Page 102 of The Kiss of Deception

Miles leans back, a smirk tickling the corner of his mouth as gray disappears under pupils fueled by all the feelings behind mine.

I stare for what feels like the briefest eternity until the moon joins, fireflies, crickets and cicadas. Until Miles sits me on the chair and leaves me staring after him as he vanishes inside.

“Who’s staying for dinner?” Miles comes back, phone and wine in hand.

“Dinner?” Camila shrieks, scandalized. We have been eating all afternoon, after all.

“It’s not a proper birthday without burgers and fries.”

Rodrigo scrunches his nose. “Burgers?”

“They’re Americans…” Camila shrugs, like it’s a matter of nationalities. “I guess I could eat some cheese. Get me a double, no pickles. And sweet potato fries. Thanks!”

She hugs Miles. Then sucker-punches him in the gut, sunny smile never faltering. Miles doubles over with a pained wheeze, and I choke on my wine.

Rodrigo’s laugh is muffled by the cake he’s munching on; no surprise, only unconcealed amusement. Like Camila going around punching people isn’t only a normal occurrence, but the highlight of his days.

From another chair, Nicholas’s gaze is heated with praise and appraisal, then concern, tracing her face for any signs of pain. He watches as she flexes her hand, pocketing his own inside his jeans like he’s stopping himself from kissing her knuckles better.

Camila smiles at Miles, simultaneously frowning a little in thought. “That’s for what you did to my bestie. Even if only good things came from it.”

Miles accepts the punch delivered by the sunshine in a white flowy dress and cow-slippers, feeling deserving of the violent aftermath he’d yet to face for the fatidic not-kiss. “You are surprisingly strong. For your short physical structure! And bubbly persona.”

Camila winks, conspiratorial. “A girl’s biggest weapon is her bubbly personality.”

I suspect she’s revealed more of herself in this one sentence than all these months.

Rodri ruffles her hair with unbridled love. “She’s got a big brother who taught her how to throw a punch.”

She shoves him away. “You always had the perfect dimensions for a punching bag.”

Rodrigo seems unoffended, used to her brand of insults. “Walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

His little sister nods. “You should know by now silence is the only answer to me.”

“Are you okay, love?” I drag my eyes from Camila to Miles’s weirdly amused expression. “Your mouth has been hanging open for quite a while.”

“Better shut it, little Z, before you give the man ideas that will land the next punch a little lower. Don’t forget my little sister is vicious.”

My middle finger enters the conversation. And ends it.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Miles

My mom’s stay in Boston is short.

Two nights, and she’s off on a plane back home.

For two nights, Zoe and I share a bed that never felt mine—and now thoroughly feels ours. To my delight and, in all likeliness, to fuel and further my delusions, any awkwardness or shyness or embarrassment that might show the truth of our relationship (or the lack thereof) are perpetually missing.

Zoe, the architect—the little control freak—doesn’t miss a detail in her orchestrations of my mother’s surprise visit. To make sure Julia won’t suspect we don’t share a bed, Zoe has concocted a plan for our nights.

She will stay with me only long enough that no suspicions arise, then flee to her home office, where she’ll crash for the night. Stubborn as she is, I know it’s a lost battle before I even voice my disagreement.

“Hey,” she says, our eyes locking in the mirror. She’s in my room, wrapped in her favorite bees, removing the fifteen earrings she always wears in front of the dresser. I hold my smile, my breath.

“Happy birthday, Blackstein. I hope you had fun at your party.” Her reflection is bare and unguarded—effortless walls of ice gone. I blink, afraid the mirror plays me with my own hopes.

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