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From this angle, I can finally see the title of the book he’s reading. My jaw slackens as my eyes skim over the gold-foiled title.
Une Histoire de Meurtre et de Folie.
When my eyes bounce back to his, he gives me a sly grin.
He knows French.
TWENTY-SIX
EZRA
The lookon Alize’s face is priceless.
It’s an entertaining mix of fear and horror, with the slightest bit of disbelief sprinkled in—she’s probably wondering how much of her conversation I understood, or if I even heard her at all. She’s doing her best to hide it. And maybe she’s hiding it well from everyone else in the room.
But I don’t miss it.I never do.
The vacant look in her eyes whenever the conversation dies down. The weird way her fingers twitch when she makes eye contact with me. If I got close enough, I’m sure it would only take me a second to notice her pulse pounding through her skin, the sweat beading on her palms, the fissures in her expression.
When I was younger, everyone thought it was endearing that I was so observant.
Now that I’m twenty-fucking-five, photographic memory and my obsessive eye for detail has turned me into something else, something that’s everything but endearing. Something more sinister.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Vance drops down on the leather couch beside me, cradling his hands in his head. There’s sweat by his temple even though the air-con is on full-blast. His fingers are twisting at the roots of his hair. His frown is the last piece of the puzzle.
“When are you going to just tell her how you feel?”
He looks up with fire in his eyes. They track to where Nya and Alize are standing, debating over a pair of shoes. When his gaze meets mine, they’re filled with fire.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says.
“It’s clearly bothering you,” I say. His frown deepens. “She’s matching your energy. It’s clear she feels the same way you do.” Whatever that feeling is.
Vance is quiet for a breath. There’s a brief moment where it seems like he’s considering my suggestion. It fizzles just as quick as it came. “Between you and Alex, I can’t catch a break about this. Just drop it.”
“It’s not exactly exciting to see you reduced to a muttering mess around her.” I glance at Alize then back at him. “You and Alexander need an intervention.”
“And who’s going to stage it? You?” Vance hisses, and I already know where this is going. “You’re not exactly the standard for dealing with these sorts of things.”
“You’re right,” I say with a smile. “But I also don’t have sleepless nights or spiral back into addiction because of a girl, so who really should be listening to who?”
Vance narrows his eyes. “I don’t have sleepless nights.”
“I know what you look like when you haven’t had much sleep.”
He leans back in the chair, clasping his hands together in front of him. I close my book—it was starting to get boring anyway—and cross my legs, twisting to face him. Picking Vance and Alex apart is one of my favorite pastimes.
“In that case,” Vance says. “Since you’ve diagnosed me with insomnia, you can stay over and watch Alize tonight. You know, so I can get some sleep.”
Okay, that’s not what I expected him to say.
The thought doesn’t offend me, though. My life is so perfectly compartmentalized that babysitting Alize will be easy—I don’t have an early morning exam tomorrow, my Courtesan and I only convene every other day, and I don’t sleep much at night anyway.
My only plan tonight was to write.
I can do that from Alex’s living room.
