Page 96 of Secret Paths

Her mouth twitches, and for a second we are back where we were. Annoyed, amused, ridiculous. Me in her bedroom without shoes. Her hair still mussed from my hands. Alexandra halfway down the road with a chef and a head full of questions.

Then the smile fades.

I look at her, at the way she folds her arms as if she can hold the whole morning together by force.

“Maybe we should tell Alexandra.”

The words are out before I can make them lighter.

Mandy goes still.

There it is. The wall.

“No.”

“It would be easier than this.”

“It would be worse than this.”

“She is already suspicious.”

“She is Alexandra. Suspicion is one of her hobbies.”

“She is my sister.”

“And my best friend.”

“I know.”

“Then you know exactly why we cannot tell her.”

I sit on the edge of the bed and reach for my socks, mostly because standing there looking at her feels too exposed. “Because she would make a noise?”

“She would make several noises. Then she would ask questions. Then she would have opinions.”

“She always has opinions.”

“Not about this.”

The sharpness in her voice makes me look up.

Mandy is no longer embarrassed about cottage pie or furious about Mark’s professional appreciation of my mash. She is frightened.

Not of me. Not exactly.

Of the thing sitting between us, taking up more space every time we pretend it is not there.

“What would we even tell her?” she asks.

“That we are seeing each other.”

“No.”

The word is immediate.

Too immediate.

“We are not seeing each other,” she says. “We agreed this was casual.”