Monday couldn’t come soon enough. Thinking of the way Deacon had kissed her in the apartment that morning still made her toes curl. And he kept giving her this strange look, like he couldn’t wait to get her alone.
Maryland could be the turning point in their relation—whatever they had going on.
Her hand brushed against his by accident, leaving her with a tingling sensation that rivaled the feeling of takeoff.
“Who do you get to be on Monday?” she asked when they reached her apartment.
“Let’s find out.” Deacon unhooked the clasp on his alias packet. After glancing at the driver’s license within, he handed it to her.
“Philip William Carroll.” The picture had to be one of the best license photos she’d ever seen. “He looks like a bit of a womanizer.” She handed back the license and unlocked her door.
“Oh, he’s a renowned womanizer.” Deacon slipped the license into his back pocket and stepped closer. “I heard he once tried to seduce a girl in a department store dressing room.”
He wanted to bring this up now?
Vivienne shivered. “Sounds like Alice Barnard should steer clear of Philip Carroll.”
He grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Or she could take a chance and have dinner with him tonight.”
Dinner? Like . . . a date? No. Deacon didn’t date. It was just dinner.
“Alice usually avoids womanizers…but the dressing room story has her intrigued.”
“I’ll collect you at seven?” His whispered words tickled her neck, and he pressed a kiss to the pulse at her throat.
“Seven’s good.” Vivienne backed into the apartment and closed the door. Was it seven o’clock yet?
“What. Just. Happened?”
She twirled around so fast she tripped over her new shoes. Emily and Max were sitting slack-jawed on the couch, staring at her. “How much of that did you hear?”
“All of it.” Emily’s wide eyes narrowed as her lips curled into a knowing smile.
Vivienne tossed her alias packet on the kitchen table. “All of it all of it, or just most of it?”
“Did he say something about a dressing room?”
Vivienne massaged her temples and said, “You can stop now,” even though she knew Emily wouldn’t listen to her.
“Ahhh!” Emily hopped onto the coffee table and threw her hands into the air. “I can’t believe he finally grew a pair and asked you out on a date!”
“It’s not a date,” she protested, plopping onto the cushion beside Max. Her shaking hands were the only indication that she was mid-freak-out. “I’m sure he just wants to talk about the mission.”
“Don’t do that,” Emily said, wagging her finger. “Don’t downplay it.”
“I’m not, but—”
“Where do you think you’re going, Max?” Emily clipped when he stood up.
“I don’t really think I need to be here for this.”
She jumped off the table and pointed to the couch. “Sit. Stay.”
He dropped back onto the cushion.
“You’re a guy,” she went on. “What’s your Y-chromosome’s opinion?”
“Um…” He wiped his hands on his jeans. “I doubt he’d be asking Vivienne out if he wasn’t at least a little bit interested.”
“Wow.” Emily covered her face with her hands. “That was deep.”
“I don’t know him that well,” he said with a shrug. He tugged on the cuffs of his sleeves and glanced back at the door. “But if I liked a girl, I’d want to be near her as much as possible.”
“Thank you, love guru. You can go now.”
He shot to his feet and ran out the door like he couldn’t get out of the apartment fast enough.
Once the door closed, Emily sat next to Vivienne. “Deacon loooves you.”
“Pump the brakes. We’re just grabbing dinner.” The thought of love never even crossed her mind. Deacon made her nervous and excited and confused. And, after flying, kissing him was her favorite thing to do. It was one thing to like him as much as she did, but a whole different level of stupidity to fall in love with him.
“If the two of you get married”—Emily bounced up and down on the cushion—“can I be your maid of honor? Oh! You would have the cutest kids.”
“Brakes, Emily.”
“I know exactly what you should wear.” Emily grabbed her hand and dragged her down the hallway to the open suitcase on Vivienne’s bed. “When Clinton showed us this, I thought it was fab.” She held up a mustard-colored chiffon dress.
Vivienne snatched it from her. “Fine. Now get out so I can take a shower.”
The hot water released the tension in her muscles, but not her nerves—and it made her mascara run like black tears down her cheeks. She scrubbed away the blackness, then covered her sore red face with foundation. But when the time came for eyeliner, she was like a toddler with a crayon.
“Emily! I need help with this!” A pile of damp, black cotton balls filled the sink next to the half-empty bottle of makeup remover. She looked like she belonged in an ‘80s rock band.
Emily danced to the rescue. “Gimme.” She plucked the eyeliner from Vivienne’s hand.
Vivienne closed her eyes and stood completely still while Emily drew along her lashes.
“There. All done.”
“Can I pack you in my bag for Maryland?”
Emily’s smile wavered when she snapped the lid back onto the eyeliner. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?” She dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a bit of toilet paper.
As hesitant as Vivienne had been at first about the whole living situation, she realized now that she couldn’t imagine being in Neverland without Emily.
“A month at the most—two weeks before our mark’s birthday, and two weeks after. But she could change sooner.”
Emily hugged her tight. “I’ll miss you.”
“If you make me cry, I’ll have to redo my makeup—meaning you’ll have to redo it.”
“It’s just…” Emily wiped her eyes again, then balled the toilet paper inside her fist. “Max is leaving for London in June, you’ll be off saving the world one PAN at a time, and I’ll be stuck here.”
“Stuck in the mall, shopping with Neverland’s credit card.” Vivienne left the bathroom and searched the suitcase for a pair of shoes to match the dress. “You’ll be so miserable,” she drawled.
Emily smiled and handed her a pair of Mary Janes from beneath a turquoise cardigan. “You always know what to say to make me feel better.”
Vivienne buckled the strap on her shoes and twirled. “Well?”
“There’s something missing.”
She picked up her skirt and let it flutter back into place. “I have on the right clothes.” She pointed at her red lips. “And we did my makeup. What else is there?”
“Aren’t you supposed to wear glasses?”
Right. Alice wore glasses. Vivienne smacked her forehead, hoping the jolt would get her brain working again. She dug her glasses out of her jacket pocket and settled them into place.