Page 50 of Eye Candy

I’d let myself relax with him. He knew I wasn’t a New Yorker, and my natural accent was Frankenstein’s monster anyway. Being from a remote island and touring cities all around the world, I had to modify the way I spoke to be understood. Over the years, a strange mix had cemented: it was a bit British, a bit American, and a bit Australian. The blend worked fine in most countries, and whenever I went back home I only had to hear another Kiwi talk for my childhood accent to come back. This was very lucky, because my brother would rip the shit out of me (Kiwi-speak for tease mercilessly) if it didn’t.

“I’m from Woodville,” I answered.

“Where is that?”

“Exactly.”

Chase made a noise. It was impossible not to be charmed by the little sounds that erupted from his chest whenever he thought I was being a brat.

“It’s in Aotearoa.”

Two lines appeared between his brows.

“Aotearoa New Zealand. Aotearoa is the te reo Maori name for my country. It means land of the long white cloud. Pretty, huh? If you’re done with your tea, I can take your mug?—”

He held it out of my reach. “I have more questions.”

This was it. He was going to ask why I’d lied about being Teddy.

“How old are you?” he asked instead. “You’re older than Joe and Teddy. But I don’t think older than me. I’m thirty-four.”

Relief dropped my shoulders. “I’m twenty-nine. A Leo.” I yawned and stretched, extending my spine with a few tiny pops. “And Scorpio moon. What’s your star sign, Chase?”

He ignored that. I thought he might. Chase was definitely the kind of guy who thought star signs were silly, and if I had theluxury of time, I would love to tease him about this until he cracked and let me do his full star chart.

“Are you tired?” he asked. “We can finish this tomorrow.”

“I’m fine. I like late nights.” I hesitated for a second and then decided to give him as much honesty as I could. Safe honesty. Nothing about Gerard or being a broke bitch, but everything about who I was. “I’m a burlesque artist. I often work nights and sleep days. I’ve been trying to keep more human hours while I’ve been, uh…” I looked down, “taking a break. But old habits die hard.”

“Did you do burlesque inWoodville?”

I laughed. “No. And if you knew Woodville, you’d know what a good joke you just made.”

“What did you do there?”

“I worked in my dad’s café. Every day started at five.” I made a face to show how I felt about that.

“Did your whole family work there?”

“My dad and my younger brother, Mike, yes. And one of my cousins, Tessa, lived with us most summers when we were younger.”

“Are you and Mike close?”

“As close as possible, considering we’re nothing alike.”

“Because your brother doesn’t do burlesque?” Chase asked. “Or because he doesn’t impersonate heiresses?”

I blinked.

A smile was playing at the corner of his mouth. It was interesting that he felt ready to joke about it. I wasn’t.

“Put it this way,” I sighed, “when Mike and I were in school, Dad always made us sandwiches for lunch. Luncheon for me, Marmite for Mike—we’re a Marmite family. That might not make sense to you, but it’s like your Twizzlers and Red Vines. Anyway, sometimes Dad included Post-it notes with our lunch. For me he wrote things like, ‘Go hard in maths, Bucket!’ or ‘Have a good rehearsal!’ For Mike, it was, ‘please don’t punch Mr. Wilson again’.”

“I see,” Chase said. I wondered if he did, if he could possiblyunderstand my childhood. “Sounds like you two are chalk and… luncheon sandwiches.” He made a face. “What is that? Is it a Kiwi delicacy?”

“Only if you don’t have a lot of money. You call it …” I rooted around my mind for the equivalent. “Bologna? Sometimes people call it baloney, but I’m talking about the thick stuff, not the plain ham.”

“Oh.”

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