For now, I was locked out of our room, and thus sleeping in my bed would not be an option. Guess I’d be kipping on the couch. With a sigh, I pulled a throw from the back of the couch and settled in to sleep.
As I closed my eyes, I tried to focus on pleasant thoughts to lull me into sleep—Daniel’s glittering eyes and half-wicked smile, raspberries and champagne and stars. But then Daniel’s visage morphed into Elliot’s, his eyes hard and the line of his mouth firm, calling me desperate and sad and awful. Worst of all was how my stomach fluttered at the thought of him still, my heart aching for his touch, despite everything. I gave up, finally sinking into sleep as a replay of our last dance, our almost-kiss, played through my mind. Tomorrow I would work on hating him, but tonight, I let myself have this.
Twenty-Two
I rose early, my back stiff from contorting myself on the couch cushions. I rolled my neck, and it gave a satisfying crack. I needed coffee.
As I opened the canister, taking a deep whiff and then setting to work brewing a pot, I couldn’t help thinking on what had set all this in motion—the hunt for more coffee, Elliot and Nora conspiring in the living room, an escape to the Sofi, and discovering that Max and Ewan were missing. Was that truly only a few days ago?
No one had come to arrest me, which hopefully meant that things were fine for now. I could simply avoid Elliot and the Orlovs for the next few weeks, the Valg would end, and then it would be over. Goose bumps crawled over my arms and legs as I shivered, not from the cold, but from disgust at myself that I could be so complicit in a criminal enterprise. Because clearly my answer was to avoid them and do nothing. I would keep it all a secret, it seemed, to protect my own hide. Well, to protect my family, and our home. It was both noble and revolting.
“Ah, good, you’ve already made coffee,” came my father’s groggy voice from behind me. “Make some toast with jam, too, while you’re at it? You can tell me all about your evening while we eat.”
I did so without complaining, for once fine with the prospect of sharing news of my romantic pursuits.
“His name is Daniel, he comes from the Empire, and he is fabulously wealthy,” I started, tone wry. Father sputtered into his coffee.
“Are you being serious?”
I nodded. “We made a good connection, and he’d like to see me again.” Then Father wrinkled his nose.
“British, though?”
“He’s British Iranian Norwegian, actually,” I offered. “Didn’t tell me his mother’s family name, come to think of it, but he used to come here as a child. Said he played with Klara, so they must be of some consequence.”
“That is the best possible news, Leonie! I’m so proud of you.” He meant it. I felt a warmth run through me at winning my father’s pride and approval, finally, but then hid the sadness of my smile behind my coffee cup. Why couldn’t he be proud of me for my wits, or charm, or business acumen, instead of my ability to net a wealthy husband? I should have been used to my parent disappointing me by now, yet I retained a stubborn, foolish hope that he would value me for who I was.
“When are you seeing him again?”
“He said he’d ping me today.” I checked my wrist tab. No missed messages. It was early, though.
“Yes, good, wait for him to contact you. Let him lead. Be careful of being yourself. But be sure to lock him down soon. Two weeks to go until the Valg Ball, and you don’t want him to switch his interest to someone else.”
As if he were psychic, Daniel chose that very moment to send me a message. Father nearly jumped out of his chair when my wrist tab pinged.
Tonight? the message read, and with my father watching, before I could second-guess myself, I replied, Sure!
Then I checked the app to see what tonight’s activity was, and groaned. Hiking on the digi-deck. Perhaps I had replied too hastily. Too late now. I would put on pants, and I would walk at a steep incline, and I would try my best to look winning and be warm and clever and marriage material. I had two weeks to convince Daniel he wanted to marry me. Who cared if I hated myself for doing it?
* * *
The next few days were a whirlwind of perfectly pleasant dates coupled with acute emotional torture. After a pool event came karaoke, and after that came a movie night, where it was as if the film had been selected to remind me of Elliot. In it, a detective showed up in Austria, only to find out his friend had been murdered . . . except that he was actually alive and well and secretly a dastardly criminal. By the time they started talking about cuckoo clocks, I was squirming in my chair, and poor Daniel was apologizing for my being bored. I spent the rest of the evening trying to convince him how much I’d liked the movie and that I was having a good time.
I did have a good time with Daniel, and whenever I actually allowed myself to be distracted, I almost forgot about Elliot and the Orlovs and their bad business. Almost.
Carina, Klara, Evgenia, Elliot—none of them came to anything for days. The absence of everyone from the Valg events was just a reminder that everything had imploded and no one wanted to see me. Suddenly the people I loved were ghosts. Even in my own home, I barely saw my sister. She fell into bed late and rose early, losing sleep in order to avoid talking to me.
I began to wonder if I’d imagined it all. The last few weeks seemed unreal as the Valg events and dating Daniel settled into a rhythm and started to feel normal. Who needed friends?
Me. I did. So when Evgenia swanned into the next Valg event with Asta Madsen on her arm, my breath seized in my chest. We locked eyes, hers going wide with panic. I felt a twinge in my gut, an ache that my friend was uncomfortable. Promptly my icy veneer melted, and I couldn’t help but offer her a half-smile. Let’s talk? I projected. Evgenia got the message and nodded.
The event of the day was a team cooking challenge where we had to get together in groups of four to produce an entrée and a dessert. Recipes were provided, and the best meal won its team a private evening on the digi-deck. We were left to choose teammates, so it was easy enough to pull Daniel over in Evgenia and Asta’s direction.
“So nice to meet one of Leo’s friends!” Daniel beamed, shaking Evgenia’s hand enthusiastically. “I was worried I’d stolen her away and you all hated me.”
“Not at all.” Evgenia was too good an actress to betray her surprise.
“Daniel and I matched ninety-three percent in the Valg app,” I blurted, suddenly filled with the urge to explain myself to Evgenia. She raised a single, perfectly tweezed brow.
“Higher than my brother,” Asta said. “He’ll be happy to know he was beat fair and square, then.”
“Was it a competition?” I asked. Asta shrugged.
“Evy, come with me to get the ingredients,” I said, grabbing the instructions for the first dish and heading for the pantry. I sensed Evgenia at my heels, and silently she picked up a shopping basket while I searched the shelves for an onion. Other couples dashed around us, grabbing ingredients, but we took our time, waiting for the others to filter out, leaving us alone.
I tossed the first volley. “My mother’s dresses, Evy?”
She appeared rightly cowed. “I didn’t know how much they meant to you. I tucked them away the first few days we were here, before I really got to know you, and I just forgot. I’m sorry.”