She stood with her luggage all around her, one hand resting casually on the waist of her boyfriend, David. They were flying to Fiji for a vacation and … whatever. “Should be a good break from the weather,” Phil said bravely. I’d caught her crying this morning. She and Zelda had become close friends ever since I’d left for France. It made sense. At eighteen, Zelda was the nearest in age to Phil, and they probably had more in common than anyone else. I remembered when she’d first come, how Phil, Cory, and I had marveled that the gorgeous, black Parisian model had even been eligible to be a unicorn hunter. “Should be a good break from a lot of things,” Zelda joked. Rosamund had been inconsolable since dinner last night. This morning, her eyes were as red as her hair as she embraced her old roommate and wailed. “Must you go?” she asked. “It’s not too late.” Zelda looked lovingly at David, affection and desire shining out of the depths of her dark eyes. “It’s way too late.”
