Page 111 of The Misfit

“I pay attention.” The words come out softer than intended. More honest. “You know that. I don’t always do what I should, but I do pay attention.”

Her latex-covered fingers clench slightly. “To the details that matter for appearances. I know.”

“Salem—”

“Anything else?” She doesn’t look at the dress or even me. “Any other arrangements I should be aware of?”

I swallow hard against the urge to expel the secrets I’m keeping. To make her understand that I notice details because I care, not because of appearances. That I remember her preferences because they matter to me, not because this is an act.

“I’ll pick you up at seven thirty,” I say instead. “That will give us time to?—”

“There is no need.” She’s already shaking her head. “Noah can drop me off. It’s easier that way.”Easier.Like having her brother drive her to our last official fake date is easier than letting me pick her up. Like maintaining distance is easier than risking closeness again.

“Right.” My voice sounds strange even to my own ears. “Easier.”

She makes another note in her planner, all businesslike. “Will there be a specific entrance we should use? For the photographers?”

Of course I arranged a private entrance. Of course I made sure there would be quiet spaces she could escape to. Of course I thought of every detail that might make her comfortable. From the very beginning, this has always been about her comfort.

Yes, it was an arrangement, but it was also an obsession and a need.

“East entrance,” I tell her. “I’ll have someone waiting to guide you in.”

“Perfect.” She closes her planner with finality. “Was there anything else?”

Yes. Everything. A thousand truths caught in my throat.

Can I really do this? If it means saving some part of this, of us?

“Promised Land is a conversion therapy camp. For teens who need …”

Her eyes are locked on my face now, all indifference gone. Complete focus. I shudder out a breath. Can I really tell her this? No. Not all of it.

“I was sent there for six months when I was sixteen by my parents after I was caught kissing a boy. They …” I reach around my side and gesture to my back, begging her to understand what I’m trying to say without having to force the words out. Not here. Not like this.

She says nothing, and the hope that flared bright inside me shutters. She’s already moved on. She doesn’t care.

“Well.” I stand slowly, leaving the garment bag draped over the empty chair. “That’s everything you need to know for the gala.”

I watch her gaze flick to the dress before returning to her books. One quick glance that betrays her more than she probably means to. I know she sees what I see—all the careful details chosen specifically for her. The way the fabric will move without restriction. The high neckline won’t make her anxious. The hidden pockets are the perfect size for her gloved hands.

“The color’s pretty,” she offers, her voice soft. Like she’s commenting on a stranger’s choice, not something I spent weeks selecting just for her.

“You’ll look beautiful in it,” I say before I can stop myself. It’s too honest of a response for this business agreement and the ever-growing distance between us.

Her pen stills for a moment. “It’s suitable for the occasion. That’s what matters.”

Suitable.My mother’s favorite word. One that’s haunted every choice I’ve ever made. A word that Salem wears like armor.

“Salem.” I try again, needing to break through this wall somehow. “About the gala … about everything …”

“Please stop. You don’t need to do this. I agreed to come with you. I’ll give you one more chance, but … I need you to talk to me. Exactly like you expect me to talk to you. Be honest with me.”

It’s only then I notice a tear slip down her cheek. I start to reach out, but she ducks away.

“Okay, and what about after everything?” Waiting for her to speak is like trying to walk a tightrope with a car on my chest.

“After what?”

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