in fact, it's the quite the opposite. The only problem she has with it is how her parents will react once they find out, as Vofield is such a small town news travel incredibly fast.

          She owes them absolutely nothing. Nevertheless, they still find a way of making her regret breathing and, while she might be overly paranoid thanks to the experiment and everything it entailed, maybe being extra cautious with her words won't hurt.

          Rhiannon tiptoes out of the room, bringing a fresh pile of clothes along with her, and, soon, she's dumping her used pajamas in the laundry room, damp hair cascading down her back. She's postponing the unavoidable, much like she feared Sutton and Laura would do if they knew what she's about to do, and forces herself to leave the warm building and face the chilly morning outside.

           Bad idea. She regrets it almost instantly, tugging at the flaps of her coat and crossing her arms as she walks to conserve as much heat as possible, but the gusts of wind are so brutal they nearly push her backward. It bites into her uncovered skin, blowing her hair back, and her teeth chatter.

          The next building she steps inside is a true blessing, one that almost makes her forget why she's here. She finally allows herself to breathe of relief, straightening her shoulders to fake some confidence she definitely doesn't have, and makes her way across the hallways towards Beatrice's office. Inside one of her pockets, there's a copy of the diagram.

          "Come in," Beatrice replies, from the other side of the door, after Rhiannon knocks, and her lungs are full of smoke. She hasn't smoked a cigarette since before dinner last night, and her body is already feeling the effects of withdrawal, with overly shaky hands and a pounding headache not even caffeine can cure. "Miss Ford. Good morning."

          "Hi," Rhiannon mumbles, closing the door behind her. It feels like it's been forever since the last time she came to this office—her interview and every private conversation she had with Beatrice almost feel like they happened eons ago. Time seems to be passing irregularly, with entire days feeling like months or seconds. "Can I . . . talk to you for a minute? It's important."

          "Please." Beatrice gestures towards the chair on the other side of her desk, one Rhiannon has occupied a few times in the past, but, this time, she remains in a standing position. "What can I do for you?"

          "You can help me and be straightforward while telling me the truth for once. I think we've had enough of your cryptic one-liners you try to pass off as witty." Beatrice blinks, with a shimmer of amusement in her eyes, and Rhiannon pulls the folded piece of paper from her pocket. Rhiannon also tries to remind herself the woman is old enough to be her mother, but a lot more decent, which makes up for any other similarities between the two. "We found this, and we want to know what it means."

          Beatrice takes off her glasses, setting them aside when Rhiannon hands her the diagram. After unfolding it, she holds her breath almost imperceptibly. "Do I want to know how you got this?"

          "No."

          "Was any of it legal?"

          "Guess."

          "Yeah. I don't know what I was expecting." She exhales, examining the names and the lines. "What do you want to know?"

          "I want to know what that diagram means. Is that how you chose the participants? The last time I asked you about it, you said you couldn't give out any details, but said there had been a participant zero. Was Taylor participant zero, or were you just bluffing when Laura and Gabriella went after you and Professor McCall?"

          Beatrice scowls. "You heard that conversation."

          "I sure did. Laura also filled me in regarding what I didn't know, and it turns out Chancellor Guerreiro has never been protecting you like . . . like you said he was." Rhiannon pauses. "You were bluffing."

          "White lies, Miss Ford. There are things you kids don't need to know."

          "I understand, but don't you think we deserve the truth at this point? After all we've been through?"

          "If you want my full honesty, sometimes it gets hard to feel sorry about your group when I remember you put yourselves in this situation, and the world isn't going to walk on eggshells around you forever. People have their limits." Beatrice hands her the diagram back and intertwines his fingers over her desk. "I can tell you we lied about Chancellor Guerreiro. I can tell you I lied about knowing who killed Taylor. I can tell you I didn't lie about my alibi."

          Rhiannon clenches her jaw as her heart rate quickens. "And the diagram?"

          "The blue names belong to participants Frances wanted to include. The black belong to me. The reds are the ones we couldn't agree on, with no distinction. If you had bothered to take a proper look at the diagram instead of allowing your expectations to cloud your reasoning, you'd realize it's not always the same handwriting." Rhiannon stares down at it, finding the most evident difference, and wonders how no one noticed it earlier. It's been two weeks since they've had it in their possession. "You'll have to remember not everything out there has some obscure meaning. Sometimes, a diagram is just a diagram."

          "Someone in that house killed your colleague. Your friend. I'm not blaming you for wanting to know the truth; I would do the same if I was in your shoes." Beatrice raises her chin. "But that doesn't give you the right to withhold important information from us; in case you've forgotten, there are ten innocent people whose futures are at stake. We brought it upon ourselves, but you said you were on our side; you can't just . . . you can't just abandon us when it's convenient for you!"

          "Rhiannon." Rhiannon stomps her feet. "What I'm trying to tell you is that you'll have to trust other people besides each other. One of you is the reason why the remaining ten of you have been caught in this mess, and, no matter who it is, the truth is going to hurt. You need to be prepared."

          "Then tell me who you think it is! Tell me whose handwriting this belongs to!"

          "To me. To Frances." Rhiannon narrows her eyes. That much she knows. "I didn't write Taylor's name. She never applied for the experiment, and I have no idea why Frances wrote it down, but he used a different pen." She gestures towards the folded piece of paper with a nod. "Check it out if you don't believe me. Both her name and the line following it were written using different pens than the ones he used when we filled that diagram months ago."

          "How can I be sure you're telling me the truth?"

          "The same way I know you're innocent."

          "That's different. There's concrete evidence that proves what I did and what I didn't do; we watched the footage together, but you were the one who deleted parts of it. Why did you do it? What did you see?"

          "Nothing relevant. The missing footage, the one from the time periods when the cameras were off, is what would matter most to the investigation . . . and, well, to us. You can trust me on this one."

          "Do you know who killed Frances?" Beatrice sadly shakes her head. "Do you have any suspicions?"

          "Don't we all?"

          Rhiannon isn't sure why she does it, but she nods before excusing herself and heading out of the building. She's expecting the courtyard to be empty, just like it was before she went inside, but it doesn't happen.

          "'sup," Rowan Underwood greets. He's wearing sunglasses, hands hidden inside the pockets of his leather jacket, and she wonders how in the world he hasn't frozen to death. Even worse, there's a dark-blue bruise on his cheek, one that definitely wasn't there the last time she saw him (and made a fool out of herself). "We need to talk."