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“And you’re positive you can do this?” I asked him. “And be convincing?”
“It’s not going to be a problem.” He said it with such cocky conviction that it pissed me off a little.
“Whatever, dude. It’s your funeral.” Quite literally. I felt very murdery around him. But if he wanted to learn his lesson the hard way, so be it. “I want it in writing immediately. Before dinner, and before I interact with your family. Otherwise, I’m out.”
Then I ducked under his arm and slipped out of the closet.
Finally. I could breathe again.
16
By dinner time,my heart was coiled into a tight, anxious mess of uncoordinated beats.
I didn’t understand why I was so nervous. If shit hit the fan (which it undoubtedly would), Adrien would be the one with all the explaining to do. I’d just slip out of here and book a flight right back to Toronto. I already had it all in writing.
“Okay, we gotta go. I’m not letting you stall anymore,” Adrien said, shutting his laptop. We’d spent the last two hours mostly ignoring each other while he worked. “I don’t want to show up late to dinner.”
I was tempted to ask him for just five more minutes, but I’d done that three times already and he was clearly running out of what minimal patience he possessed. So, I let out a resigned breath and forced myself off the recliner I’d curled up on.
The “bedroom” we’d been assigned was the size of a small studio apartment and decorated like a luxury hotel suite. There was a big four-poster bed with rich blue draperies, a large balcony, a cozy little living area with a traditional fireplace, a small bar, and a dedicated workspace Adrien had immediately monopolized.
Oh, and there were two walk-in closets (both of which weretwelve timesthe size of the linen closet Adrien had stuffed us into), and two walk-in rain showers.
Under normal circumstances, I’d have been ecstatic to stay here for just one night. These were not normal circumstances.
“Fine. Let’s just get this over with,” I grumbled, wiping my nervous palms against my jeans. I’d spent the last hour looking up formal dinnerware settings, determined not to make a fool of myself by mixing up a salad spoon with a soup fork or whatever. (Jamie had forced me to watchShrek 2multiple times. I knew how many utensils rich people used.)
“That’s the spirit,” he muttered dryly.
We made our way downstairs with Adrien in the lead. There was a voice in the back of my head that kept telling me to run. That it still wasn’t too late to make a break for it. And I was so concentrated on trying to ignore it, that I didn’t hear the soft chatter of voices until everything exploded into shouts and barks and laughter, making me jump.
“Ah, there he is!”
“Finally! What the heck took you so long?”
“Bark bark!”
“Lookin’ sharp, kid. I like the shirt.”
“Uh, he looks old as fuck. I can see the crow’s feet from here.”
“Thanks, Lice.”
“Alice, language. Adrien, don’t call your sister Lice.”
“Bark bark grrr bark.”
“That nickname doesn’t even make sense. My name’s Alice, not Alice. No creativity and literal rocks for brains. Zero out of ten.”
“Bark bark bark!”
“Everybody calm down. You’re going to scare her off.”
“Agreed. Y’all are hella embarrassing. Especially you, Maxipad.”
“Where’s your girl? Did she run off already?”
“Bring her in. I need to warn her.”
