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“I guess we’ll never know,” I say.
We regard each other for a long moment. I wonder whether he sees my father or my mother when he looks at me. Then his gaze seems to focus on something else.
I turn. Lila’s on the stairs in her pencil skirt and boots, with a filmy white shirt. She smiles down at us, her mouth curved upward on one side, turning the expression wry.
“Can I have Cassel for a minute?”
I start toward the stairs.
“Bring him back in one piece,” her father calls after her.
* * *
Lila’s bedroom is at once exactly what I should have expected and nothing like I imagined. I was in her dorm room at Wallingford, and I guess I figured this room would be a somewhat nicer version of that one. I didn’t take into account the wealth of her family and their love of imported furniture.
The room is huge. On one end a very long light green velvet daybed rests next to a mirrored dressing table. The shining surface is littered with lots of brushes and open pots of makeup. Several satiny ottomans sit on the floor nearby.
On the other end, beside the window, there’s a massive ornate mirror, the silvering faded in some spots, showing its age. Near that is her bed. The headboard looks old and French, carved from some light wood. The whole thing is piled with more satin—a bedspread and pale yellow pillows. An overstuffed bookshelf works as her side table, covered in piles of books and a big golden lamp. A huge gilt chandelier swings from the ceiling, glittering with crystals.
It’s an old-fashioned starlet’s room. The only incongruous thing is the gun holster hanging from one side of her dressing table. Well, that and me.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My black hair is tangled, like I just got out of bed. There’s a bruise on the side of my mouth and a lump at my temple.
She leads me in and then stops, like she’s not sure what to do next.
“Are you okay?” I ask, moving to sit on the daybed. I feel ridiculous in the remains of Patton’s suit, but I don’t have any other clothes here. I shrug off the jacket.
She raises her brows. “You want to know if I’m okay?”
“You shot someone,” I say. “And you ran out on me before that, when we— I don’t know. I thought maybe you were upset.”
“I am upset.” She doesn’t speak for a long moment. Then she starts pacing the floor. “I can’t believe you made that speech. I can’t believe you almost died.”
“You saved my life.”
“I did! I absolutely did!” she says, pointing at me accusingly with a gloved finger. “And what if I hadn’t? What if I wasn’t there—if I hadn’t figured out it was you? What if that federal agent thought there was someone with a bigger grudge against Patton than my dad?”
“I—” I suck in a breath and let it out slowly. “I guess I’d be… dead.”
“Exactly. You can’t go around making plans that have you getting killed as a by-product. Eventually one of them is going to work.”
“Lila, I swear I didn’t know. I thought I would get in trouble, but I didn’t have any idea about Agent Jones. He just snapped.” I don’t talk about how scared I was. I don’t tell her that I thought I was going to die. “None of that was part of my plan.”
“You keep talking, but you’re not making any sense. Of course you upset someone in the government. You pretended to be the governor of New Jersey and confessed to a bunch of crimes.”
I can’t help the small smile that’s playing at the corners of my mouth. “So,” I say, “how did it go over?”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling too. “Big. It’s being broadcast on all the channels. They say Proposition 2 will never pass now. Happy?”
I am struck by a sudden thought. “If he’d been assassinated, though…”
She frowns. “I guess you’re right. It would have passed easily.”
“Look,” I say, standing and walking to her. “You’re right. No more crazy schemes or lunatic plans. Really, really. I’ll be good.”
She’s studying me, clearly trying to decide if I’m telling the truth. I curl my fingers around her small shoulders and hope she doesn’t push me away when I bring my mouth down to hers.
She makes a soft sound and reaches up to fist her hand in my hair, pulling it roughly. The kiss is frantic, bruising. I can taste her lipstick, feel her teeth, am drinking down the panting sobs of her breath.
