Page 157 of False God

With Charlie, I just steal most of his ice cream.

It feels a little like Charlie is trying to show Buckleby off. He points out some of the storefronts as we sit at one of the picnic tables outside the ice cream shop while I contemplate ordering a second ice cream.

“What have you done in New York?” I ask him as we’re throwing our empty containers away.

I’m too full to eat another bite, I decide.

“What do you mean?” he responds as we start back toward the car. It’s still parked at the inn.

“Well, I know you’ve been there. What did you do there, aside from play polo?”

“You mean,winat polo?” he says, sounding like the imperious jerk who flashed his trophy at me.

I roll my eyes, not deigning that with a response.

“Not much. It was partially a work trip.”

“That’s why you were at Kensington Consolidated?”

“Yeah.”

He says nothing else, glancing away, and I get the distinct impression that he doesn’t want to talk about it.

I’m not sure why—because it’s my family’s company maybe?—but I let the topic drop.

Lights are on in all the houses we already drove past once, cozy squares that add to their charm. They fade to darkness quickly, the car’s headlights the only illumination. We don’t pass a single vehicle on our way back to Newcastle Hall.

It’s so different from what I’m used to. You can’t venture out in New York at any hour and have the roads be empty.

Charlie grabs my hand as we walk from the convertible to the house, our fingers entwining naturally. This is our second date, technically, but it feels like our hundredth. Like this is just an average Tuesday night.

I can’t decide if I love or hate that.

We’ve barely walked inside when a woman’s voice calls out, “That you, Charlie?”

“Yes,” he calls back.

I glance at him, unsure. She sounds younger than most of the staff I’ve seen.

“I went to see Granny earlier, and—” A young woman appears. Then stops—moving and talking—as soon as she spots me and Charlie. Focuses on our clasped hands. Frowns. “You have agirlfriend?”

I wave at her with my free hand. “You must be Blythe. I’m Lili.”

She and Charlie look a lot alike. She’s a shorter, leaner, even more scowly version of him.

Blythe studies me like she’s not sure if she wants to be best friends or mortal enemies. “Where is your shirt from?” she asks abruptly.

I glance down to remind myself what I’m wearing. “Uh, I think it’s?—”

Charlie cuts me off. “You’re not buying any more clothes, Blythe.”

Blythe glares at him. “Well, notnowsince I found out we’re—” She quits talking abruptly. “I like your shirt.”

“You can have it,” I say impulsively.

I’m a few inches taller than her, but I think it’ll fit her. Or she can tuck it in.

One less thing for me to bring back.

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