Page 32 of Freeing Hook

Unamused, the captain sweeps me up and down with his gaze. “Are you prepared for tomorrow?”

“I already told you I have all the details memorized,” I say.

“Yes, but can you play the part?”

I stare at Cressida Rivers’ fact sheet and trace Charlie’s handwriting with my fingertips, if only to give me somewhere to look other than the captain.

When I don’t answer, the captain sighs. While his voice is twinged with impatience, it’s surprisingly not unkind. “Can you play Cressida Rivers, or do I need to start prepping Charlie to do it?”

“I’ll be fine,” I say.

“Show me.”

My heart pounds in my chest. I’d rather not put on a performance for the captain, but he’s not exactly a person worth arguing with once he sets his mind to something.

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll let you lead.”

Something flickers in his eyes. “You’ll let me?”

I say nothing, simply wait.

He watches me carefully, then pulls up a stool and crosses his legs like he’s a posh aristocrat. I’m almost tempted to laugh. Almost.

“Your wife is lovely, Rivers. Had I known how beautiful Delphian women were, I might have spent more time there myself.”

I fight the blush rising to my cheeks and allow a sly smile to curve on my lips. “I’m Kruschian. Though I’m sure Lady Carlisle would prefer you visit neither.”

Whether Astor is pleased that I didn’t fall for his trap, I can’t tell from his cool expression. “Ah, that’s right. Yet you’ve lived in Delphi most of your life, correct? Tell me about Delphi then. I hear the countryside is lovely in the spring.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Astor raises a brow. “You’re not fond of traveling?”

“This lifestyle of doing what I want when I want is new to me, I’m afraid. Cost of living might be of little consequence to the nobility, but to the working class, it’s everything.”

“Ah.” He turns toward my pillow, our stand-in for Cortland Rivers, with a condescending smile. “Snagged yourself a working-class wife. How quaint.”

My grin is calculated, plastered to my face but still controlled. A challenge. “Quaint. That’s what my clients all thought as they blabbed their secrets to their friends, forgetting I was there at their feet, measuring them up.”

Astor’s imperceptible facade cracks, just slightly. It’s barely there, in the twitch of his lip on the right. “And here I was, thinking I was the one dealing in secrets.”

“Yes, and you’ve made yourself a reputation for that, haven’t you? Me? I’m just a…what was it? Ah,quainttailor.”

I catch Astor in his stare, refusing to break first, even as I note his chest rising and falling underneath his white linen shirt.

“Where did you learn to do that?” His question sounds more like a demand.

I allow the unnatural air of confidence to drain from me, let my shoulders droop into a more comfortable position. “Do what?”

“You know.”

My knees find my chest, and I hug them into myself, suddenly embarrassed by my display, though I can’t explain why. There’s something about letting Astor see how easily I can let myself be molded that makes me feel exposed. Naked except for a painted mask. Now that I’m myself again, it takes me a moment to search for the words, but when I find them, they come out easily. “I don’t know how to be a specific person. But what I do know is how to be whoever the person sitting across from me wants me to be.” I absentmindedly stroke the Mating Mark on my cheek. “At least for a while, that is.”

Astor leans forward, his stool balancing on the front two legs. “And what if the person sitting across from you wants Wendy Darling? Could you be her?”

His green eyes pin me with such ferocity, my breath catches, fog flooding my mind. “I’m afraid I’d need more information on who’s asking,” is all I manage to choke out.

Satisfied with addling me, Astor pulls his coin out of his pocket and taps it against his knee. “That’s why you wanted the Carlisle notes. So you can figure out how to be whatever either of them wants.”

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