Page 205 of The Faking Game

He nods. “Bon travail.”

“You don’t know which one was mine.”

“No. I don’t. But I still know you did really well.”

Nora lifts her chin. “Which one was your favorite?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, I think it does. I want your honest answer,” she says. “T’inquiète.”

I’ve heard them talk this way before. Their constant switching back and forth between their two mother tongues, and damn it, I’m going to have to do this for the rest of my life now. I studied Latin at Belmont when it should have been French.

“Number six,” he says. “But I have been paying attention, you know. I recognize your work.”

Nora’s breath catches. “You have?”

“Of course I have.” He runs a hand through his hair and glances at me. There’s reluctant acceptance in that look. “I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear to you. I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel… like you could… be honest with me. Or like you had to be strong all the time.”

Nora glances over her shoulder at me. Maybe I didn’t mention all the accusations I hurled at Rafe in the library that night. Sometimes the truth hurts.

“I’m really proud of you,” he says. Rafe’s voice turns hoarse. “Andje suis vraiment désolé.”

“For what?”

“Tout.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Wilde wouldn’t have targeted you if it wasn’t for me. If I ever made you feel like you were a burden to me, or like you couldn’t be scared…”

“It’s okay,” she says.

“No. It’s really not.”

Nora takes a step closer to her brother, her hand on his arm. Another volley of quick French is fired off, and I catch only hints. Rafe nods twice during her words, but his face is drawn tight.

“Yes,” he says when she’s done. “You’re right.”

“I know I am.”

His lips tug. “You’re more confident these days.”

“I’ve worked on it,” she says, and hugs him. He looks over her shoulder at me with an expression I can read all too well. A bit embarrassed, a bit grateful.

“Does this mean I’ve lost you to the other side of the Atlantic?” he asks her.

I’m not the one asked, but I nod regardless.She’s mine now.

Rafe rolls his eyes.

Nora laughs and takes a step back out of her brother’s arms. She says something again in rapid French, and his gaze softens. There’s something about trust in that sentence, I think. Something about family too.

Behind them, the door to the waiting room opens. Someone with a headset and a clipboard calls out for our attention.

Nora and Rafe don’t hear her.

I put a hand on their shoulders. “Hey. This heartwarming reunion will have to wait a bit.”

The attendant clears his throat and tells us that the judges are done convening. There’s a result.

Contestant number six should get ready to go out on stage.

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