Chapter Twenty-Two
Twenty-Two
I was at Elyse’s door earlier than anyone could justify was reasonable. I brought the mug she’d painted, hoping she didn’t notice I hadn’t actually put it in the kiln. I buzzed her apartment from outside and she gave me the code through the intercom.
She met me at her door in a baggy ripped T-shirt and leggings. Her eyeliner was rubbed off but not washed enough for it to be completely gone. “Good morning,” she said as she opened the door.
“I brought your mug.” I shoved it in her face like it was a valid reason to have asked for her address at six in the morning.
“Thanks. Do you want to come in?”
“Is Jake here?” I asked, maneuvering past her.
“No,” she said, a slight crease forming over her eyebrow, like it was weird that I had asked, leaving me wondering how serious they really were.
I looked around, postponing eye contact.
There was something that seemed off about her place.
At first I couldn’t pinpoint it, but it was the emptiness.
There was nothing on the walls, there were no picture frames, no candles, no books, no nothing.
I figured she’d at least have some plants—she must get a good discount from her job—but there was only furniture and life things like dishes and lamps.
My curiosity overcame my apprehension and I had to confront her. “Why did you show up at Painting Pots last night?” I was so convinced she was involved, but Porter knew Elyse, and Porter had met Marin. If I really was wrong about Elyse, I needed more convincing. I wanted to be sure.
Her face scrunched, uneasy with my tone. “I told you. I was just in the area.”
“Yeah, for what?”
“I like the sandwich place that’s in that plaza.”
That was a decent excuse; it was a good sandwich place. But she could totally be lying. It doesn’t take a genius to pretend to like sandwiches. “They have a great teriyaki wrap,” I said. “You should try it sometime.”
“I’d love to.” She smiled like what I said was an invitation.
I was attempting to interpret this conversation as an insidious metaphor, but I was failing.
She guided me to the couch. “How’s Porter? Is everything okay?”
We sat together on the white couch that didn’t have a single stain or throw pillow or evidence that we weren’t the first two people to ever make contact with its surface.
To answer her question, Porter was not okay.
I stared at her, trying to compute where I should land between Yeah, he’s fine and Of course not and you know it.
I had been awake all night. I was not making rational choices, and once our eye contact reached peak alignment, I couldn’t help myself. “Elyse, are you fucking with me?”
She flinched at my boldness. “What do you mean?”
“If it’s you, I get it, and I’m into it, so tell me and we can get dark and up the stakes and you can put a bomb in my car or something, but please tell me, because if it’s not you—”
She reached up and touched my cheek. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her words were soft and her eyes stayed engaged. She was unbothered by the insanity I was spouting at her. Then she leaned in. Her lips touched mine.
It wasn’t the answer I was hoping for, but it was happening and I let it.
We had been playing a game after all, just not the one I’d thought we were playing.
She pulled away, but I followed her and then we were still kissing.
What was I doing? She was with Jake and I was up to something with Dominic, but that didn’t seem too relevant in the moment.
What did seem relevant was that my father had ruthlessly slaughtered her family.
I pulled away. I was hiding too much. She wanted to kiss Gwen, but she would never consent to kissing Marin.
I leaned back and opened my eyes. “We can’t do this.
” I looked at her before realizing that speaking wasn’t enough.
I stood up and backed away. “It’s…not a great time… I have to be somewhere.”
“Then why did you come here?” She forced a tight smile that didn’t tell me anything about what she was really thinking.
I wanted to go back to the couch. Why not? What did I care that I was lying to her about everything? Deep down inside, I hoped she was lying right back. That was what made it exciting, right? That she could be just like me?
“Sorry,” I choked. “I wanted you to have your mug.” It wasn’t the smoothest excuse.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I reached for it, hoping and praying it was Porter, but it was Dominic.
Be there in 20.
It took me a second to register what that meant.
So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours.
Too much. Then I remembered. Dominic wanted to take me somewhere, somewhere he wouldn’t tell me—a mystery that had to do with my father.
If this wasn’t going to be the confrontation and subsequent showdown with Elyse that I was hoping for, I guess I really did have somewhere to be after all.
Even if I had completely forgotten about it.
Even if I could be blindly walking into some kind of trap.