Charlotte’s funeral was a testament to how truly loved she was. Her whole family was there. Even her sorority sisters from UM came, floating in on a cloud of Chanel No. 5.

Nina sat alone in a corner, unseeing, numb. She held a white rose that Charlotte’s mother had given her. She was gripping it so tightly that a thorn had pierced the fleshy pad of her index finger, the blood dripping onto the black satin of her skirt. Nina didn’t feel it, didn’t notice. She was beyond feeling. She couldn’t believe the funny little girl she’d known since 5th grade was gone.

“Looks like you’ve hurt yourself.”

“Huh?” Nina peered out of the haze of her distress into the handsome and concerned features of the man who stood over her.

“I said it looks like you’ve hurt yourself.” Jake sat down next to Nina and took the rose out of her hand.

“Oh. That.” Nina watched as Jake pulled out his handkerchief and gently wrapped it around her finger, staunching the blood.

“You should be more careful,” he said and smiled.