Daphne decided it wasn’t worth fighting about—at least, not right now. “Fine.”
He looked startled by her acquiescence, then turned back to Rei. “We’ll be in touch soon with the money.”
Rei withdrew a pair of business cards from her pocket and handed one to each of them. “My personal number is off-limits,” she told them, with a pointed glance at Ethan. “If you need to reach me, use the contact form on this website. Request a fiftieth-anniversary cake.”
Daphne stared blankly at the card, which advertised Melinda’s Gourmet Bakery in a cheerful blue font. “What?”
“Use the contact form on this website,” Rei repeated. “It’s heavily encrypted, so it’s safe. I’ll get your message immediately.”
“What do you do if someone stumbles across this website and actually orders a fiftieth-anniversary cake?” Daphne couldn’t help asking.
“I order them a cake from somewhere else,” Rei said, as if it were obvious. “I would never ruin a fiftieth anniversary.”
When they were back outside the abandoned office building, Daphne glanced over at Ethan. “You said that you and Rei played T-ball?”
“Yep. She was the best third baseman in the league, until she got kicked out for throwing a punch.”
“Why am I not surprised,” Daphne muttered. “And how did she get into all this…illegal activity?”
“The usual way. Her legal options didn’t work out.”
Daphne started strapping her helmet under her chin, then hesitated. “Did you two ever…”
Ethan looked at her with a teasing expression. “Are you jealous?”
“Of course not,” she sniffed. “Just want to know the context, since you didn’t give me any before.”
He grinned. “Well, for context’s sake, Rei and I are just friends.”
It was darker than it had been when they drove over here; the afternoon sun cast long shadows over the streets, making Daphne wish she’d brought a heavier jacket. As they exited the highway and began to cross midtown, she slowly became aware of a car on their tail.
It was a nondescript black SUV, the sort of car Daphne could drive past without ever really noticing. Except that this one had been trailing half a block behind them for several minutes now.
“Ethan,” Daphne muttered, but he’d already seen.
“Don’t worry, I’m on it.” He revved the motor and the bike leapt forward eagerly.
The car behind them picked up speed, too.
She could feel it now: someone was taking a picture. Call it intuition, but Daphne had always been able to sense when a lens was aimed her way; it was part of what made her so good with the paparazzi. She ducked her head into Ethan’s shoulder to hide her face.
They were approaching a traffic circle. Her fingers tightened in the fabric of Ethan’s jacket as he whipped around, then cut down the second exit toward the museum district. Perhaps fifty yards ahead of them, a traffic light turned to yellow.
Daphne sensed what he was about to do before he even started accelerating. He pushed the motorcycle to its top speed, glancing both ways as he shot through the intersection like a bullet.
The SUV tried to follow, only to nearly collide with a truck. Daphne heard the screech of brakes, the chorus of angry horns erupting behind them, and let out a breath. They were safe.
It was another few minutes before Ethan finally turned onto a quiet side street and slowed to a purr.
He glanced back over his shoulder. “You okay, Daph?”
She wasn’t sure whether it was the rough concern in his tone, or the fact that he’d called her Daph—but something about the moment felt sharply intimate. Her heart was pounding from a wild mixture of shock and adrenaline.
“I’m fine. Thank you for getting us out of there.” She hesitated, then added, “Did they have a camera?”
“Just a phone, I think.”
That was a relief. A real camera, especially one of the long-lens ones the paparazzi used, might have gotten a clear photo, but not a phone.
“Then we’re in the clear.”
Ethan nodded and turned around, setting back out into the darkening streets.
As they approached Herald Oaks, Daphne felt her torso pressing against Ethan’s back, her body molding against his in a way that felt oddly steadying. His words echoed in her mind. Don’t worry, I’m on it.
Jefferson had told her the same thing at the doctor’s office, the day of the ultrasound—don’t worry, he’d assured her, it will all be okay. Somehow the sentiment felt different when coming from Ethan.
Perhaps because Ethan, unlike Jefferson, understood what Daphne was actually afraid of.
“What was it like in Malaysia?” she heard herself ask.
“Hot. And humid.”
“You know that’s not what I was asking.”
The sun was setting in a glorious liquid glow over the horizon, glinting on the rooftops. Daphne had never lived anywhere but here—in Washington, the city of energy and ambition, a city fueled by millions of people all chasing their own wants.
She wondered, suddenly, what it would feel like to leave.
“I liked Malaysia, but I was lonely.” Ethan’s voice rumbled back to her, barely audible over the hum of the bike. “There were things about home that I really missed.”
Daphne’s pulse echoed in her ears again. Probably an aftereffect of that car chase.
“Lonely, you? And here I thought you hated everyone.”
“Nah, just you,” he replied easily. “Why did you ask about Malaysia, anyway? Are you thinking of leaving Washington?”
She laughed. “Of course not. Why would I leave? Washington is the center of the world, and everything I ever wanted is right here.”
“Of course it is,” Ethan agreed flatly.
They didn’t speak again for the rest of the ride.
A hum of voices emanated from within Chancellor’s Hall, the rotunda at the center of the humanities buildings. Nina stood frozen before the wooden double doors, where a sign read English Dept. Oxford Exchange Program: Info Session.
She hadn’t been planning on showing up today. Then, as the clock inched toward four p.m., she’d found herself changing into a navy sheath dress—ignoring that it was the sort of thing Daphne would wear—and crossing campus to the reception hall.
She was just gathering information, Nina reminded herself, and pushed open the doors. Showing up at an info session didn’t mean she had to apply.