Vicious (17 page)

Even though Spencer wasn't normally the dance-at-weddings type, she'd spent the whole night grooving to “Shout,” the “Cha Cha Slide,” and the “Chicken Dance.” She led a conga line around the tables, helped hoist Hanna's chair during the hora, and even sexy-danced with a Hooters girl in a cutoff tee and bright-orange boy shorts. It just felt so good to celebrate something. To forget, for a brief time, how scary her future was.

During a brief lull in the music, she sat down and took a sip from a champagne glass. The wedding had been truly spectacular—the music was amazing, the food was delicious, the Hooters girls were surprisingly well behaved, and the red-carpet photos of all the guests added a glittering touch. True, Hanna's grandmother Chelsea, who'd hastily flown in from Arizona, looked a little peeved and disapproving that Hanna was getting married so young, and Lanie Iler and Mason Byers, who'd long been a couple, had gotten into a colossal fight in the bathroom, and Mr. and Ms. Marin had spent the whole evening more or less avoiding each other. But that was par for the course for every wedding, wasn't it? Spencer was just so happy that Hanna had a day she'd remember. And that
she
had gotten over her stupid pride and come to the wedding.

Aria sank into the seat next to her and grabbed a glass of wine from a passing tray. As she crossed her ankles, her tracking bracelet banged noisily against the chair rail. “You won't believe what I just saw in the bathroom,” she said, eyes bright. “Kirsten Cullen's mom, making out with James Freed!”

“You're kidding!” Spencer made a wry face. “James always did have a MILF thing.”

“Yeah, well, at least someone's getting some action tonight.” Aria heaved a sigh.

Her gaze cut across the room, to where Noel Kahn, who also had a tracking bracelet on his ankle, was sitting with a bunch of guys from lacrosse. Noel looked up, perhaps sensing her, then quickly looked away again. Aria did, too.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Spencer asked quietly. Aria hadn't really gotten into what had happened in Amsterdam, though it was clear Noel was in big trouble for following her there and the two weren't exactly speaking.

Aria shook her head. “No.”

It made Spencer feel melancholy that Wren wasn't there, too. Should she have invited him? She was dying to see him again. Then again, after last night—the way he'd just held her while she broke down, then drove her home sometime after midnight—she wasn't sure she could handle seeing him again. She worried that just the sight of him would make her lose all her resolve to leave.

And she had to leave—
soon.

The big clock that hung over the second-floor balcony caught her eye. It was already 9. Her car was coming at 9:30.

“Have you seen Hanna?” she asked Aria. She gazed around the room for the only girl in a long, white gown.

Aria frowned and peered into the thick throng of guests. Almost everyone was on the dance floor, grooving to Katy Perry. “Not for a while.”

There was no way Spencer was leaving without saying good-bye to Hanna. She rose and grabbed Aria's arm. “Come with me.”

“Why?” Aria said, but her voice was swallowed up in the sound of the crowd. Spencer pulled her around the ballroom, her head swiveling this way and that as she searched for Hanna's lithe, elegant shape. Finally, she spotted her in the corner. Her heart broke a little as she took in Hanna's rosy cheeks, her huge smile, her expressive hands. How could she handle leaving her friends forever? What would they think of her when she didn't show up to the trial when it reconvened? Probably the way Spencer had felt when Aria hadn't shown up: kind of cheated, kind of jealous, and extremely hurt.

She hurried up to Hanna and flung her arms around her tightly. Hanna looked surprised. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am,” Spencer said in a choked voice. “I just . . . missed you guys while we weren't talking. And it just hit me all over again.”

“Aw,” Aria cooed in Spencer's ear, her skin smelling like the same patchouli perfume her mother wore. “I missed you guys, too.”

Spencer pulled back and looked at them. “And no matter what happens, promise me you guys will be strong, okay?”

Aria's smile faded. Hanna's throat bobbed. “We'll always have each other.”

“We'll be strong,” Aria echoed.

Then Hanna's mom tapped Hanna's shoulder, thrusting an old relative toward her. Aria turned to Mike, distracted, too. Spencer took the opportunity to slip through a side exit, duck into the coatroom, and retrieve the bag she'd packed beforehand and brought with her so that she wouldn't have to go back into her house before Angela's car came. She rifled through it quickly, checking to make sure the jewels were all still there. Then she took one last look into the ballroom at all of the Rosewood people she'd known all her life. All the kids she'd sat next to at school. So many of the teachers she'd had, the neighbors she'd grown up around, the families she knew so well—even her own parents were here, her mom and dad being surprisingly civil.

A lump formed in her throat.

But then she turned and hurried down the stone steps toward the parking lot. There was the car service she'd arranged, chugging at the curb. She slipped inside.

As the car merged onto route 76, Spencer peered out the window wistfully, gazing at the twinkle lights on the row houses along the Schuylkill River. She'd always enjoyed that view driving out of the city. One more thing she'd never get to see again after tonight.

Her phone bleated, and she checked the caller ID.
Wren
. Spencer's finger paused over the
IGNORE
button, but then something made her answer.

“Spencer?” It sounded like Wren was smiling. “What are you up to?”

“Uh, nothing,” Spencer said cagily, glancing out the window at the rushing traffic on 76. “Just, you know. Sitting in my bedroom.”

“Would your ankle bracelet confirm that?” Wren asked. “It wouldn't say that, for example, you were at a fabulous wedding, getting your picture taken on the red carpet?”

Spencer shut her eyes.
Busted.
“I wanted to invite you,” she blurted. “But it was so sudden. And I wanted tonight to be about my friends. We'd been fighting for so long, and we just made up, and—”

“It's okay,” Wren cut her off. “I totally get it. You needed a night with them.”

Tears suddenly filled her eyes. Wren understood her so well. He was so good at letting her be who she was. She hated that she would be leaving him.

“Now, look,” Wren was saying. “Is there any way you can steal away from that fantastic wedding and hang out with me for a bit? I'll come to your house if you want. I just want to see you tonight.”

Spencer checked the clock on the car's dashboard. 9:45. Only fifteen minutes until Angela. “I'm exhausted.”

“I'm not taking no for an answer, okay? I'll be round in about a half hour. See you then.”

“Wait!” Spencer cried, but Wren had already hung up. She pressed her hands over her face. Wren would come to the house and she wouldn't be there. What if he got suspicious? Called the police? He wouldn't do it to
tell
on her, of course . . . but out of concern. And that would risk everything. She needed this Angela thing to go off without a hitch.

But in the back of her mind, she fantasized about seeing Wren one more time. Somehow. Just once more before she went.

She'd give anything.

She only had five minutes to spare by the time she returned to her family's house. The night was warm and muggy, and her already-sweaty skin felt even stickier as she sat down on the curb to wait. Her house loomed behind her, so familiar. She'd lived here almost all her life. So many memories had been formed in the front yard, on the front porch, behind those walls. Because of all the A stuff, it felt like she'd been dwelling on the bad, but there were good memories, too. All those giggle-fest sleepovers with her friends. All the papers she'd written in her bedroom, all the plays she'd rehearsed for in the backyard, the times her dad had grilled burgers while she and Melissa wore tiaras and made crayon menus for their “restaurant.” Soon, a new generation would be doing those same things here. She thought about Melissa's baby.

Spencer's thoughts returned to the little onesies Melissa had bought yesterday. After she vanished, Melissa certainly wouldn't want her to be the baby's godmother . . . Would Melissa even tell the baby about her? Or would everyone just pretend Spencer didn't exist?

Headlights appeared at the end of the road, and Spencer stood up. A black car rolled up, and the front window slowly descended. Angela's face peered out from the driver's seat. “Hand over the jewels. I'll look at them, and if they look good, you can get in.”

But suddenly, Spencer found she couldn't move. All at once, there was no way she could just disappear without ever seeing Wren . . . or Hanna . . . or Aria . . . or even her family ever again.

She stepped away from the curb. “I'm sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I . . . can't.”

Angela stared at her. “Excuse me?”

“I . . . I changed my mind.”

Angela chuckled lightly. “So you want to go to prison instead?” She rolled her eyes. “You're out of your mind.”

Maybe Spencer
was
out of her mind. But there was something about reconciling with her friends today, something about all of them being
together
, that made her want to stay and face the consequences, whatever they were. It didn't seem fair that she would get to run away and start over while they had to remain here and serve out Ali's punishment. They were in this together, for better or worse.
We'll always have each other
, Hanna had said. And she was right.

And she'd have Melissa, too. And Melissa's baby.

“Suit yourself,” Angela said. “So I guess I'll see you when I see you, huh?”

And then she peeled away. Spencer watched until her headlights disappeared around the corner, wondering if she'd made a huge mistake.

But she knew, deep down, that she hadn't. At least right now, she was still herself. Wren was on his way over, and she would take full advantage of every minute they had left together.

She would still get to be Spencer Hastings, the girl she'd always been, for a little while longer.

A little after 1
AM
—after the fireworks display; the many toasts from Hailey Blake, Hanna's mother, Mike's lacrosse buddies, and even Hanna's father; after they'd taken a million red-carpet glamour shots and she'd kissed a zillion relatives and retweeted wedding pictures at least thirty times—Hanna's guests stood on the stone steps of the mansion, sending her and Mike off. People threw rice at their heads. Others blew bubbles. Hanna gazed through the crowd, searching for her friends but only seeing Aria. She wondered where Spencer had disappeared to. It was a shame she was missing this moment.

Then a glass of champagne appeared under her nose. She looked up and saw Mike smiling at her.

“One for the road?” He gestured to the circular drive ahead of them. A Rolls-Royce waited, its engine chugging.

Hanna raised an eyebrow. “Did
you
arrange for that?”

“Maybe,” Mike said slyly. He smiled mysteriously and took Hanna's arm. “Come on. Let's go.”

Hanna glanced back at the straggling guests—her mom was tearing up as she waved at Hanna and Mike; her aunt Maude, who'd always been a lush, was still flirting with Mr. Montgomery; and most of the guests were holding up their phones, taking photos of the decor that would go straight to Instagram. She gave them a vague wave and took Mike's hand, then turned to him, excited about whatever this next surprise would be. They hadn't really talked about after the wedding . . . probably because Hanna and Ramona had been so wrapped up in the wedding itself. “Whatever you say,
husband
,” she murmured.

“That's right,
wife
.” Mike kissed her ear and opened the back door to the car. The scent of fresh leather wafted out. “So did you have a good time?”

“Incredible,” Hanna breathed, sliding into the seat. Mike climbed in next to her, and the car zoomed away. Hanna laid her head on Mike's shoulder and closed her eyes, feeling a little bit dizzy and entirely content. Eventually the car pulled to a stop. When she looked up, Hanna wasn't in front of a luxe Philly hotel or even a quaint B and B, as she'd expected. They'd pulled up to her house.

“Oh,” she said, a little disappointed. The only consolation, she supposed, was that her mother couldn't disapprove of them sharing her bed.

“You just wait,” Mike said eagerly, easing her out of the car. A wide grin on his face, he led her around the back. When she saw her backyard, Hanna gasped.

Tiki torches were lit up in a row around the back patio, Hawaiian music swelled quietly out of the outdoor speakers, and the sound machine from Hanna's bedroom sat on the low wall, tuned to the Ocean Waves setting. Several kiddie pools had been filled with water, there were inflatable palm trees everywhere, and half the patio was covered with mounds of sandbox sand. Two slushy margaritas sat on the little table next to the chaises.

Hanna gave Mike a confused smile. “What is all this?”

“Well . . .” Mike twiddled his fingers bashfully. “I know you always wanted a tropical honeymoon, to Hawaii or the Caribbean or whatever. And I thought that since we couldn't take a honeymoon in the islands, I'd bring the islands to us. But if you don't like it, we can totally go back to the Ritz or whatever.”

“I
love
it,” Hanna said, touched more than she knew how to say. She pulled Mike close and squeezed him hard, tears burning at the corners of her eyes. With every passing moment of the night, from when she'd seen him at the altar to when they'd recited their vows to when he'd danced three dances in a row with her nebbishy relatives from Florida, she couldn't think she could love him more . . . but this might have topped it all. It astonished her over and over that Mike would do all this for her and still know, deep down, that he and Hanna would probably never be together. That their only time together would be in a prison visitation room, or in a courtroom, or during phone calls. And yet he still went through all of this.

Then again, who knew? There was always that hope, right?

“You really like it?” he asked, his chin tucked over her head.

“It's perfect.
You're
perfect,” she said, running her hands up and down his back. “And you're going to make a great husband.”

“Same goes for you,” Mike said. Then he leaned back and looked at her, touching one of the delicate beads on the front of her dress. “And you know, this dress is beautiful and all, but maybe we should get you into something more comfortable.”

“I second that,” Hanna said flirtatiously, taking his hand and leading him inside.

Ding-dong.

Hanna groaned and rolled over, touching Mike's smooth, bare stomach. He sighed in his sleep.

Ding-dong.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes, looking around. Blankets and sheets were tangled around her and Mike, and Dot had wedged between them, his head on Mike's butt. Hanna stifled a giggle, then felt a swell of wistfulness. If only she could have weeks, months,
years
of waking up together just like this.

There was a scuffle downstairs, and Hanna remembered the doorbell. Then there was a knock on her door. Hanna threw on a robe and opened the door just enough to see her mother's pale face and eyes. “The police are downstairs for you,” her mother whispered. “The jury has made a decision.”

“On a
Sunday
?” Hanna gasped. Instantly she was up and throwing on clothes.

Everyone was bleary-eyed when they pulled up to the courthouse. Hanna clasped Mike's hands tightly as they walked the distance from the parking lot to the steps. Flashbulbs popped in her face, and she couldn't help but think that her slapdash attempt at makeup and coarse comb-through of her hair, still gummy with hairspray from yesterday's updo, would probably get some jeers on Twitter. But those thoughts were quickly drowned out by the questions the reporters were yelling. “What do you think the jury will decide? How do you feel about going to prison? Do you think you'll go free?”

Once inside, Mike turned to Hanna and squeezed her arm tightly. “It's going to be okay.”

Hanna nodded, too afraid to speak for fear she'd throw up. Somehow, her legs managed to get her to the courtroom. Spencer and Aria were already in their seats, their faces drained of blood. Wordlessly, Hanna slid in next to them and clasped their hands. Her pulse raced fast.

The jurors reassembled, the lawyers took their places, and the judge appeared at his bench. Her gaze wandered to the rest of the crowd—her parents, Aria's parents, a bunch of people from the press. Then she looked back at the jurors in their box. Suddenly, one of them met her gaze. A tiny smile appeared on the woman's face. Hanna felt her jaw drop. That had to be a good sign, right? Had the jury decided they weren't guilty?

The judge's booming voice rang out through the room, and all eyes turned to him. “Has the jury reached a verdict?” he asked.

A pasty-colored middle-aged guy who served as the jury's representative clutched a folded piece of paper tightly. “We have, your honor.”

It seemed to take ages for the bailiff to walk the length from the jury box to the judge's bench. Hanna thought she might faint as the judge took the sheet of paper from him and studied it. Spencer's nails dug into Hanna's palm. Aria trembled next to her. For a few seconds, it didn't seem like a single person in the courtroom breathed.

The judge coughed, then lowered his glasses farther down his nose. He looked at the jury foreman and asked, “How do you find?”

The man replied, “We the jury find Hanna Marin, Spencer Hastings, and Aria Montgomery guilty of the murder of Alison DiLaurentis.”

Hanna's mouth fell open. Someone near her screamed. Spencer's hand slipped from hers. Hanna glanced blindly around the courtroom, her gaze first landing on Mr. DiLaurentis, who was in his regular seat in the back. There was a small, tense smile on his face. Then Hanna found Mike in the crowd. His skin was ashen. He was blinking hard, maybe to hold back tears. Hanna held his gaze as long as she could, but she couldn't offer a brave smile, and neither could he. That was when she realized. Mike hadn't really thought this was ever going to happen.

Maybe she hadn't, either. But the reality sank in, and made her dizzy: She was never going to see him again, except in a prison visitor's room. She was never going to see
anyone
again.

The judge said more after that—something about the girls serving their life sentences immediately, as they were all flight risks, and for that sentence to be served at the Keystone State Correctional Facility, but Hanna barely registered it. Her vision began to dim.
Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.
It rang in her head like a gong.
Life in prison. Forever.

And then everything went dark.