Aria followed his gaze to the bar. A man and a woman sat with their backs to them, drinking Bloody Marys. Two college-age boys wearing ski goggles like headbands finished the last of their Heinekens. A thin college-age girl in tight jeans and an oversized black sweater slumped on a stool in the corner, drinking a ginger ale. When she turned and revealed her slightly swollen belly, Aria’s heart dropped to her feet. No. This couldn’t be happening.

  “Hey!” Meredith’s eyes lit up, and she slid off the stool. “I’m so happy to see you!” She ran up to the family, bypassed Aria and Mike completely, and gave Byron a long kiss.

  A Yule log–sized lump formed in Aria’s throat. So much for quality time with just her dad and Mike.

  Chapter 2

  Snug as Four Bugs in a Rug

  As the sun sank lower in the sky and an ethereal violet mist gathered over the mountains, Aria, Mike, Byron, and Meredith sat around a large square table in the lodge dining room. A harpist in a ball gown played soothing Christmas carols. Families to their left and right glugged red wine and eggnog, exchanged presents, and joked about Christmas memories of the past. And what were the Montgomerys talking about?

  Puking.

  “I can’t believe how fast the vomit urge comes on,” Meredith was saying, taking a tiny sip of ginger ale. There was a beautiful vegetable entrée of eggplant, mushrooms, broccoli, and quinoa before her, but she hadn’t dared take a single bite. “It’s like, one second, I’m totally fine, and the next—bam! I’m hugging the toilet or pulling over to the side of the road to throw up. I’ve even puked into a paper cup at the mall.”

  “Sweet.” Mike leaned forward on his elbows. “Is it, like, projectile?”

  “Sometimes,” Meredith said, clutching her head wearily.

  Um, we’re eating? Aria wanted to say, staring down at the ravioli the waiter had served her. It sort of looked like puke now, too.

  “You poor thing.” Byron pushed a lock of hair off of Meredith’s forehead. “There are some amazing Solstice healing rituals that might help, though. I brought a lot of calming herbs with me, too.”

  Meredith cupped her hands around her glass. “I can’t wait to celebrate the Solstice. It just sounds so magical and spiritual.”

  “We’re so thrilled to have you here, too. Aren’t we, Aria?” Byron peered pointedly at her.

  Aria picked at an imaginary string on her skirt. It was obvious Byron wanted her to welcome Meredith with open arms—even Mike was being a good sport about it, probably because Byron had promised him an unlimited snowboarding pass. But Aria felt far too wounded.

  After Meredith had appeared, Byron had explained that her plans in Connecticut had fallen through at the last minute—her parents had decided to visit her brother in Maine instead. So he’d gone ahead and just invited Meredith to the lodge instead of letting Aria and Mike be part of the decision.

  “I know we’d planned for it to just be us three, but I hated the idea of her being home alone,” Byron had said in such a caring, concerned voice that Aria almost sympathized with Meredith, too. But then she’d looked at Meredith again. There was a crafty smile on her face, like she’d somehow orchestrated this whole scheme just to make Aria miserable.

  The concierge had profusely apologized that their rooms wouldn’t be ready until after dinner, and so the four of them had toured the grounds for a few hours, looking at the dogsled track, the toboggan runs, and the skeet-shooting fields. Meredith had behaved like an old lady on the walkways around the resort, terrified she was going to slip on a nonexistent patch of ice. She’d made Byron spend forty-five minutes in the gift shop, picking out a perfect gender-neutral baby onesie. And she’d asked him to walk her to the women’s room the eleven times she’d had to pee. While they’d waited in the hall during Pee Break #4, Byron had given Aria’s shoulders a quick squeeze. “Are you doing okay?”

  “Never better,” Aria had answered, her voice icy, resisting the urge to pull out her own hair.

  Now, Byron picked up his glass of wine and held it in the air. “To the Solstice.” Meredith touched his glass with hers, and Aria and Mike reluctantly followed with their glasses of Sprite.

  “Let’s go over the schedule of events for the next few days,” Byron went on after taking a hearty swig. “Tomorrow I thought we’d go on a nature walk and do the Circle of Trust.” He turned to Meredith. “That’s where we join hands in the woods and breathe together as one, welcoming the change of seasons.”

  “Of course,” Meredith said, as though she’d celebrated the Solstice for years.

  “We’ll definitely burn the Yule log that night.” Byron cut a piece of tofu lasagna and popped it in his mouth. He wasn’t a vegetarian except during Solstice time. “According to Scandinavian lore, burning it makes the sun shine brighter. And then the next morning, we’ll do the naked run.”

  “A naked run?” Meredith’s brow furrowed. “You mean outdoors?”

  Mike snickered lasciviously, then looked around the dining room. “I should recruit her for that.” He pointed to a pretty blonde eating dinner with her parents.

  Byron dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “The naked run is very invigorating. We usually do it quite early in the morning so no one disturbs us. And we usually keep our underwear on,” he said with a smile. “Americans aren’t the most open-minded about these rituals.”

  “I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me to run.” Meredith patted her stomach. “The cold might hurt the baby. Or what if I trip and fall on my belly?”

  Aria leaned forward. “Ella always loved the naked run. She told me once that she even did it when she was six months pregnant with Mike.” She peeked at Meredith’s face. She looked crestfallen. Good.

  Byron’s mouth twitched. “Well, that’s true, but maybe Meredith’s right.”

  Meredith lowered her glass defiantly. “Never mind. I’m in.” She shot Aria a brief, sharp look that seemed to say, You can’t get rid of me that easily.

  Aria turned away, her gaze landing on the Christmas tree in the corner of the room. It was decorated with tiny glass birds, strung kernels of popcorn, and white grosgrain bows. Presents were stacked underneath, and a model train circled the perimeter. A young couple and their two children, a boy and a girl of about four and six, stood in front of the tree holding hands. The father lifted the boy so he could get a better look at one of the bird ornaments. Aria couldn’t hear their conversation, but she definitely heard the mother say the word Santa.

  Tears filled her eyes. That family was making amazing memories. Not long ago, her family had been making similar memories—okay, Solstice memories, which were kind of kooky, but at least they were all together. They’d been so happy in Iceland. It seemed like her parents had fallen back in love while they were there, but it had all come apart when they returned to Rosewood.

  They finished their entrées and ordered a bunch of desserts to split, including tapioca pudding and crème brûlée, both of which Aria hated. When they arrived, Meredith breathed in, turned green, and pushed back her chair.

  “I just have to . . . ,” she blurted, her cheeks bulging. She ran toward the bathroom and clamored through the door. Her retching noises could be heard throughout the dining room. The diners gazed in the direction of the bathroom in alarm.

  “Nasty,” Mike said.

  A porter in a red suit appeared at Byron’s side. “Sir, your guest quarters are ready. We’ve already taken your luggage there.”

  “Excellent.” Byron pressed his hand to his forehead, suddenly looking exhausted. “I think we could all use some downtime right now.”

  The porter handed him a key and told him to go to the fourth floor. Once Byron paid the check, they picked up Meredith from the bathroom. She leaned on Byron’s arm on the walk to the elevator, making huffing and puffing noises as though she were already in labor.

  “I call the TV remote,” Mike said to Aria in the elevator. “There’s a sweet ultimate fighting match on tonight.”

  “Whatever,” Aria said wearily. At this point, she’d watch any of Mike’s stupid shows—getting away from Byron and Meredith in their own room was reward enough. “I get first pick of the minibar.”

  “Byron, hurry!” Meredith urged from farther up the hall as Byron fumbled through his pockets. She turned around and clutched her belly, her face sheet-white. “I think I’m going to puke again.”

  “Okay, okay.” Byron shoved a key into a room and opened the door. Meredith darted inside, slammed the bathroom door, and more disgusting noises commenced.

  Byron strode into the little hallway for the room and put his hands on his hips. “Well, this looks lovely.”

  “What about our room?” Aria asked.

  Byron cocked his head. “This is your room.”

  Aria stared at it. Slowly, the realization swept over her. “We’re all staying in a room together?” She’d assumed that since Meredith was along, Byron would have changed the reservation.

  Byron blinked. “Honey, this place is really expensive. And anyway, the resort was fully booked.” He flicked on the lights, revealing two big rooms, a kitchenette, and the closed door to the bathroom. Meredith let out a weak cough from inside. “This is a suite—you guys can have your own space if you sleep on the pullout couch in the living area.”

  A cramp squeezed Aria’s stomach. A pullout couch wasn’t good enough. She’d still be able to hear Byron and pregnant Meredith through the door.

  She felt like a geyser about to blow. This was her time with her dad. Her time to bond. Didn’t Byron understand that? Didn’t he know how hard the past few months had been? He could have told Meredith not to come. He could have decided, just this once, that Aria and Mike came first.

  “I have to go,” she blurted. She grabbed her canvas bag from the luggage cart and started out the door.

  “Go where?” Byron called after her. But Aria didn’t turn back. She stormed down the hall, pushed through the stairwell, and clomped down to the oak-paneled lobby. A woman was playing “Jingle Bells” on the baby grand piano in the corner. People were drinking free cider from a carafe by the front desk. Kids were making angels in the freshly fallen snow. It was a beautiful place, and Aria wanted nothing more than to stay, but she knew that she absolutely, positively couldn’t.

  She was getting the hell out of there.

  Chapter 3

  Another Surprise

  Aria’s cell phone said 9:57 P.M. when the bus pulled into the Rosewood Greyhound station parking lot. Feeling groggy and grimy, she staggered down the stairs, grabbed her luggage from the undercarriage compartment, and darted around the snowdrifts toward her old friend, Emily Fields, whom she’d called and asked to pick her up. She took out her cell phone again.

  Back in Rosewood, safe and sound, she wrote to Byron. Have fun tomorrow.

  After Aria had marched out of the shared room at the lodge, Byron had followed her to the lobby and tried to cajole her into staying. But Aria had stood her ground. With a heavy heart, Byron had driven her to catch the next bus to Rosewood. Before she’d boarded, he’d placed his hand on her shoulder and given her a meaningful look. Aria had thought he was going to tell her something profound. Or apologize.

  “Don’t forget to slather butter on the front door of Mom’s house,” he’d said instead. “Otherwise, you won’t be protected from spirits for the rest of the year.”

  Snow began to fall as Aria slid into Emily’s waiting car. “Thanks for coming to get me,” Aria said.

  “Of course.” Emily eased her car out of the station and started down Lancaster Avenue. “But are you sure you don’t want to stay at my house? Won’t you be lonely spending the holiday by yourself?”

  “I don’t want to intrude,” Aria answered. Emily was dropping her at Ella’s—there was no way she was going to stay at her dad and Meredith’s creaky apartment in Old Hollis. “And honestly, after everything that’s happened, maybe I just need a little time to myself.”

  There was barely any traffic, and every stoplight in Rosewood was green. Emily sped past Rosewood’s main drag, the Hollis campus, and the turnoff for Alison DiLaurentis’s old street, reaching Aria’s mom’s house in record time. Hers was the only property on the block that wasn’t aglow with Christmas decorations. It looked like a missing tooth in a mouth of pearly whites.

  After saying bye to Emily, Aria unlocked the front door and dropped her bags in the foyer. The only noises in the house were the soft hum of the refrigerator and the hiss of air through the radiator pipes. When she looked out the window, the snow had already left a dusting on the front lawn. According to weather reports, they were supposed to get a foot by tomorrow morning.

  “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas,” Aria sang softly. Her voice echoed in the empty room, filling her with regret. What was she going to do with herself for the next few days, knocking around this big house all by herself? What was she going to make for Christmas dinner—frozen organic macaroni and cheese? Maybe she should have brought Mike with her—but he hadn’t seemed that bummed out to be with Byron and Meredith. He’d probably spend the next few days skiing, snowboarding, ice fishing, and skeet shooting.

  She trudged upstairs and flopped down on her bed, knocking a book to the floor. It was her well-loved sketch journal. She grabbed it, feeling a discomfited prickle. She was almost positive she’d left the sketchbook on the desk, not the bed. Had Ella moved it before she went to Sweden? Had someone else been in here?

  The spine cracked as Aria opened to the first page. She’d had this journal since the beginning of sixth grade; one of the first sketches she’d drawn was of Ali the day she’d marched out of Rosewood Day and announced that her brother had told her where a piece of the Time Capsule flag had been hidden. It was eerie how accurately Aria’s younger self had captured the curves of Ali’s heart-shaped face, the wry twist of her smile, the sparkle in her eyes. It was like Ali was staring back at her from the paper.

  She turned past sketches of Ali, Spencer, Emily, and Hanna—she’d drawn them hundreds of times after they’d become friends. Then came pictures of Iceland—the cute row houses, a sleeping old man at a coffee shop, a quick sketch of Aria’s parents sitting together on the stone wall outside their house, looking totally in love, and a drawing of Hallbjorn, Aria’s first boyfriend in Iceland.

  Aria flipped ahead, the journal opening naturally to a particular page. She drew in a sharp breath. It was a side profile of Ezra Fitz standing at the board in English class. Aria stared longingly at his small, slightly sticky-outy ears. That amazing broad chest she’d loved to run her fingers over. Those full lips she’d kissed countless times.

  She flopped back on the pillow. Where was Ezra right now? Celebrating the holidays with his family? Taking a moonlit Christmas Eve walk with a new girlfriend? Tears welled in Aria’s eyes. Part of her wanted to check her email again to see if Ezra had written a Happy Holidays note, but why bother? There wouldn’t be one. Aria didn’t matter to him anymore.

  The house let out a creak, followed by a loud thud. Aria sat up straighter and looked around. That didn’t sound like the wind.

  Another thud came, and she shot to her feet. She crept out into the hall and peered out the large square window that overlooked the front yard. There were no cars parked at the curb, no figures poised on the street.

  Then something started to rattle.

  Aria leaned over the stairs and gasped. The doorknob at the front door was wiggling back and forth, like someone was trying to force their way in. “Hello?” she called in an eggshell-thin voice, grabbing a lacrosse stick from Mike’s room. Should she call the police? What if it was Ian, sprung from jail? At his arraignment, he’d whirled around and stared at Aria and her old friends, a look of sheer hatred in his eyes.

  “Hello?” Aria cried out again, wielding the lacrosse stick in front of her like a sword as she tiptoed down the stairs. “Who’s there?”

  From the foyer, she glanced at the side panel to the left of the front door, her heart in her throat. A shadow shifted on the porch. It was definitely a person.

  Knock knock knock.

  Aria grabbed the cordless phone in the hall. “I’m calling the police! You’d better get the hell out of here!”

  The figure didn’t move. Aria pressed the TALK button on the phone. “I’m dialing!” She shakily hit the digits for 911. The ring tones bleated in her ear.

  “Aria?” a muffled voice called from the porch.

  Aria lowered the lacrosse stick an inch. The shape shifted in the window. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” a dispatcher’s voice asked on the other end of the phone line.

  “Aria?” whoever was outside called again. Aria frowned. It was a familiar guy’s voice. And was that an Icelandic accent?

  “Hello?” the 911 operator said, a little more impatiently now. “Is anyone there?”

  Aria walked toward the window. Standing on the porch was a tall blond guy with broad shoulders and a square jaw, wearing a navy-blue anorak that said ICELANDIC SKI TEAM on a patch on the chest. She let out an incredulous laugh.

  “ . . . Hallbjorn?”

  “Yes!” the voice said. “Can you let me in? It’s freezing out here!”

  Aria opened the door. A tall figure was standing on her porch, snow all over his head, shoulders, and face. She pressed the red OFF button on the phone. “Hallbjorn,” she whispered again. He was here . . . in Rosewood. At her house.

  Aria wouldn’t have been more surprised if it had been Santa Claus.

  Chapter 4

  Icelandic Boys Are Hot

  Hallbjorn stomped into the Montgomerys’ foyer and kicked his snowy boots. “I didn’t know it got this cold in Pennsylvania,” he said in the crisp, jaunty accent Aria had missed since she’d left Iceland. “This feels just like home!”

  “W-what are you doing here?” Aria stammered, not having left her post by the door.

  Hallbjorn pulled his bottom lip into his mouth playfully. “I missed you. I wanted to see how you were doing.”