I WENT BACK TO THE pool at the New York Athletic Club that Monday afternoon. According to Dave’s handy little schedule, Ethan was there every Monday from four to six.
I kept my Hoodie on this time and watched him for a while. Then, still invisible, I crossed to one end of the pool and waited until he was at the far side. I took the note out of my pocket. I’d written my message in red crayon so it wouldn’t run when he picked it up with his wet hands. I folded the paper and left it so it was standing up where he’d be able to see it when he came back this way, on the edge of the pool just over the number three.
I hoped he was as smart as his straight As gave him credit for, because he’d have to figure out the message. I’d made it purposefully ambiguous.
MIDNIGHT, it read in big red-crayon letters. MEET ME AT THE LEFT LION. LOVE, YOUR FAKE GIRLFRIEND.
It was 11:55 when a cab pulled up to the New York Public Library and Ethan got out. His gaze went straight to me where I was sitting on the stone bench next to one of the huge white lion statues that guarded the stairs up to the library. The left one, of course.
“You’re early,” I observed as he approached. I bit back a smile. He remembered me. He was still interested enough to come out here in the middle of the night.
“I like to be punctual,” he replied. “Especially when strange girls are involved. I’m just glad I picked here and not the Central Park Zoo.”
“Wait. You think I’m strange?” I asked.
He looked at me hard, like he was trying to figure me out, and he could do that through the powers of simple observation. I was wearing a red tank top, skinny jeans, and black flip-flops. I’d curled my hair, put on a little eyeliner and red lips. This time I’d made an effort.
“How was your swim at the club this afternoon?” I asked him.
He sat down next to me on the bench. “How did you get in and out of there without me seeing you?”
“Maybe you weren’t paying attention,” I said.
“I was paying attention. I’ve been waiting for you to show up.”
It was so hard not to grin my face off. Instead I arched an eyebrow at him. “What can I say? A magician never shares her secrets.”
Or her secret Hoodie.
“So you’re into magic?” he asked.
“Well, I do have a few tricks up my sleeve.”
“What’s your name?” Ethan asked.
“Why, so you can google me?”
“Maybe.”
“If you want to find out about me, you’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way. You’ll have to ask me.” I turned to him and clapped my hands together. “We could play Truth or Dare.”
“Fine, you go first. Truth or dare?” he asked.
“Truth.”
“Why midnight? Why here?”
Right on cue, the bells from one of the cathedrals farther down on Fifth Avenue began to toll.
“Because I’m like the opposite of Cinderella. My ball only starts after midnight.”
He looked down at my flip-flops. “I don’t see any glass slippers.”
“Glass slippers are so last season.”
“So you’re expecting me to be Prince Charming?” he asked.
I put a finger to my chin like I was thinking. “Are you a prince?”
“No.”
“Are you charming?”
“You tell me.”
Yes. It was kind of weird, actually. I’d never met a charming Scrooge before.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” he said.
“It had to be midnight.” I leaned close to Ethan’s ear. “Because that’s as early as I can sneak out.” Or: I knew that the surveillance on Ethan was practically nonexistent in the hours between midnight and six, because everyone at the Project assumed that he’d be sleeping. Midnight was usually when I started sifting memories, the nights I worked.
“Did you put pillows and a blond wig in your bed?” he asked.
I laughed. “How did you know?”
“And why here?” He gazed up at the lion’s face, which stared impassively across Fifth Avenue.
“I like him. His name is Fortitude. The other one is Patience. Me and Patience have never really gotten along. So is it my turn to ask a question? Or give you a dare?”
“Truth,” he said.
“Why did you come? I’m a strange girl, you know. A stranger.”
“I was curious,” he said.
“You know what they say about curiosity.”
“Are you trying to scare me off?”
“No,” I said.
“Good.”
I was suddenly aware of how little space there was between us. His pupils were so big in this light that his eyes looked black. He smelled like cologne, some amazing designer cologne, no doubt, but I could also detect a hint of chlorine from the pool. At the same moment, we looked at each other’s lips, and then quickly away.
When I was planning this interlude I thought the left lion had been a more romantic spot. I’d imagined that it would be beautiful under the shadow of the statue and the branches of a tree that stretched over us, the moon dangling in the sky, the bright-lit buildings like tall lanterns towering all around us, the stream of traffic on Fifth Avenue rushing by like a river of light and noise. I could see the scene like it was being shot as a movie, me in my red tank top, Ethan in his black tee and jeans, creating our own little bubble of privacy in the heart of the city.
But in reality, my butt was sort of numb from the stone bench, and there was a nasty brown puddle at our feet with cigarette butts floating in it, and the scaffolding on the buildings across the street made me feel like we were in a construction zone. The tree looked scraggly, and I couldn’t find the moon. The traffic was noisy in a bad way, full of sirens and horns honking and clouds of exhaust puffing out into the air.
“My turn,” Ethan said. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
He grinned. “I dare you to kiss . . . the lion.”
I lifted my eyebrows suggestively. “Okay.” I jumped up and planted a kiss on the lion’s stony cheek. “Truth or dare.”
“Dare,” he returned.
“I dare you to kiss . . .”
His expression was hopeful.
“ . . . my hand,” I said, and lifted it up for him.
He sighed and then took my hand in his. Then he brushed his lips against the tops of my knuckles. My heart banged against my ribs.
“Truth or dare,” he murmured.
If I said dare, I knew he might ask me to kiss him on the mouth. Lipstick or no lipstick. And I’d do it. “Truth,” I rasped.
“Do you have a boyfriend? A real one, I mean?”
“No. I do not.”
“How is that possible?”
“That’s two questions,” I pointed out.
“What’s your name?” he asked with a grin.
“Hey, that’s three,” I laughed, but whatever. “Okay. Fine.” I was prepared this time. “I’m Victoria.” It was the classiest, most perfect name I could think of. Not Holly, a silly name my mother had insisted on giving me because I was born in Hollywood on December 26—her holiday Hollywood miracle, she used to call me. “Tori, if you want to go shorter.”
“What’s your last name?”
“Scott.”
“Victoria Scott.” I watched his lips form the words. “Interesting. My girlfriend is named Victoria Scott.”
“Your fake girlfriend,” I clarified.
“Tori,” he tried out. “I’m Ethan Winters.”
He left out the III and the part about him being the heir to one of the city’s largest real estate companies. Because maybe he thought I would google him.
I smiled. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ethan Winters.”
“So tell me about Tori Scott,” he said, abandoning the game. “Who are you, besides a single, beautiful, magic-loving girl who likes to run around the city in the middle of the night?”
“Uh, that mostly covers it.” Fortunately I had the story for Victoria Scott all mapped out. “I’m an only child. I go to Brearley. I live near the Flatiron . . .” I’d deliberately picked a place not too close to where Ethan lived, so he wouldn’t expect to randomly bump into me. “My parents are divorced, so during the week I live with my mom and on weekends, I’m stuck with my dad. So that’s me.”
I thought, First off, I’d like to thank the Academy for this incredible honor. . . . The acting gene that ran in my family was definitely paying off. It was fun, but it also felt . . . less than stellar, somehow, making stuff up to tell Ethan. I wished I could be completely myself. But it wasn’t possible, not with the people at Project Scrooge working around the clock to know every move he made. If he started talking about a girl named Holly, I’d be finished. So Victoria it would have to be.
Before Ethan could ask any follow-up questions, I turned the spotlight on him. “What about you? Who is the elusive Ethan Winters?”
“Elusive? That’s a stretch, I think. Also an only child,” he said. “I go to the Browning School, and I live on the Upper East Side.”
“And your parents?”
“My parents are still, relatively speaking, happily married,” he said, not quite looking at me as the lie slipped so easily from his lips. “They’re boring. My life is pretty boring, actually.”
For all of three seconds I imagine I looked pretty surprised. Add the word liar to Ethan’s list of Scroogey flaws. But I’d just lied for five minutes straight. I was lying about almost everything. I could see why he’d lie about his parents, too. To save me the sob story. To avoid going there.
I recovered. “Your life was boring until I came along,” I corrected him.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Yes. Until you came along. So . . .” He turned to face me. “Truth or dare.”
“Truth.”
He grinned. “When can I see you again?”
“Hmm. Are you free around New Year’s?” I teased.
He grabbed my hand. “You know you want to go out with me.”
“Oh, I do?”
“Why else would you go to all this trouble? I must have made an impression last time.”
“Maybe.”
“Come on. I can show you the world. Shining, shimmering, splendid,” he sang. Which totally shocked me. I would never have pegged Ethan as the singing type. Or the Disney type. It was kind of adorable.
I laughed. “You look like a prince,” I observed. “But you know that guy Aladdin turned out to be a fraud.”
“I’m the real deal,” he said softly. “You’ll see. Go out with me.”
This was everything I’d been fantasizing about all month, this simple thing: the guy asks the girl out, the girl says yes. “I don’t know,” I said. “Boys, they’re so much trouble. They’re always so needy, always demanding that you hang on their every word and stroke their ego all the time. Not to mention time-consuming.” I gave a little shudder. “Ugh. And it’s expensive to go out in the city. Let’s face it, a decent meal costs so much these days.”
Ethan looked baffled. “That’s no problem. I have money.”
I gasped like I was shocked. “Do you? I never would have guessed.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, looking at my face, and then the tiniest smile appeared on his lips. He’d figured out I was messing with him.
“I don’t like to let the guy pay for dinner,” I continued cheerfully. “It can give them unreasonable expectations.”
“Who said anything about dinner?” he countered.
“I’m not generally available for lunch. I’m a night owl.”
“Go out with me.” He was still, through all that banter, holding my hand. He put his other hand on top, trapping it. “Come on, I dare you.”
This whole thing could rapidly get out of hand, I realized. I wanted to keep seeing Ethan, as much as I possibly could, but every time I saw him in real life I was taking an enormous risk. Still, as long as we stayed outdoors and kept out of his usual patterns, I’d be safe. Probably.
“Okay, okay,” I said like I was doing him a big favor. “I’ll go out with you. But I get to pick the place.”