Chapter 7 #2
“No, placement in exhibits is the perk. Coffee is my communication system. I give my artists gift cards. Each is attached to an account to which we both have access. I check the balances daily. If anyone needs to talk to me, they buy a coffee. It saves us from having digital communication trails.” She flicked her attention to the screen.
“Oh, balls. Amina purchased a coffee yesterday. How do you feel about a field trip?”
“Not great. Staying put seems safer.”
“Too late. I replenished the amount.”
John crossed his arms. “And that means…?”
“She’ll be expecting me.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“I was hoping you’d say yes.” She tossed the tablet on the bed. “It’ll take an hour, maybe two. It’s a good time to go because we’re between calls to prayer. Maghrib’s not until 8:45. But you can stay here if you want. There’s a security code on the door, so it’s safe.”
John shifted his weight. He didn’t want them to leave this oasis, but he doubted he could stop her.
This was her element, and one of her most attractive traits—her capability—was on full display.
True, she’d done this all day, every day, without his knowledge, help or protection.
As long as he was here, he’d stick with her wherever she went.
“I’m coming with you. But no more side quests, okay?”
“Deal.” She held out her bag. “Gimme your stuff. The pickpockets here are world class. I should try to take the ring off, too.”
Vivian tugged at the silver, but the band didn’t budge. “Ugh. Between the humidity and travel, my fingers are sausages. I might have to cut this off to give it back to you.”
The tension returned to his shoulders. Take the ring back? He’d rather dive into broken glass than return this ring that so clearly belonged to her.
“I don’t want it back. No matter what, it’s yours.”
“Uh, it’s a symbol of how you hate me, so no thanks.”
He sighed. “Don’t be dramatic. I don’t hate you.”
But there was a chasm between not hating her and trusting her, and he was still figuring out where loving her fell in the middle of it all.
“Glad to hear it.” She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “If Amina notices the ring, though, play along. We’re a happily engaged couple, okay?”
“Okay.” What else could he say? No, I’ll tell her everything.
On their way out the door, Vivian stopped by the kitchen.
“Need anything from Marché Central?” she asked Mariam.
“Non.” The innkeeper dusted her hands together. “Ah, wait—I’m low on ras el hanout, if you’d be so kind. And I’ll be leaving soon. Do you remember the door code?”
“Yes,” Vivian said. “Have fun at your sister’s.”
As they stepped onto the street, noisy life swirled around him. Diesel exhaust, too. Vivian donned movie-star-large sunglasses, then handed him the DC baseball cap.
“Here,” she said. “Blend.”
* * *
When Vivian didn’t know what to say, she buried herself in work. As the crowds, noise and scents thickened on their way to the souk’s colorful chaos, she flipped to the data page of his fake passport.
“Jason Jones lives on Clarendon Boulevard in Arlington, Virginia, and was born on August 7, same year as you. So he’s a…”
“Thirty-four-year-old?” John offered.
“Bzzt,” she said. “We were looking for Leo.”
“Do you put stock in astrology? Jane thought it was silly.”
She scrolled on her phone to the astrology app. “Jane and I differ on this topic. Which makes sense since she’s an Aries. Anyway, I use it to shape a personality.”
“I already have a personality.”
She agreed, and he was a steady, loving, goddamned delight, which fit his Libra sign to a T.
“Wait, you said Jane’s an Aries,” John said. “So is your birthday not April 12? We hosted a dinner party to celebrate.”
“And it was lovely,” she answered. “Jane needed to be an Aries because she’s ambitious and possesses a strong work ethic. Traits I share to some degree because I’m an Aries rising.”
“What does that mean? Nope, never mind.” He lifted his cap and riffled his hair. “When’s your actual birthday?”
“It’s…” Talking about herself was strange. “Don’t laugh. It’s July 4.”
“Why would that be funny?” he asked as they passed through wrought-iron gates. Buckets of fragrant flowers lined the walkway. “Can I call you Yankee Doodle Dandy?”
“You may not.” She closed the passport and shoved it in her bag. “Although I did think the fireworks were for me when I was little.”
A kid careened past them on a twenty-inch bike.
“That’s adorable,” he said.
This was…surprisingly enjoyable. Her secrets had stung—no doubt about that. But he had a chance to discover the woman he loved all over again, and this time, he knew her tells. When she hesitated, he’d be able to coax her to tell him more. To reveal. Something about that stirred things inside him.
“If you’re not an Aries, what’s your sign?”
“Cancer.” She turned left in front of the food hall. “We’re big on family, communal activities and patriotism. Our memories are strong, so we hold grudges, and we wear our hearts on our sleeves.”
“That definitely sounds like you. Except for that last part. I’ve never seen you cry. Not even when we watched My Girl.”
His misreading of her hurt was like a paintball to the heart.
“I’m not a robot, Joh-Jason.” Whoops. “I don’t cry because my siblings teased me mercilessly for it as a kid. I actually have big, huge, sometimes-I-can’t-breathe feelings. But I wait to feel them until I’m alone and preferably in the bath so no one can hear me if I cry.”
She widened her eyes.
She’d just…barfed that right out, hadn’t she?
The unvarnished truth in her mouth felt weird.
Like when she’d sipped a can of Fanta at a family picnic and something solid landed on her tongue.
She spit out the soda and a fucking bee, but it didn’t sting her.
Nope, it fidgeted its wings, then flew off, unbothered.
Much like that bee, honesty with John hadn’t stung like it had when she was a kid.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hit a sore spot.”
She hid her gasp with a cough.
She’d worked so hard to cultivate Jane Davis’s image as a self-reliant, unflappable woman with zero childhood wounds.
But Vivian Flint? Oh, she flapped. A lot.
And when she showed that version of herself, she expected to be teased.
Even by John. Instead, because he’s the best, he apologized and made her big emotions feel safe.
“You couldn’t have known. Besides, the teasing was good training for my career. Toughened me up. So it’s okay.”
He made the humph noise that meant he disagreed but didn’t want to argue.
“You get all the points for figuring out how to use a past hurt to your advantage, but that doesn’t mean it was ever okay.”
She stumbled and dropped her phone.
Fuck, John was right. She was a well-adjusted adult, but that didn’t excuse the way her siblings treated her, or that her parents let it happen. Although arguments could be made about the well-adjusted thing since she’d spent years pretending to be someone else.
John scooped up her phone. “Here. So what’s a Leo like?”
Grateful for his gracious topic change, she scrolled to hide her shaky fingers. “They’re full of primal creative energy and are associated with visibility, attention, courage, generosity and creative impulses.”
“Not sure if I can pull off the visibility thing. I prefer life behind the scenes.”
“You’ll do great.” She returned her attention to the screen. “The lion needs be the center of their partner’s world, and centers their partner as well, making them feel seen, possibly for the first time in their lives. Ew. Zodiac descriptions aren’t normally this sappy.”
“I’m more concerned that your reaction to centering your partner was ew.”
“It’s just that if your partner sees the truth of who you are and rejects you, it cuts deeper.”
Oh, God. She clapped a hand over her mouth. Again with the emotional barfing. Operating mostly on adrenaline and protein bars meant she wasn’t filtering properly. One benefit of her line of work was keeping a part of herself protected with the excuse that it was for the job. Not anymore.
John caught her elbow. “Jane—”
She held up her index finger. “Pause. We shouldn’t be talking about this out here. We can build a personality later. Just don’t go wild with details or try to be too interesting.”
He searched her gaze. “I’ll probably stay quiet.”
“Good plan.” She broke eye contact. A beat too late, she realized she’d reached for the warm anchor of John’s hand. “Is this okay? I don’t want to lose you in here.”
“Yes, it’s okay.”
They were silent, but the souk was loud.
Shopkeepers hawked everything a person might need, and the unpredictable arrangement matched her jumbled thoughts.
Colorful shoes, fabrics and ceramics brightened the path.
Pungent spice shops interrupted the diesel fumes wafting from the roadway.
Weavers intertwined vibrant threads to create patterns on their looms, and the rhythmic clang of metalworkers’ hammers matched the rapid beat of her heart.
Soon they arrived at a stall plastered with wild paintings.
“Jane!” Mehdi Hassan, Amina’s husband, greeted her warmly. He leaned behind a tapestry and called, “Amina, Jane Davis est arrivé.”
Her friend emerged and kissed Vivian on both cheeks. “It’s good to see you, my friend!”
Jane hugged her. “It’s been too long.”
Amina turned to John. “You must be Jane’s young man friend.”
Vivian covered her mouth, but it didn’t stop her giggle. Young man? John was six years older than Amina.
“Bonjour,” he said. “Sorry, I speak tiny French.”
Incorrect. John spoke excellent French, but Vivian let it go. Espionage required a yes, and improv philosophy. Never call out your partner’s lies.
Amina inspected John with her artist’s eyes, then nodded. “Jane was correct. Your eyes are the color of the sky at dawn, a miracle of azure flecked with gold.”
Heat whooshed into Vivian’s cheeks. “All I said was your eyes are blue.”
“Nice to meet you. I am—” he mini-paused “—Jason. Jason Jones.”