“Yeah, that.”
He’s still touching me, an invitation to a calmer world. “It’s a good name.”
“Fausto is a good name. Arcadia is weird.”
“Do you actually think that, or do you feel like you need to say that?”
“Offensive.” I laugh. “I like it, okay? It was my grandma’s name.”
He smiles. I hear it in his voice, feel it through his palm somehow, even if I’m not looking his way. “You’re named after her?”
“Mmhm. She claimed she hated it. Told my parents off for making me live up to her famous reputation.”
“Wow, a legend.”
Memories shimmer behind my eyelids. Grandma in her perfect, chaotic purple kitchen. Showing me how to plant black-eyed Susans. Sneaking meKill Billon DVD when I couldn’t sleep and needed action-overkill to numb my tired brain.Silly rabbit. Trix are for kids.
“I miss her,” I tell him. But mostly, I tell Miami. Miami doesn’t know her. She’ll never get to come here. I want this place to hold her memory, if only for tonight. “I don’t like being the only Arcadia Alden around.”
Faust’s hand stills, his fingertips slanting against me. Though he doesn’t say it, I think he wants me to lean against him. Offering, in that quiet way of his.
And I really shouldn’t. Really. This will hurt in the long run—sooner rather than later.
I imagine saying how I feel.Faust, my rules have changed. Because you were right. The sex got me. What you said, about wanting to see me every day, about me being your lucky charm, got me. And not just that, but all of this. You. Your personality. Your humor. How much you hate the people I hate and love the things I love. And I really wish I was one of those things for you, instead of just fun. I know I just said I always go, but you’re letting me, and it hurts.
But sitting on the curb isn’t exactly comfortable, either. And if he’s going to try and soothe my tequila neuroticism away, well. Okay.
I pull my knees in closer, tilt and shift and wriggle until the side of my cheek is against his shoulder. He really has the best shoulders. Strong, round, but pillowy despite their definition. He moves to loop his arm around me, and we’re pressed together tighter, the smell of his woodsy bodywash an undercurrent in the cool night air.
“We probably look really drunk,” I say, after I’ve enjoyed the quiet for a bit too long. The night, the mostly obscured stars, sitting here with him.
“We’re in Miami. Anyone who’s awake is drunk.”
Giggling a bit, I look at his shoes. He’s in simple black boots, nothing I’ve bought him. For some reason, seeing them makes me tired. Like I can relax, knowing Faust could feasibly carry me to the hotel without tripping.
“Arcadia?”
“Mm?”
“Still awake?”
My throat knits together. At least eventually, I’ll run my way out of how this feels, too. With my own two feet. “Yeah, sorry.”
Chapter 26PHILIDOR POSITION
MONACO
Today’s the day.
I stare out at the crowd from the balcony of the Paddock Club, anxiety simmering just beneath my skin. Well, one of the clubs—in Monte Carlo, the Paddock Club is more of abranded experience. This year, there are seven hospitality locations, including three “bring your own yacht” trackside options that start at four thousand euros per person. Yes, really. Tens of thousands of euros, minimum, to park your boat beside the street circuit and watch five seconds of cars driving by on loop.
My eyes drift to the high-rise apartments stretching up toward the perfect blue sky. People hang over their balconies, drinking, laughing, barely visible from my vantage point by the garages. The irony isn’t lost on me that here, I don’t have the best spots in the house. Monte Carlo’s the ultimate promise of capitalism, complete with a casino catering exclusively to tourists. There’salways another balcony, a better yacht, a prettier person living a better, happier life.Look at where you can go if you just try a little bit harder, kid.
“Hey, have you seen Faust?”
“Hm?”
“Faust, you know.” Mei snaps her fingers around. “Big, broody, on pole—missing.”
