Page 61 of How to Kill Your Rival

‘Eliza,’ Maggie says.

‘What?’

‘It’s okay to fall in love,’ she says. ‘I can recommend it thoroughly.’

‘I don’t have time,’ I say. ‘I have a Death Council full of people who are determined to make me run to my daddy, someone who is undermining my kills and stealing them, and Dad’s sick, and⁠—’

‘I can promise you that having someone on your team doesn’t make things worse. It makes them easier to deal with,’ Maggie says. ‘If it’s the right person.’

‘And how do I know if he’s the right person?’

‘Someone who matches your vibe.’ She looks back across the room at James. ‘And if you don’t snatch him off the market…’ She nods towards where Vivienne has taken James’ hand to pull him towards the dance floor. ‘Someone else might.’

Vivienne is tugging James towards the spot near the band where a handful of people have been dancing, and he’s not putting up any resistance at all.

He grins.

At her.

I know that grin. I have spent years receiving that infuriating, competitive grin. Versions of it across dinner tables while he tries to one-up my kills. A needier version when I let him kiss me.

‘I need more champagne,’ I say.

‘You really don’t.’ Maggie slides the tray further from me.

‘It’s a party,’ I say, leaning across to grab a glass.

‘You’ve had three.’ Maggie squeals as I half-climb her legs to get another flute. ‘Get off!’

We struggle like we used to over clothes as teens, but she’s no match for me. I jab her in the side with a manicured nail, and she jolts. With satisfaction, I grab a flute and toss the champagne back into my mouth in one.

My head is feeling fuzzy, likely from the drink, but possibly from my pulse racing through my temples as I watch them dance.

She’s touching his shoulder. His fingers rest lightly on her waist. My stomach lurches.

They’re just friends, I tell myself.

She leans in to say something, and he tilts his head, and the line of his jaw makes me weak. What’s wrong with me?

Maggie looks concerned and threads her fingers through mine.

As if that could stop me.

I need to claim my man.

20

ELIZA

Vivienne lifts her fingers and touches his face.

The easy intimacy of it has me seeing red. It’s not performative. Vivienne touches him like that because she’s done it before. And she still wants to.

The tightness in my chest ignites.

I set my glass down with a decisive clink and push myself to standing.

‘Eliza—’ Maggie begins.