Chapter 2 - The Girl Who Had Forgotten How to Laugh
Roman took the phone from my hand.
“What did they say?”
“Give it back.”
“Clare.”
“Rule nine-point-five. Don't steal my telephone.”
His stare hardened.
I held out my hand.
After a moment, he returned it.
Lily was watching us.
That changed everything.
I refused to let fear become entertainment for a sixteen-year-old who had already lost too much.
“Wrong number,” I said.
Roman knew I was lying.
Lily probably did too.
But she let me have it.
That evening Roman waited until Lily was in the SUV before speaking.
“Tell me.”
“They said, ‘Enjoy Sunday dinner. Girlfriend.’”
“Man or woman?”
“Woman, I think.”
His face became unreadable.
“Cancel Sunday.”
“No.”
“That's not a request.”
“Then it's definitely a no.”
His jaw flexed.
“This may be a threat.”
“It may also be Sophia trying to scare me into wearing something nice.”
“My aunt doesn't make anonymous threats.”
“You sound strangely proud.”
“Clare.”
I locked the bakery door.
“You wanted a fake girlfriend because you couldn't tell your aunt no. Congratulations. You have one. She tells you no constantly.”
He almost smiled again.
Sunday arrived.
Roman came to collect me at five-thirty.
I opened my apartment door wearing a dark green dress I'd bought three years earlier and never had the courage to wear.
Roman forgot whatever he was about to say.
I noticed.
“You're staring.”
“Yes.”
“Don't.”
He stopped.
Immediately.
That was somehow worse.
He offered his arm.
I ignored it and walked downstairs.
His aunt's home was not the mansion I'd expected.
It was an old Federal house in Providence filled with photographs, mismatched chairs and enough food for forty people.
Sophia hugged me.
“You came!”
“I was kidnapped.”
Roman removed his coat.
“No one kidnapped you.”
“Emotionally kidnapped.”
Lily appeared from the dining room.
“She's been cooking since seven.”
Sophia whispered, “Roman hasn't brought a woman to dinner in twelve years.”
I looked at him.
“Really?”
He looked annoyed.
Good.
Dinner began awkwardly.
Then Sophia produced childhood photographs.
Roman at nine with enormous glasses.
Roman at twelve with braces.
Roman at fifteen holding a violin.
I stared.
“You played violin?”
“No.”
Sophia slapped his arm.
“For eight years.”
Lily laughed.
Roman endured it.
Something unexpected happened over dessert.
I forgot to pretend.
Sophia told stories.
Lily corrected them.
Roman quietly moved the tiramisu toward me after noticing I'd liked it.
Nobody discussed money.
Nobody whispered about what Roman did for a living.
For two hours, he was simply Lily's uncle and Sophia's impossible nephew.
When dinner ended, Lily asked if she could work Tuesday.
“Of course.”
Roman said, “School first.”
Lily rolled her eyes.
It was such a normal teenage gesture that Roman looked almost relieved.
Outside, he walked me toward the SUV.
“You were good with her.”
“With Sophia?”
“Lily.”
“She doesn't need someone being good with her. She needs somewhere she isn't treated like broken glass.”
He absorbed that.
“Thank you.”
Two ordinary words.
Coming from Roman, they felt strangely intimate.
Then headlights swept across us.
A red sports car stopped across the street.
A woman sat behind the wheel.
Beautiful.
Blonde.
Watching.
Roman's body changed instantly.
Not visibly to anyone who didn't know him.
But I knew.
“Who is she?”
“No one.”
The car accelerated away.
I folded my arms.
“You're a terrible liar.”
Roman stared after it.
“That,” he said, “was Celeste Vane.”
“Should I know her?”
“No.”
“Another lie.”
He opened the SUV door.
I didn't move.
“Roman.”
His phone buzzed.
He looked down.
Then at me.
“What?”
He turned the screen away.
Too late.
I had seen the photograph.
It showed me entering Sophia's house.
Beneath it was one message.
SHE DOESN'T BELONG AT YOUR TABLE.
May you like
Before I could ask who had sent it, another message appeared.
This one contained a photograph of my apartment door.
