Pretty Little Secrets
Page 26

It is a weakness full of possibilities. I could make Emily break laws for me. I could make her accuse people of all kinds of things, all in the name of Alison. And when I make my move, it will be so easy to lure Emily into my trap. All it will take is a few simple words . . . and one simple kiss. I can only hope that the others will be as easy to manipulate . . .
Next up: Aria. She, Byron, and Mike are geared up for some kooky Yuletide fun, but I have the sneaking suspicion that the surprise waiting for them at the Bear Claw Lodge is not the new knitting wool Aria wanted for Christmas. And that’s not all that’s going to unravel in Aria’s life this holiday season.
Mwah!
Aria’s Pretty Little Secret
Chapter 1
The More the Merrier at Solstice Time
“Don’t you just love didgeridoo music?” Byron Montgomery steered with his knees as he shoved a CD into the slot in the Subaru’s stereo console. Australian pipe music began to play, and he bopped his head back and forth. “It’s so . . . spiritual. The perfect soundtrack for the Winter Solstice.”
“Uh-huh,” Aria Montgomery said absently, examining the gray wool scarf she was knitting. The car went over a bump, and she almost stabbed herself with a wooden knitting needle.
“I think didgeridoos are lame.” Aria’s brother, Mike, kicked the back of her seat. “They sound like a combination of a buzzing wasp hive and an old man farting.”
Byron frowned and ran his hand through his scraggly hair. “You kids need to get into the spirit. I’d better not be the only one chanting during the Solstice celebration.”
Aria resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was December 24, and the family was on their way to the Bear Claw Lodge in the Pocono Mountains, where Byron would ski, Mike would snowboard, and Aria would knit and journal. Every other car on the Northeast Extension was packed full of prettily wrapped gifts, cases of wine, and maybe a frozen ham or a fruitcake. The Montgomery vehicle, on the other hand, contained three yoga mats, incense burners, a jug of homemade mead Byron had brewed in the basement, and a large, splintery Yule log. Aria’s family celebrated the Winter Solstice instead of Christmas, Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa. Even though both her parents had been raised Episcopalian, they’d never done Santa or church or caroling. While everyone else received gifts sometime in December, all Aria got, year after year, was a head wreath made out of ivy.
Aria had never really minded the Solstice celebrations before—she’d accepted long ago that her family was kind of . . . different—but this year, after her old friend Ali’s death, the evil text-messager A, and finding out that Ali’s murderer was Rosewood’s golden boy Ian Thomas, she longed for the comforting Christmas traditions her family had eschewed. Gathering around a decorated tree. Exchanging gifts. Staying indoors and watching cheesy holiday movies instead of schlepping through the wilderness, beating their chests like apes, and being one with nature.
As she gazed out the window at the passing cars, she felt envious of the excited kids’ faces peering out from the backseats. When a sign for a Christmas tree farm swept past, she considered asking Byron if they could chop one down. She knew exactly what he’d say, though: That tree has a soul! It would hate for us to defile it in such a tacky way!
“I wonder what Ella’s doing right now,” Aria said as the Subaru barreled past a VW Jetta with tinted windows.
Byron poked his finger through a hole near the cuff of his sweater, an awkward look rolling across his face. “I’m sure your mom’s somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean as we speak.”
Aria turned and stared out the window at a billboard for the newly opened Devon Crest Mall. WE HAVE THE TRISTATE AREA’S BIGGEST SANTA LAND! it said at the bottom. Ella was on her way to Sweden right now for some meatballs, Volvo-ogling, and sightseeing. Aria had hoped Ella would take her with her—the Montgomerys had lived in Reykjavík, Iceland, for three years, and Aria had cried the whole plane ride back to Rosewood this fall. Getting away to Europe would have been the perfect way to decompress after all the drama of first semester, but Ella had told her she needed to make the trip alone.
Aria understood her need to get away. Her marriage to Byron had crumbled this year when she found out he was having an affair with Meredith Stevens, his old student. A—aka Mona Vanderwaal—had been the one to reveal the tryst, also adding that Aria had known Byron’s secret. Ella had been so angry at Aria that she’d banished her from the house, but they’d since made up. Byron was still living with Meredith in a dumpy apartment in Old Hollis, but luckily she was spending the holidays with her parents in Connecticut. Not so long ago, Meredith had dropped the bomb of all bombs: She was ten weeks pregnant . . . and planning on keeping the baby. She had also announced that she and Byron were going to get married as soon as his divorce went through.
Byron reached over the seat divider and placed a hand on Aria’s knee. “I know it’s sad that your mom’s not here. But this is our chance to hang out together. I promise we’ll have a good time.”
“I know,” Aria said softly, patting her dad’s hand. As much as she wanted to despise Byron for splintering the family, she couldn’t—he was still the absentminded, caring, goofy father she loved. It would be nice to spend some time together, especially since Meredith wouldn’t be there. While Aria had stayed with Byron and Meredith when she and Ella weren’t speaking, she hadn’t warmed up to Meredith at all.
One didgeridoo song ended, and a second one—which sounded exactly like the first—began. Aria picked up her knitting needles and looked at the scarf. It was almost six feet long. She’d intended to give it to Ezra Fitz, the guy she’d met at a college bar the day she’d returned home from Iceland and—as she’d only discovered after they’d kissed—her English teacher at Rosewood Day. Just after they’d professed their affection for one another, A had exposed their relationship. Ezra had resigned from his teaching position immediately and taken off to Rhode Island.
Since he’d been gone, Aria felt like she had PTED—Post-Traumatic Ezra Disorder. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. She’d written him tons of emails, but Ezra hadn’t responded. Had he moved on to someone else? What about all those things he’d said about how amazing she was and how he’d never met anyone like her? What if she never got over him? What if she never kissed another guy again? She’d had other boyfriends before—her first was a guy named Hallbjorn Gunterson in Iceland and she even dated Sean Ackard, a Typical Rosewood Boy, last semester. But she’d never felt about anyone the way she felt about Ezra.
After a quick pit stop where Byron picked up some snacks and made a phone call, they pulled into a turnoff with a big sign that said BEAR CLAW. Byron gunned the engine up the long driveway, and the lodge came into view. It wasn’t a lodge at all, but a behemoth stone mansion. The grounds were covered in glittering, pristine snow. A gondola carried skiers to the top of the mountain. There were more wooden signs pointing to a spa, indoor tennis courts, a gym, the ski rental shop, an ice-skating rink, and dog-sledding tours.
Aria’s mouth dropped open. Mike’s did, too. “I am so going snowboarding this afternoon,” he said.
“Why didn’t you tell us how nice this place was?” Aria gushed. She’d been positive the Bear Claw Lodge was going to have outdoor plumbing, raccoons living in the rafters, and a creepy caretaker à la The Shining.
“I thought we should go somewhere special for the Solstice this year. You kids deserve it.” Byron swung the car into the round driveway. Several valets approached, pretending not to notice the Subaru’s cracked taillight, the duct tape that held the passenger-side mirror in place, or the many stickers Aria and Mike had affixed to the back bumper. They didn’t say anything about the Yule log, either, cheerfully loading it onto the luggage cart with the rest of the family’s bags.
Aria stepped out of the car and stretched her shoulders, suddenly filled with optimism. The air smelled so fresh, and all of the guests were ruddy-cheeked and smiling. A big, beautiful Christmas tree stood in the front window. She could pretend it was all her own. Maybe she’d even learn how to ski.
A footstep sounded behind her, and she twisted around. A figure slipped behind the building, as though whoever it was didn’t want to be seen. Aria’s thoughts instantly darted to A, who had stalked her for months. But she was just being paranoid. A—Mona—was gone.
“I have another surprise for you.” Byron pointed toward the lodge entrance. “Want to see what it is?”
Aria and Mike followed him through the double doors into a cozy, wood-paneled lobby. People wearing Fair Isle sweaters rested by the fire. A kind, grandmotherly woman waved at Aria from behind the front desk. “Maybe the surprise is something awesome like tobogganing,” Aria whispered to her brother. “Or a helicopter ride over the mountains.”
“Or maybe it’s actual presents this year,” Mike said back, his eyes glittering. “I’m dying for an iPad. Or one of those sick four-wheelers like Noel Kahn has.”
Byron stopped halfway into the lobby and pointed. “Look!”
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.