“We moved to the states when I was thirteen. Then I learned there was a good chance I wouldn’t be like my mother because my father was an outsider. People treated me like I was some sort of ticking bomb, waiting to see when—if I would explode. When I changed, it was such a relief. I don’t know if they would’ve known what to do with me if I hadn’t.”
That sounded awful. To have such a big secret you could never tell anyone. No child should have that kind of responsibility.
“You’re lucky your parents took you away,” he confessed to the barren trees.
“I may be lucky they took me away,” she said, clasping his fingers in hers, “but I’m even luckier that you came to find me.”
“You were home awfully late last night,” Emily said from behind the fridge door. “I fell asleep waiting for you.”
“My genealogy appointment ran late.” And instead of sleeping when she got home, Vivienne had spent half the night staring at her ceiling thinking about the mystery that was Deacon Ashford.
“How was it?” She carried the milk jug to her bowl of cereal on the table.
Vivienne fell onto the chair across from her. Where did she begin? “Well, I found out my brother and sister were really my parents. They were both PAN—”
Emily’s spoon clattered into her bowl. “They were both PAN?”
“Yeah. So?”
“Didn’t you read the red book Penelope gave us?”
“Not yet.” She had tried a few times, but it was too boring to hold her interest. “Why?”
“Neverland doesn’t do divorce, which means marrying another PAN is an eternal commitment. That’s a big reason so many of us marry outsiders.”
Vivienne touched the printed date on the back of the milk jug. “Because outsiders have an expiration date?”
“Exactly,” Emily said with a cheerful nod. “The longest I’ve stayed with a guy is six months. I can’t imagine finding one I want to be with forever.”
Neither could Vivienne. But knowing her parents had entered into such a lasting commitment gave her hope that kind of love existed.
“Plus,” she went on, “I heard the guys in Neverland are only interested in one thing—and it’s not eternal commitment.”
“Who told you that?” The question came out harsher than she’d intended.
“A few girls I met were complaining about how immature all the guys on campus were. After hearing what they said, I’d rather take my chances with outsiders. At least you know they’ll grow up someday.”
Guys who never grow up. Deacon liked to play pranks and get drunk and flirt and—
“You’re thinking about Deacon right now, aren’t you?”
“What? No. Why would you say that?”
Emily cupped Vivienne’s jaw in her hands and made a pouty face. “Because you look all ‘I love you’ and ‘Be my boyfriend’ and ‘Kiss me with your hot British mouth.’”
“Shut up,” Vivienne choked, pulling free and escaping to her bedroom before Emily could see anything else on her face. That girl was too intuitive for her own good.
She dragged her rule book from beneath a pile of laundry and flipped until she found the section about relationships.
. . . Due to our immortal nature, romantic relationships between PAN are not encouraged and should not be entered into lightly. If two PAN decide to marry, the union requires prior approval from Leadership to ensure longevity . . .
Not encouraged. What did that even mean? Was it off limits or just frowned upon?
When Vivienne went back into the kitchen, Emily was shoving her books and an extra sweater into her backpack. The weather had taken a turn, and the forecast didn’t look good for the weekend.
Vivienne slid her fingers along the text while her heart pounded in her ears. “Apparently we need permission to marry outsiders too.”
“That’s because they have to take that ageless injection Robert told us about,” Emily said, struggling with the zipper. “Leadership won’t give it to anyone who isn’t married.”
Vivienne folded the corner of the page and closed her book. None of it mattered. She wasn’t looking for a relationship. With anyone.
Her phone dinged in her pocket. When she checked it, the fireflies started going berserk—and Deacon had only written one word. Lunch?
Trouble. Flirt and fly away. Never grow up . . .
She shouldn’t text him back. Pretend she never saw it. With you?
Ugh. She had no self-control when it came to him.
Deacon’s reply was instantaneous. No, with Ethan.
He was such a smartass. Then definitely.
Two messages came back, one after the other. Lunch is off. Have to go murder my best mate.
She texted him back the eye-rolling emoji and asked what time. He told her he’d be there at one.
Was it one o’clock yet?
“Is a certain sexy Brit texting you?” Emily teased, pulling her coat down from the hook.
Be cool. Don’t grin like a lovesick fool. “Maybe.” Vivienne smiled so wide it made her face hurt.
“Ah! Tell. Me. Everything.” Emily dropped onto the chair and squeezed Vivienne’s knees. “How long has this been going on? Is he your boyfriend? Have the two of you made out?”
“Nothing is going on. And no.”
“No to which one?”
She rolled her eyes. “To both.”
The corner of Emily’s mouth lifted into a knowing smile. “Is that the story you’re going with?”
“Yep.”
“You’re no fun at all. You know that, right?” She shoved to her feet and stomped to the door.
Vivienne laughed and wished her good luck with her genealogy appointment.
Once Emily left, Vivienne went to the cupboard for cereal, but when she opened the door, the smell of chocolate wafted from within. She grabbed the packet of chocolate chip cookies and tore the opening wider.
Leaning against the fridge, cookies in hand, she tried to figure out why the rules about relationships annoyed her so much. It wasn’t like she wanted Deacon to be her boyfriend or anything. Because she didn’t. He probably wouldn’t make a very good boyfriend anyway.
An hour later, someone knocked on the door. Vivienne brushed the crumbs from her top and went to answer it.
Max was bent over in the hallway, tying his shoes. When he saw her, he smiled. “Hey, you got a sec?” He stood and tugged on the hem of his green T-shirt.
“Sure, come on in.”
“Cookies for breakfast?” He picked up the packet she’d left on the table. “I like your style. Do you have any milk?”
“One sec.” She pulled two glasses from the cupboard, poured one for each of them, and sat in the chair across from him. “What’d you want to talk about?”
He dipped his cookie into his glass and took a bite. “My family stuff. Turns out my birth mother was a surrogate. My mom was too old by the time she and my dad decided to have me.”
Vivienne closed her eyes to keep things straight in her mind. “Your mom is an outsider.”
“She was. She died when I was ten. They gave her the ageless injection when she married my dad, but we all know that doesn’t stop outsiders from getting old.”