“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Ha-ha.”
He grabs the towel from his back pocket, flips open the toaster oven. “It is, and isn’t.”
“Oh?”
“My parents own a restaurant. Or, my mom does, and Dad moved to Algarve to help her with it.” Turning away, his voice goes light. “It’s a difficult business, but always nice to feed people you care about.”
I’m stuck, that comment bouncing off me. “What… kind of restaurant?”
He looks at me, uneasy. I’m reacting weirdly to this reveal, and I know that, I get that, and it really isn’t that huge of a deal, there are a million people in the world whose families run restaurants, more than that I bet—but not here at a hotel with me. Not in my orbit. Faust tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “I’m not sure how to describe it, but it’s normal Portuguese. Family style, home cooking—traditional. Why?”
My jaw feels tight and wobbly-jelly soft at the same time. “I, uh. I just didn’t know. What are they like?”
Lucky me, his bland protein requires attention. Faust turns away. “Mom is a matriarch, Dad enables her. Married after a week. Dad was a student in Madrid, only visiting Lisboa for April twenty-fifth—” He pauses, like I already know what that means. “And then they met.”
“And here you are?”
He chuckles. “Vinte e cinco de Abril sempre. You’ll like them. What about you?”
Youwilllike them.I’m sparkling, excited and nervous by that idea in equal measure. “My dad owns a garage. He’s the one that got me into F1. He’s never been to a race, but he likes cars so much—I didn’t get a bit of the skill from him.” I laugh. “And I have three sisters. Maisie, Bailey, Samantha.”
I don’t elaborate. People always notice the obviously left-outmom, and Faust doesn’t miss it, either. “Got it,” he says. “We could visit, after Monaco. My family. Next up is Spain, so we’ll be right there.”
“Oh.” I twirl a strawberry top between my fingers. “I’m breaking up with Bernard in Monaco, though. So. I’ll be gone by then.”
His back is to me, shoulders stiff. “Right.”
My heart thuds. He sounds disappointed, though I can’t figure out why. He knows my expiration date in his life, and he hasn’t asked me to stay past then. Maybe he’s sad to lose someone who’s willing to go to bed with him like I was. Particularly if his rival is the reason he’s losing his friend-with-obedience-benefits.
Not a very fun end to our game at all.
I set my strawberry top down on the plate. “Do you know where my bag ended up?”
“Front door.”
More tense words. I slink away, squeezing and releasing my clammy fingers, already feeling guilty that our conversation is what reminded me to call Maisie before I leave New York. We’ve been playing phone tag for days, and Faust and I are flying out to Miami this afternoon. Starting this weekend, I’ll be Bernard’s soft-launched girlfriend, and I need to talk to her before whispers hit the internet. Samantha and Bailey are too distracted by school to care, and Dad only uses the internet for eBay car model auctions. But Maisie? She’s online.
I unlock my phone screen and blink.
Maisie’s calling me. Right now.
With a big breath, I put on a smile and spin to look at the windows. “Hey, Maisie-Mouse!”
“Hi. Um, is it true?”
For someone like me, there can’t be a worse open-ended question to ask. My body tilts forward. “Is what?”
“Are you dating, uh—hold on.” A beat, Maisie’s softhm. “Bernard Baudelaire?”
A breath knocks out of me so quickly, I get slightly lightheaded. “What? Where did you see that?”
“Online. He tagged you in a photo.”
“That’s so weird. Let me call you right back, okay?”
“Okay, but—”
