My head slumped, my forehead knocking against my knee and jolting me awake. I groaned, knowing I had to get up, even though I really, really didn’t want to.
The absolute last thing I felt like doing tonight was shaving my legs, putting on makeup and heels, and socializing with a bunch of tipsy strangers.
I was covered in sweat and dirt. My body was spent. My head felt about as sharp as a deflated balloon. And I’d give anything for a heated bath and a nap.
But I couldn’t cancel on Rachel. Not after lying to her about where I’d been and what I’d been doing for the last couple of weeks.
So I patted my cheeks, chugged the hefty bottle of water I’d been nursing since lunch, and got up. Just in time to watch the back door of Dominic’s house swing open.
My heart leapt, the deep sense of fatigue evaporating from my bones the second I saw him step outside.
Warmth seeped into my chest, nervous energy prickled at my skin, and it felt as though the sun had come out after six monthsof relentless rain. A part of me wanted to sing. Another part of me was pleading for a good cry. And my hands were itching to smooth down my hair and wipe the dirt from my cheeks.
I crossed my arms, trapping them against my ribs.
It was getting worse.
“You still haven’t burned it down,” he noted casually, nodding toward his house.
I kicked at the dirt, glancing down to hide the hint of color nipping at my cheeks. He was wearing a custom-tailored suit. Pale gray. No tie. White shirt. Top three buttons undone. The butterflies haunting my insides were up in arms about it. “Taking all the cars out first felt like too much work. Maybe next week.”
I felt his attention swing to the garden, clocking the progress I’d made. As it turned out, Adrien’s “plant guy” really was a miracle worker. Once I’d (finally) managed to (painstakingly) get some decent pictures of our old garden from Gampy, he’d immediately gotten to work, sourcing each plant and keeping me updated via a shared spreadsheet.
So far, there were only three rosebushes actually planted in the soil, but almost every trace of the massacre had been cleaned up. The hardest part was done.
My pulse stuttered when Dominic’s gaze returned to me, questioning, like he still couldn’t figure out why I was doing this.
“It’s all a part of my performance,” I said, helping him out. “I’m really committed to the act. Now, if you’ll excuse me?—”
“I went to visit my mom. In case you were wondering.”
Something wiggled in my chest. “I wasn’t.”
He looked like he couldn’t decide whether to believe me or not. “Are you hungry?”
“No, but I am late.”
“Where are you going?”
“Underbite. It’s Thursday. What are you doing?” He kept blocking me every time I tried to pass. It was getting very old, very quickly.
“You’ve been cheating.”
My brows arched. “Excuse me?”
“Pretending like you can’t cook to reduce your workload? Cheating.”
“Who said I was pretending?”
“That lasagna was baked to perfection, Alice. And unless you already had a picture of the recipe saved on your phone, then it was done from memory.” His hands slipped into the pockets of his pants, his head leaning to one side, showing off the impressive tendons of his neck. “Odd, as I don’t remember you being very fond of that particular dish.”
…Damn.
“Just another part of my act,” I assured him.
He held my gaze. “It’s a breach of the terms we agreed on. You were supposed to do everything she did, and my mother would’ve never fed me, or you, or anyone charred, inedible fish.”
“She would if she knew you like I do.”
