Allie unleashes a long breath. “If any of us knew that, we probably wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Because maybe it’s a pointless one?” I nervously rub at my kneecaps. “Bastien… He’s as charismatic as his brother. It’s in a lot of different ways, but it’s still there.” God help me, is it ever. “Maybe, in some way, I’m experiencing his psychic overflow. His recollections, pushing out through the air and hitting me. There’s probably even a word for that, right? Like telekinesis, only with memories?”
For a long moment, they’re both silent.
Finally, Drue snorts. “And you think our theories are whack?”
Allie joins in with a soft laugh. I don’t join their little party. Damn it, how I wish I could.
“Honestly, I don’t know what to think,” I admit, newly miserable. “Which is why I’ve probably been trying not to.”
Including the decision about what to do with the little wrapped box in the drawer.
Letting go of Bastien, in any way…it’s like thinking of hugging the Statue of Liberty. Impossible. I know that won’t always be the case. When the time comes to set him free, I’ll do what’s right. It’ll feel that way too.
But right now, even with him in the next room, there’s a physical ache inside. My fortitude feels like nothing but thin girders and rivets, bravely supporting my shell. I keep wishing Bastien and Max would be done with their reunion so they can get back in here and I can light up my torch again. Just for a little while longer…
“You know what?” Allie offers it in her latte-foam voice, soft but significant. I’m grateful for the chance to stop thinking of French scowls for a moment. “I have an idea about figuring this out. Or at least getting us closer.”
I cock my head. “You remembered a secret tunnel entrance to your building?”
“Good one, but no.” She motions with a finger between her forehead and mine. “Though remembering is a key verb to it.”
“Meaning what?” Drue asks.
“There’s a big party—a gala, actually—taking place at Grand Central Station. They’re celebrating the depot’s hundred and fiftieth anniversary with a period costume thing benefiting the city’s budding fashion designers.”
“Is that already here?” I ask with a flared gaze. “It fell off my list mostly because of how many clients I bid on and lost for it. Once the Met pushed off their event by a month because of the refurbishments at the museum, the Grand Depot’s thing became the hottest spring event. Everyone opted for name-brand stylists, if not the leading historical costume designers.”
“Honestly, I wiped it off my radar too,” Allie replies. “Max and I declined the original invite because of the Italy plans, but Hemline is one of the big sponsors for the thing. I know they’ll be zazzed if we show up as surprise guests.” She adds an impish wiggle to her quick wink. “I don’t even think they’ll mind us bringing along a few friends, either. I can call our showrunner to hook us up with last-minute ensembles.”
“Errr…” I tilt my head the other way. “Just how last-minute?”
Allie checks her watch with twisted lips. “About three hundred of them, give or take a few seconds. I’m not quite the mathing maven.”
“Three hun—” D sits up straighter but still looks like there’s now a dozen tacks in her ass. “That thing is tonight?”
“And the method to your obvious madness about this is what, Ms. Allie Fine?” I add.
“Well…” The woman beams her pearlies in the engaging smile that’s earned her millions of fans via Hemline Network’s fashion-forward programming. “What better way for you to find out if you’ve lived in the past than to live in the past for a few hours? They’re transforming Vanderbilt Hall into an exact replica of life as it was when the railroads first began.”
“Okay…”
I say it slowly, hating to convey the full scope of my skepticism. Allie’s being so sweet, offering us VIP access to an event that’s going to rival the city’s other themed gala for celebrity wattage, and there’s nothing on my mind except a massive but to her proposal.
As always, Drue to the rescue. “Okay, shitty math maven, even you know that only lands us somewhere toward the middle of the 1800s, not the late 1700s, yeah?”
“Surprisingly, yes. But Rae will back me up on this. After the Revolution and the Regency, fashion silhouettes circled back around in some ways. If I can get some gowns and embellishments delivered within the hour, we can make fast alterations and still be on the arrival carpet in time.”
“The…what?” I’m not shy about speaking up this time. “Honey, you know I’m more than grateful for all this sugar, but we’re hunkered down on this side of town for a reason. Liam Logan… I wouldn’t be surprised if the man’s middle name is Tenacity. On that note, if he also didn’t know every single cop patrolling every single foot of tonight’s big welcome mat—”
“Which actually makes that idea a pretty good one,” Drue cuts in. She swings half a smirk Allie’s way. “That’s your second point, isn’t it? The ol’ hiding-in-plain-sight option?”
“Yes and no,” Allie hedges. “Is it hiding when one happens to duck behind their demure makeup and gloved fingers at the same moment half the world—and the cops—are gawking at Miley’s wig or Lizzo’s bustle?” She waggles her brows. “Because we know Liz is going to bring it with the epic bustle.”
“Another winning strategy,” I concede. “But only good for us. Even Lizzo’s bustle won’t divert knowing eyes from identifying Bastien.”
Once more, my friend dances her brows like she’s simply teasing a segment of her new fashion competition show. “Do you know how many alternative entrances there are to Grand Central? Don’t guess, because my man already has the answer. I’m positive he’ll take great delight in planning the perfect route for your man.”
I scowl. “He’s not my m—”
“And surely you also know how different a man can look after a haircut and a shave,” she interjects. “So if worse comes to worst—”
“Can we also not talk about worse? Pretty freaking please?”
D flicks up her fingertips with energetic emphasis. “I’m already calling the win on this one. Gold stars to Ms. Fine for the logistical win.”
Allie swoops up from the bed and returns to the kitchenette table for her phone. “Not sure you can call it preplanning with only two hundred and ninety minutes to spare, but what the hell.” After a second, her confident composure gets a fresh glow. “Well, hey there, Hot Stuff. Yeah, I know you’re right down the hall, but you know I like it when you growl like that. Besides, I need you and Bast back in here right away. We have…an interesting little proposition for you two.” She’s silent for about three seconds before a sultry giggle breaks free. “Oh, Max. Of course you shouldn’t be scared!”
As soon as she says it, I flash a new glance to Drue. “Why am I a little scared?”