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51
I look at Jago as though I can’t believe he’d even suggest such a thing. “No one’s told me anything,” I lie, turning toward the virtual party in progress. “I was hopingyou’dfill me in.”
Jago lightly jabs his elbow into my waist. “Nice try,” he says. Then, motioning toward the room, he adds, “Seeing as how this is part of your Languages and Cultural Norms exam, I’m thinking we should probably dance.” At his suggestion, the music swells, and I guess he probably senses my hesitation, because he tips his lips to my ear and whispers, “Just follow my lead.”
We join the others on the dance floor, and though I do my best to mimic their moves, I’m so notably awkward, tripping over my own two feet, I hear Keane say, “Braxton, mark her down for lessons in dance and comportment. Jago, move her on to the next part of the construct.”
My shoulders sink. Whatever small bit of confidence I’d managed to gather blows right out of me.
Of course, I’m not cut out for this time. I’m barely cut out for my own time.
But Jago grabs hold of my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Ignore them,” he says. “You’re doing fine.”
With my hand grasped in his, he leads me up that golden staircase, where I watch several couples push into empty rooms and dark corners. The sounds of muffled laughter and soft moans soon follow.
“What is this, some kind of hologram orgy?” I laugh nervously.
“Shhh,” Jago whispers. “Stay in character. They can hear you.”
Bythey, he’s referring to our audience. And of course, he’s right. It was an amateur move, and I vow to do better.
This is a construct.I repeat the words in my head like a mantra.I’m on stage. None of this is real—it’s all just—
Next thing I know, Jago sweeps an arm around me, pushes me up against the nearest wall, and buries his face in my neck.
His skin is warm, and he smells really good. But even though he’s undeniably beautiful and charming, and even though I’m well aware this is all strictly for show, I’m still kind of surprised to find that this staged version of making out with Jago isn’t nearly as thrilling as almost making out with Braxton. Because with Jago, there’s literally no attraction. But with Braxton…
“Don’t move.” Jago’s lips brush against the lobe of my ear. “Now, lift your head slowly, and look past my shoulder. Only don’t stare. Keep your lids half drawn, like you’re so overwhelmed with passion, you can barely focus.”
To the best of my ability, I do as he says, but I’m willing to bet I’m not fooling anyone.
“The woman with the black hair, wearing the gown covered in roses. Do you see her?”
I nod, slide my hand to his neck as part of the pretense.
“She’s one of the Doge’s courtesans.”
“One of?”
“There are many, but that’s not your concern. See that pin in her hair—the one shaped like a rose and made of rubies?”
“Yes.” I breathe, but just barely. I know what’s coming next. And even though I also know it’s not real, my racing heart can’t tell the difference anymore between make-believe and the truth.
“You’re going to take it,” Jago tells me, his hand pressing at my waist.
“But…how?” My voice rings so loudly, he covers my mouth with his. But it’s not a kiss. Not even close. It’s more a move to shut me up and save me from my sorry self.
He pulls back ever so slightly, though his hand still clutching my waist feels like a warning. With a gaze equally filled with doubt and encouragement, he releases his hold, pushes me away, and says, “I’m afraid this one is on you.”
