Page 6 of The Fake Date Deal

Rafael’s lips tightened. “You watch your tongue.”

“Or what, you’ll hit me? Or just run away?”

He clenched his fists, and I thought he might deck me. Then a camera swung in, and a fuzzy boom mic. We both turned our smiles on, but Rafael leaned close.

“Talk all you want,” he hissed. “But I’ll always be faster. You can have your wisecracks. I’ll take the prize.”

“This time,” I grunted, out the side of my mouth. If Rafael heard me, he gave no sign. He was in press mode, beaming for the fans. I flicked my chin at him and a camera flashed, catching me in my moment of schoolyard defiance.

CHAPTER 3

EVE

Iwasn’t wallowing, exactly. I wasn’t hiding. I was taking some me-time. Letting the drama die down. Once it had, I’d go out again, get back to my life. How long did a news cycle last, anyway? A couple more days of this. A week to be safe.

I plucked another macaron from its tissue paper nest, lavender-lemon. My favorite flavor. Being a hermit wasn’t so bad, catching up on the Housewives, gorging on sweets. Some people didn’t leave their apartments for years. They had everything brought to them, food, groceries. Even dentists would come if you paid them enough. I wondered what the record was for staying inside, the longest a person went without a foot out the door. I grabbed my phone to find out and it buzzed in my hand.

“Go away,” I groaned. My phone buzzed again. Text bubbles popped, one after another. Gabriella — of course it was. And she was downstairs.

Hey, buzz us up!

STRAIGHT TO VOICEMAIL!!!!????

Your doorman won’t talk to us! Let us in!

I could ignore her. Pretend my phone died. She wouldn’t believe me, but she couldn’t prove?—

Never mind, we’re in. Your neighbor’s so sweet!

Which of my neighbors was the dirty traitor? René in the penthouse? Jean from downstairs? No, Madame Durand. It had to be her. She’d bring anyone in with her, any riffraff at all. And who had Gabriella brought with her? Who the hell was we?

She banged on my door. I buried my face in a pillow. Gabriella kept banging.

“Come on, let us in!”

If I kept quiet, she’d think I went out.

“We know you’re in there. We saw your TV.”

So maybe I went out and left it playing.

“Come on, open up. Emma drank too much coffee.”

“I’m going to pee on your doorstep.” Emma joined in the banging. “I’m not even kidding. Open the door!”

I didn’t think I’d mind so much if she did pee out there. But Gabriella’s outrage was mounting, her banging gaining in volume. If I didn’t open up soon, she’d break down the door.

“Coming,” I called. “Keep your pants on.” I checked my hair in selfie mode and patted it down. Brushed a dusting of macaron crumbs off my chest. Then I trudged down my front hall and opened the door.

“I knew it,” said Emma, wrinkling her nose. “I smell sweaty bedsheets and processed sugar.”

“No, you do not.”

“There’s crumbs in your hair.” Gabriella plucked a macaron crumb off my shoulder. She cocked her head. “Do I hear Real Housewives?”

It wasn’t worth denying it, but I tried anyway. “I had it on for background noise. I was, uh… I was cleaning.”

“Yeah? Where’s your broom?” Gabriella swept past me, into my bedroom. A moment later, I heard the TV switch off. Emma took me by the arm and steered me to the day room.

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