Page 60 of The Faking Game

I drop my hand. She’s not mine to touch. I know that. Not outside our practice sessions, outside the fake game we’re playing in public. And I’ve forgotten.

“Yes.” My voice comes out gruff. “You were right. You’re free to do what you like with your guards.”

She nods a little. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to your concerns. And that I got so heated.”

“I got heated, too.”

“I guess we have that in common.” She looks at me like I’m something new, something she’s never seen before. “Are we good?”

“We’re good,” I tell her. “And I mean it.”

“I mean it too.” She digs her teeth into her lower lip for a second, distractingly pretty, beautifully earnest. “I won’t bring it up again. Or hold it over your head.”

“I won’t either.”

“Good,” she says.

“Great,” I say.

A smile breaks out over her face, and it makes something tighten inside me. Like a ray of sunlight peering in through the large half-moon windows in this room that was forgotten, the furniture covered with sheets, before it became hers. “I’ve never had closure like that before.”

“How did it feel?”

“Good. A bit silly.” She shrugs again, and the smile stays in place. “We weren’t really arguing.”

“No. But can your nerves tell the difference?”

“Not really.” She glances down at my card, still in her hand, and then slides it into the back pocket of the white jeans she’s wearing. “Thank you.”

“I meant what I said about that. Practice getting used to men paying for things for you too. If you want.”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

I shouldn’t ask her for this. Have been considering it for days, whether it’s a good idea or not. But the glittering of her green eyes is an invitation, a door ajar. “Want to pretend for me tomorrow night?” I ask. “We can combine a lesson with being seen in public again.”

She tilts her head. “You need a date?”

“I do.”

“Where are we going?”

I open my wallet again. This time I pull out the playing card that was delivered a few days ago. It’s an ace, and scribbled on it in a flowing cursive is a date and an address.

And on the back it sayscome playin red ink. Beneath it are two words.Paradise Lost.The party’s theme this time. Considering the address, the theme has been very deliberately chosen.

Nora turns the card over, her eyes narrowing. “Oh my god. This is the invite?”

“Yes.” I hesitate only a moment. “It’s a… special kind of party. People go there to gamble.”

“Will we play?”

“No. But we need to be seen.” The stalker won’t be there. Hebetternot be. But some of the world’s most powerful people will be. They always show up to these parties, and in the haze of the night, they’ll all see that Nora is with me. That she has my protection. It’ll filter down the chains, back out through the network. The Calloway and the Montclair.

“We’ll need to put on a show,” she says, and her gaze slides back up to mine. “Won’t we?”

“We will, trouble. Will that be a problem?”

“No. It’s just…”

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