I quickly brush away a rogue tear at the memories, and my heart sinks even lower.

  “Look at this one!” Matthew shouts as he points up to a ginormous fourteen-foot tree.

  “That’s way too big. We need something more like . . .” I stroll down the aisle, and then point to a small five-foot, pre-lit tree. “This one.”

  He claps and smiles, pulling out the item slip for us to take to the registers.

  “We need ornaments too.”

  “I want red ones,” he says.

  After grabbing some ornaments, a couple of stockings, and a few decorations, I put everything on my credit card, which I have no money to pay off, and we load up and head back to the hotel.

  I do my best to recreate Mom’s festive spirit. We find a Christmas movie on the television and work together to set up the tree and decorate the room with cheap tinsel garlands. Once the stockings are on the posts of our headboards on our beds, I take a quick shower and slip into my jammies. Matthew is hyper-focused on his tablet, watching YouTube when I slip under the covers.

  “Hey, Em,” he says from his bed. “Did you know that sixty percent of tray tables have traces of MRSA.”

  “That’s disgusting,” I mutter as I plug my phone into its charger.

  “Also, airplane blankets are only washed every five to thirty days.”

  I look over to find him reading something on his tablet. Matthew has been obsessed with everything airplane related for a few years. Ask him any random question, and chances are, he already knows the answer. Before airplanes, he was fixated on hot air balloons. I don’t know what it is about air transportation that captivates him so much, but it’s more than just an interest; it’s more of an obsession. Last month, when I visited for Thanksgiving, I took him to the airport. We weren’t allowed past security, but Matthew still had fun watching everyone at the ticket counters and baggage claim. He even got to meet a pilot, which thrilled him like none other.

  “It’s getting late,” I say while stifling a yawn. “You need to get your pajamas on, okay?”

  “I’ll do it later. I’m not tired yet.”

  “Can you just go ahead and do it now?”

  “But I’m not ready to go to bed.”

  “I know, but you’ll forget. I don’t want you to fall asleep in your clothes.”

  Frustration tangles his words when he argues, “I won’t forget. I’m not dumb.”

  “I never said you were dumb, but you will forget, buddy. You always do.”

  “Ugh,” he grumbles, tossing the covers off his legs. “Fine.”

  When he’s back in bed, I turn off my lamp and roll over as he continues watching airplane videos.

  “Em?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What about presents?”

  His childlike dreams for Christmas morning tear at the wound on my heart, and my throat grows thick. How do I reason with him without disappointing him? How do I explain the amount of debt I’ve racked up just to ensure he has a decent place to call home? That I’m shacking up with a friend because I lost my dorm and my scholarship? That I’m drowning in his living expenses and housing? That I’m barely hanging on?

  “We’ll figure it out in the morning.” I brush off his question before closing my eyes and drifting away into a fit of sleep.

  The following morning, I wake before Matthew does and make the decision to take him to Five Below, which is basically like an upscale dollar store.

  When we arrive, I explain again, “Remember, you have to stick to the forty-dollar spending limit.”

  He smiles, taking this pathetic excuse for gift shopping as a challenge. “Got it.”

  We each grab a cart and split in opposite directions. I grab him some candy, a T-shirt, a couple of games, a new case for his tablet, and some new headphones. I toss a few more things into the cart, and when I hit my spending limit, I head to the registers, check out, and wait for Matthew to finish his shopping.

  “Don’t look!” he exclaims when he makes his way to the front of the store.

  Covering my eyes with one hand, I say, “I’m not,” as I hold out the credit card with my other hand to give to him.

  Once back at the hotel, Matthew wraps the gifts in the room while I wrap in the bathroom so our presents will be a surprise for each other. Once they’re under the tree, I notice a small box with a tag that says: To Mom and Dad. Pressure mounts from under my ribs as my eyes heat with unshed tears.

  “Are you trying to guess what I bought you?”

  Blinking back the pain, I swallow hard. “Do you remember that time you snuck into the living room in the middle of the night and pulled back the tape on the presents to see what all you got?”

  He chuckles. “How could I forget? You narked on me! I would’ve gotten away with it if it weren’t for you.”

  “Whatever. You got caught because you did a crappy job taping them back up.”

  “What about when you snuck into the advent calendars and ate all the chocolate, including mine?”

  I bust out laughing. “What can I say, I have no self-control when it comes to chocolate.” As our smiles fade, I look at my brother as he stares into the tree. “I saw you bought them a gift.” He looks at me, and I clarify, “A gift for Mom and Dad.”

  His shoulders slacken, and after a stretch of silence, he asks, “Do you think we’ll ever see them again?”

  Death isn’t a concept he’s ever been able to fully grasp.

  “That isn’t how it works, buddy. It isn’t like the video games you play. In this world, you only get one life, and when it’s over . . . it’s over.”

  His chin trembles as my words sink in. I’ve told him this before, many times, but he still doesn’t fully understand.

  “You still have me,” I tell him, straining to get the words out without crying.

  “You’re never here.”

  “I know, but everything I’m trying to accomplish in DC is for us. And, one day, we will be back together.”

  “I hate where I live. It’s always so loud, the food is crap, and everyone who works there sucks.”

  “It’s only temporary.” I try to assure him. “I promise you, I’m going to get you out of there and into a private facility, I just need to graduate and make a little money.”

  “How much longer?”

  “Soon.” The lie gnaws at the scar tissue of my broken heart, which is barely surviving. I don’t know what else to tell him. I’m so lost and so defeated. I can’t stomach the thought of having to tell Matthew that I’ve failed him miserably and that the shit hole he’s living in might become his permanent home.

  The sound of an airplane flying overhead catches his attention, pulling him off the bed and over to the window as he stares up in wonderment. I wish I could give him a better life, one more like the one our parents had given him. Everything used to be fine . . . he was so happy and well taken care of, and now . . . now everything is a colossal mess.

  “Did you know that the back of the plane is the safest place to be if it crashes?”

  I force a tight smile when he glances back at me. Little does he know that the metaphorical plane we are on is in a nosedive and we both have first-class seats.

  Emma

  “Emma,” Luca’s mother, Gloria, greets as she leads me through their doorway. “I am so glad you made it. Luca said you spent Christmas back in Tennessee with your brother’s family. I hope you had a nice visit.”

  “I did, thank you.” I slip off my scarf and wool coat.

  “Let me take that for you,” says one of the many catering staff that’s working the party, and I hand over my stuff with a soft, “Thank you.”

  Gloria takes a look at my gold beaded cocktail dress, complimenting, “Beautiful,” before asking, “School must be keeping you busy; it’s been a few months since I’ve seen you. How did this last semester go?”

  “Good,” I lie. “It’s becoming more time-consuming the closer to graduation I get.”

  “Only three more semesters,” she remarks excitedly, and I mirror her smile with my own.

  “I know. I can hardly believe it.”

  “Believe what?” Luca questions as he and his father approach, looking dapper in their tailored suits.

  “Graduation,” Gloria remarks as Martin, Luca’s father, greets me with a kiss to my cheek.

  “Have you started prospecting internships?” Martin asks.

  Luca’s eyes catch mine before I turn to his father, answering, “I’ve only just started researching ones I might want to apply to.”

  Shifting in my high heels, I wring my hands nervously as I dump my deceit all over their questions.

  Thank God for Luca, who grabs my hand and excuses us.

  “You’re a life saver,” I tell him as we make our way to the back of the house and into the grand living room, which overlooks the dock that leads out to the bay. “I feel like such a fraud, lying to your parents.”

  “Then why lie?”

  I peer at him out of the corner of my eye. “You know why, Luca.”

  “Your pride is a bitch, ya know?”

  A server passes, and I pluck a glass of champagne off the polished tray he’s carrying, murmuring, “Yeah, I know,” before taking a much too big of a gulp.

  “Bottoms up. Are we getting wasted?”

  I shake my head and let a smirk play across my lips. “I wish.”

  “Did you have a good Christmas?”

  “I did. It was great seeing everyone. You?”

  “Yeah, it was fine,” he says, slightly distracted as he peers over my shoulder.

  I turn to see who he’s looking at, and I have to do a double take when my attention snags on familiar red hair. “Who’s that?”

  “Olivia. Her parents are old friends of the family,” he tells me, and when the two of them catch eyes, he gives her a nod, saying to me, “I haven’t seen her since she graduated a couple years back.”

  “Why not?”

  Olivia starts walking in our direction.

  “She wanted more,” he says under his breath as she nears us.

  “Luca,” she drawls, holding out her arms and then giving him a hug. “Oh, my gosh, it’s been forever!”

  I catch a hint of her subtle perfume, but it isn’t until she turns to me that it finally clicks. It’s the girl Mrs. Montgomery’s husband was with the day at the coffee shop.

  “Olivia, this is my friend, Emma,” he introduces.

  “It’s good to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” I say as I secretly judge her.

  “Are you at Georgetown too?”

  “She is,” Luca answers for me. “She’s actually my roommate.”

  Olivia glances between the two of us, curiosity gleaming in her expression, to which Luca clarifies, “Just roommates.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  I wonder if Luca knows that Olivia is just as slutty as he is and is having an affair with a married man.

  “So, do you live in the city?” I ask.

  She takes a sip of her red wine. “Bethesda, actually. But I’m in the city a lot for work.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a political schedule coordinator. I’m currently on the campaign staff for William Montgomery.”

  She’s on a lot more than just his campaign.

  “Luca,” his father calls, waving him over to where he stands with a group of men. “I want to introduce you to someone.”

  Luca excuses himself, leaving Olivia and me alone.

  “That sounds like a great job. Do you like it?”

  “It’s extremely stressful, but yes, I love it. And Tripp is great to work for.”

  “Tripp?”

  “Oh, sorry. Yeah, it’s what everyone calls William.” She takes another sip of her wine. “What about you? Do your interests lie in politics?”

  We find ourselves strolling lazily toward the windows that boast a spectacular view as we chat.

  “Yes. I’m actually studying to be a media strategist.”

  “Impressive,” she notes. “How much longer do you have?”

  “Three more semesters.”

  “It’ll be here in no time.”

  I smile and nod, knowing all too well that those dreams are dead and gone. Unless a miracle happens, I’ll never see myself in my dream job or any job that will pull me out of the gutter I’m sinking deeper into. “I actually know William’s wife.”

  “That’s right; she works at the university.”

  “So, you know her too?”

  Shrugging, she responds, “Not really. With the election coming up, work keeps me very busy, plus I travel a lot. So, there isn’t much time left for a social life, if you know what I mean.”

  Her job for the campaign is a side-by-side one, so wherever William is, she’d be right next to him, making sure he’s exactly where his itinerary says he should be.

  “If you want,” she adds, “I can talk to Frank. He’s the media specialist on Tripp’s campaign. Maybe you could shadow him one day. Get some inside knowledge on the job.”

  I nod, intrigued to get a closer look, not only for the job I doubt I’ll ever have but also because I’m nosy and want to know more about what’s going on between Olivia and Mrs. Montgomery’s husband.

  “That actually sounds amazing.”

  “Great,” she says, pulling out her cell phone. “What’s your number?”

  I give her my contact information, and a few seconds later, my phone vibrates inside my clutch.

  “I just texted you, so you have my number as well. I’ll talk to Frank and get back to you.” She slips her phone into her purse. “And if I can manage to sneak away from work, maybe we could grab lunch sometime.”

  “Yeah, that sounds great.”

  She smiles, and I wonder how many people she’s fooled into believing she’s just as charming as she appears.

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I should probably go mingle,” she says before strolling across the room to a small cluster of people standing by the baby grand piano.

  My eyes linger as I sip my champagne. Her wavy red hair cascades down her back as she laughs at something someone says.

  I startle when Luca sneaks up behind me and grabs my hand.

  “Shit, girl. Why’re you so tense?”

  “I’m not.”

  He quirks a brow at me and tugs my hand, silently urging me to follow him. “Whatever.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Upstairs.”

  I’m completely okay with ducking away from the party, and I don’t look back as we head up to his room.

  “Holy shit!” he exclaims, shutting and locking his door before raking his hand through his perfectly imperfect hair.

  “What?”

  “My dad just introduced me to George Wilcox, the director of Command Consulting group, and he just offered me a paid internship for this summer.”

  “Are you serious? Doing what?”

  “Working in security and global affairs.”

  I plaster on a smile that just might be as fake as Olivia’s. Ironic how his exciting news cuts so deeply that the blade slices straight through to my truth. I love Luca, but jealousy runs viciously through my body.

  “That’s so great.” I try to grin and do my best to force the words out, but they crack under the weight of my sadness.

  “Emma,” Luca says heavily, his smile falling into pity when he sees past my weak façade.

  Slowly, he begins walking toward me

  “No, it’s fine. I’m happy for you.”

  Sitting next to me, he takes my hand. “That was really shitty of me. I’m sorry.”

  “What for? Being excited about a great opportunity? Luca, you have nothing to apologize for. I should be the one apologizing for being so self-centered.”

  His hand squeezes around mine, and I take the comfort, allowing my head to fall onto his shoulder. We sit in silence for a moment before he breaks it. “Why won’t you let anyone help you?”

  Because my situation is a thousand times worse than anyone even knows.

  “By anyone you mean your parents?”

  “Yeah.”

  With a hopeless sigh, I slacken into him more.

  “Or what about your brother? Have you even told him about your situation?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “You know, you don’t have to pretend to be this pillar of strength. It’s okay to ask for help.”

  Lifting my head, I look him in the eyes. “Who says I’m pretending? Is it so hard to believe that I am a pillar of strength?”

  “We share a wall.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I hear you late at night.”

  My eyes hold steady when he reveals this. It’s my defense, to prove that even though he hears me crying when I should be sleeping, I’m still stronger than my moments of weakness.

  “I’m not judging you,” he defends. “But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something you aren’t telling me.”

  He’s right. As much as I love Luca, there are truths I’ve kept from him. My problems are my own, and the deeper I get, the more embarrassed I am to admit that I’ve fallen so far, so I cover that shame with lies.

  “You know me better than anyone,” I tell him because, even through the lies, it’s the truth.

  “Do I?”

  “Of course you do,” I exhaust. “You know you do, but I’m not taking anyone’s handouts. I’m not a dog begging for scraps.”

  “That’s harsh.”

  “It’s the truth, Luca. You know just as well as I do that image is everything in this city.”

  “Those images are pure bullshit and everyone knows it.”

  “Yet, they still matter,” I tell him. “It’s easy for you to say it’s bullshit because you don’t have to worry like I do.”

  “Says who?”

  I cock my head. “Are you serious? Look at you. Look at your family. They have clout. I mean, come on. Just look at the guests downstairs. My God, you were just offered a paid internship. I don’t have those opportunities coming my way. I’m at a major disadvantage here. I’ve lost my parents, I’ve lost my scholarship, I’ve pretty much lost everything. You are the only reason I’m somewhat staying afloat.”