Pru breathed out slowly, trying to tame her nerves. It wasn’t that she hadn’t gone out with people before. She’d kissed a pretty redheaded boy from her calc tutorial group in second year once, behind a dumpster—super classy—and another schoolmate, less pretty but more drunkenly eager, during some school dance Anabel had dragged her to. But she’d never been on the sort of date where you ate fancy food served to you by fancy people, like you were auditioning for roles as the sort of wealthy, respectable adults who always knew which place setting utensils to use, and never ran into awkward silences between platters of shrimp cocktails.
Anabel and Cat seemed not to notice her discomfort, leaning into each other, an odd softness to Cat’s mismatched eyes that Pru had previously only ever seen her bestow on Alex. Anabel, though—Anabel, Cat looked at with a gaze just shy of moonstruck.
One of the middle-aged suits at the neighboring table coughed loudly and looked away. Laughing into Cat’s neck, Anabel smirked.
Neither of them had to fake a thing, Pru realized with a jolt. Cat was clearly every bit as into Anabel in all her conniving glory as Anabel was into the austere engineer. Watching the way the two of them spoke now, knees brushing, Anabel’s hands lively and animated, a reluctant dimple deepening Cat’s cheek as she listened, unwavering, Pru wondered how she’d ever figured either of these girls in love with Alex.
Probably, whispered her traitorous brain, because it was hard to imagine anyone not being in love with Alex. Who’s really moonstruck here, Pru?
Oh, shut up, you malfunctioning piece of organic machinery, retorted Pru. She grabbed a fork and sliced into some asparagus with mutinous vigor, one eye fixed on Alex.
Catching her gaze, he leaned forward. Pru’s heart rate did something alarming.
“Where do you suppose Jellicoe is?” he murmured into the shell of her ear.
Business as usual, thought Pru, unsure why that disappointed her. She jerked away from him. “Probably socializing with some other UCC guys, waiting to make a dramatic entrance.”
A thoughtful crease bloomed between his brows. “Well, any idea how to go about socializing with the enemy?”
“Maybe start by not referring to them as the enemy,” advised Pru, spearing a piece of salmon. “Peacetime cooperation, blah blah blah.”
The crease deepened. “We came here for information.”
“Information at a boozy beach party. You gotta ease into it a little. Watch people’s body language. Wait for opportunities. Have a little fun with it, don’t look so stiff.”
“You’d know, huh?”
Now Pru was the one scowling. “Oh, would I?”
“You give good smuggler’s advice. Watching people’s body language. Waiting for opportunities.” She couldn’t read the look in his eyes, but it did strange things to her belly. “I knew you were smart.”
“I just have common sense,” said Pru, weirdly defensive. “There’s a reason teen book smugglers are a dime a dozen. Haven’t you read all those op-eds in the Barricader’s Daily about the delinquency of our generation and our mercenary disregard for rules and institutions? Anyone can do what I do. I’m not—I know that whole imprint fiasco might have gotten some people’s hopes up about me, but you don’t have to treat me like I do something special.”
He turned abruptly from her, like she’d struck him. “Why do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Put yourself down all the time.” Why did Alex look hurt, of all things?
“I don’t!” Did she? “I just think it’s stupid to build anything or anyone up to be better than they really are!”
“See?” His jaw twitched. “There you go again.”
“Whatever.” Pru slouched. “Can we please stop talking about this and go back to eavesdropping on the evil arms dealers, like we’re supposed to?”
“Please do,” said Cat curtly. She disentangled herself from her loving staring contest with Anabel, looking only passingly regretful. “Meanwhile, I’m going to trawl the perimeter, see if I can get eyes on Jellicoe.” One metal hand brushed Anabel’s shoulder. “Be good, kids.” She flicked an unimpressed cybernetic eye toward Pru and Alex, before strutting off through the crowd of other tables.
Anabel followed up Cat’s glare of judgment with one of her own. “If this is your version of flirting, I have many, many notes, none of them positive. You’re giving a performance. Remember: annoyingly smitten teen socialites. Less arguing, more PDA, please.”
“Fine!” With jerky motions, Pru slid her seat around the circular table until her knee banged up against Alex’s leg. “Better?”
“Ow,” said Alex, discreetly rubbing his thigh.
“I said public displays of affection, not public brawling,” hissed Anabel. “You’re supposed to look like teenagers madly in lust, not angry middle-aged divorcés who want to kill each other.”
“We don’t want to kill each other,” Alex protested.
“Speak for yourself,” retorted Pru.
An aging, well-dressed woman seated beside the Incorporated suit from earlier turned at the heat in Pru’s voice, cool amusement painted across her face. “Trouble in paradise, dear?” she asked, with a slight sneer, as she looked Anabel up and down. “I do hear that Cornelius Park’s brood of grandchildren keep lively company, though I hadn’t realized serious young Alexandre was quite such a ladies’ man.”
“He has many hidden depths,” deadpanned Anabel without missing a beat. She rounded on Pru and Alex. “Get it together. This whole ruse is useless if you leave all the fake dating up to me and Cat.”
“Nothing fake-looking about your dating,” groused Pru under her breath.
“Because Cat’s a good partner under pressure. So are both of you, usually. So stop whining and start flirting.”
“How?” asked Alex, in a slightly strained voice. At the next table, the UCC woman tittered into her neighbor’s ear, staring right at them.
Pru, whose fear of being forced to make more small talk with the minion of an evil corporate superpower did, in fact, outweigh her fear of seeming ridiculous in front of tight-assed pretty boys, slid a frantic hand over the back of Alex’s neck, massaging one thumb gently along his nape. Alex emitted a soft little gasp, but instead of flinching away, aimed an assessing look at Pru. He dropped a casual hand to her thigh, gracefully affectionate, almost possessive.
“No HJ in sight.” Cat had returned. Glancing toward Pru and Alex, she nodded with what looked, amazingly, like grudging approval. “Better,” she said. “About time you two picked up some slack.”