“I wanted to be the publicist,” whined one of the Spirits watching from the window. Levi didn’t know the names of all of Enne’s associates, but based on the copy ofThe Kiss & Tellshe carried and Enne’s descriptions, he guessed this was Charlotte. “Did you even bring a corsage?” she asked Levi.
“It’s an inauguration, not a debutante ball,” Levi answered flatly.
Charlotte stomped her foot. “Oh, you’re nofun.”
Levi failed to see the fun in their performance. When he’d told Enne that he struggled to see them together after what happened to Jac, he’d meant it. But now they were carrying on in every establishment of the North and South Sides, kissing whenever they glimpsed the flash of a camera, buying one another boxes of Tiggy’s Taffy or jewelry or flowers to flaunt how much they adored one another. Levi had regifted most of those presents to the Irons, and he’d stopped reading newspapers.
“Oh good, we match,” Enne said, emerging at the top of the stairs. “That’s convenient.”
Enne’s dress was loose-fit and modern, its lavender satin material draping over her like a slip of lingerie. It jangled with beads, embroidered in ornate geometric designs that complemented Levi’s choice of tux. She’d worn her hair down, which she rarely did, curled in neat, precise cascades that caught the light like ocean waves.
“What?” Enne asked him once she reached the ground level. She grabbed her coat from the rack behind him.
Levi realized he’d been staring. He loosened his necktie again. “We should leave,” he said gruffly. “We don’t want to be late.”
It was worse in the car, when Levi should’ve been distracted by the road. Enne’s violet aura wafted through the small space, clinging to her bare shoulders. Even though all their recent kisses tasted sour, the scent of her aura reminded him of more pleasant flavors, like espresso sweetened with cream, and he suddenly found himself craving a drink.
It’s just the dreams, he told himself, because he’d dreamed of her every night, even when he fell asleep hating her. He dreamed of her in every salacious, scandalous way, as though his own subconscious was betraying him, contorting his heart in whichever way could be both a pleasure and a pain. Levi shook his head and focused on reaching their destination.
They had purposefully avoided the official inaugaration ceremony. No matter how harmless their charade seemed, neither Levi nor Enne wanted to hover behind Harrison and other elected officials being sworn into office with their hands resting over the Republic’s constitution, like the ghosts of the regime before them.
The ball afterward took place at Kipling’s Hotel, and Levi drummed his fingers against the dashboard as they waited in a line of traffic outside its revolving front doors.
“You smell weird,” Grace said to Roy in the backseat. “Are you wearing cologne?”
“Is that a problem?” he asked her.
“No, it smells g—” Grace seemed to catch herself, as though she’d spoken something wrong. “Actually, maybe it’s better that we pretend we don’t know each other tonight. I’ll be an unrepentant criminal. You can be a...”
“A whiteboot?” Roy finished for her, smirking. “You know, I’m not sure it’s fun if the roles we play are who wereally—”
Grace slapped him hard on the arm, and he winced.
“It’s just us, you know,” Enne said, sounding bored. “You two don’t have to pretend like you’re not together. I don’t know why you do that, anyway.”
“She thinks I’m too upstanding,” Roy told them, rolling his eyes. “That I’ll ruin her reputation.”
Grace crossed her arms. “Maybe you should try pickpocketing someone tonight. Or, I don’t know, jaywalking—”
“But that’s illegal,” Roy replied, aghast.
“All things considered,” Levi said flatly, “they’re better at pretending than we are.”
He hadn’t meant to sober the mood in the car, but the others fell silent. Enne, in particular, fixed her gaze out the passenger window. He wondered if he’d hurt her, but he felt more frustration than guilt. After being dubbed the “North Side’s favorite couple,” he couldn’t begrudge Enne the success of her plan, but this was exactly why he didn’t like it. Because they weren’t supposed to care, but now he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing her in that dress.
Ten minutes later, a valet approached their car, and the show began.
Levi opened the passenger door and took Enne’s gloved hand. She waved at the tabloid reporters behind the roped barrier, linking her arm around his.
When Levi didn’t wave as well, Enne hissed, “Remember, the Chancellor will be here tonight. This performance is our most important one.”
The wordperformancesummoned more fury in him than it should’ve. He pulled her tighter toward him and gave the reporters a polite wave, trying to determine who he was angrier with: Enne, for staging a relationship after he’d made it clear he didn’t want one; or himself, for letting old memories sweeten the taste of new, bitter ones.
They entered through the lobby, and Levi cringed as he took in the decor. During the Revolution, a famous noble had been stabbed to death in his bathtub on the top floor, earning the combined hotel and department store a morbid reputation. They capitalized on that in their design, each of their centerpieces crimson, a red carpet trailing down the stairs like a dripping pool of blood.
The formality of the affair reminded Levi of the last party he’d attended: St. Morse.
“Certainly they could have chosen a different venue,” Enne said grimly, mirroring his own thoughts.
