Page 83 of Is This for Real?
“It looks like you fainted,” one passerby says.Not helpful.But I am pleased it looked realistic.
The official-looking person sits me on a chair. “I really think you should go to our nurse. Are you here with anyone?”
“Yes,” I say, but I obviously can’t tell them he’s off delivering a note. “He just went to the bathroom.”
Official guy repeats that I should go to the nurse. I whisper to him, “I was just acting. We’re on a mission.”
His face clears. He nods and disappears.
“I’ll sit with you for a bit,” says an unctuous man who looks a bit like Urgante. He tries to hold my hand. I pull it away.
“Are you looking for an exit visa? Because that can be arranged.” The man leers at me. He moves his chair closer.
This feels way too realistic.
Rory shows up with a glass of water. “Penelope, what happened? I’m her boyfriend.” Rory immediately pulls up a chair and tugs me close to him, away from Urgante. He looks really concerned and listens intently when Urgante tells him I fainted. He’s better at acting than I would’ve guessed.That’s not exactly a good sign.
“No exit visas?”
“We have exit visas,” Rory says firmly. “Urgante” stands and fades back into the crowd.
Rory gives me a thumbs-up.
“How’d you give it to him?”
“I handed it to him when everybody was crowding around you. That was perfect. I can’t believe it didn’t hurt.”
“Itdidhurt,” I say. “I forgot we had padded floors in acting class.”
“Where does it hurt?”
I shift in my wicker chair. “My butt. Don’t touch it. Anyway, I’m kind of bummed I didn’t get to give the policeman the note.”
“You can give the waitress the note.”
“Okay.”
Major Strasser arrives with his soldiers and sits at a corner table. “Renault” moves to arrest Urgante. Urgante runs out the back door, just like in the movie. Shots are fired. People are screaming. We duck under the table, both on our knees. A smoky smell fills the air.
My face is very close to Rory’s.
His glance holds mine. His hand strokes my face. I tilt my head to lean into his hand. His hand strokes my hair. My breath catches.
“Fancy meeting you here,” I say.
“That’s your tell.” He is stroking my hair. I swallow.
“What?”
His face is so close to mine.
“You make a joke when you’re nervous. Whenever there’s a chance I might kiss you.”
I nod. My glance doesn’t leave his. My heart is thumping. He must be able to hear it.
I say, “Is there still a chance? I want to kiss you.”
The kiss is tentative at first, as if we’re both afraid. His hand moves up to cup my head, and the kiss deepens. I don’t want it to stop. The background recedes, and it’s just me and him, touching, tasting. My hand reaches up to caress his face, to tousle his hair. And then we shift. He hits his head on the top of the table.
