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Lily
This afternoon’scrumpet-baking class is Nico’s seven-hundred-and-fifty-second distraction from the impending communication from Villa Printers’ legal team. It also checks off the final item on our app idea list from when we first got to London.
Nico blends the dry ingredients as we stand over our chef’s stations in the golden-yellow kitchen. Our instructor chats on the phone in the corner of the room, her knot of blonde hair bouncing on top of her head.
“Do you think they’ll let us keep all the crumpets so we can take them on the plane when we leave for the Azores?” Nico grins. Clotted cream—more like glorified butter—is smeared over the tip of his nose.
“You have to admit they taste like nothing,” I say with a forced smile.
“True, and the jam’s no help.”
Nico’s transformed into a different person over the past few days.
Well, not really.
But there’s something concrete about him now. A sort of protective barrier he’s put up around us.
Even still, my mind is scattered across a million different dimensions, with no time to shuffle through the sandbox of feelings I have for him.
My eyes shift to my phone.
Why are there still no messages? How long does it take to prove that some jerk plagiarized my work? Weeks? Months? Years?
Returning to New York, finding a job, starting classes, and handling a legal casealonesounds like a nightmare.
Because it’s what I’ll be…alone.
Maybe not totally by myself—Avery and Molly will be around. But Nico won’t be.
It’s fine.
He needs to move on anyway. His life in California is near his job, near his parents. Far, far away from me and my mess.
I turn toward Nico and catch him watching me intently.
“You know, you don’t have to suffer in that mind of yours all on your own.”
Ugh. He’s a full-blown CIA agent, isn’t he?
“I just—” My teeth sharply click over my thumbnail—a ridiculous habit I broke years ago has had a fun resurgence over the past few days. I’ve chewed my fingers to shreds. “I want to know who did this. A random nobody? How would they even have my manuscript? Maybe someone retyped the entire book, word for word.”
The amount of effort that would take boggles me.
“Maybe your computer got hacked?” Nico offers. “Do you have an assistant? An editor?”
“I edit all my own work. It’s a one-woman show.” I sigh, wondering if it’s the source of the issue. Was I too careless somewhere? “Before this month, I couldn’t even afford to hire someone to help out.”
“Any estranged friends or jilted hookups who may have vendettas against you?”
“Most of the guys I got with could barely make me come. I doubt they’d be able to figure out that”—I lower my voice—“I’m Zoe Mona.”
“I’m glad I’m not in that category.” He lets out a gruff laugh. “What about the ex-boyfriend you mentioned? The asshole?”
“I doubt you want those details.”
“You’re right. I probably don’t wanna know the full play-by-play, but is there anything that could relate to a vendetta?” Nico shifts uncomfortably, and the pastry in his hand crumbles beyond saving.
“Oh, no. I’m sure he doesn’t even think about me.” The random string of messages from him that I haven’t responded to tells another story.
