“I plan to.” Then, before she can snatch it back, I reach into her purse and pull out her fake ID again. “Thirty-three. Huh.”
“I…” She swallows, hard. “Have good genes.”
“More than good, I’d say.” I let my gaze linger over her smooth skin, her youthful splash of freckles. Everywhere her lie becomes glaring. How no one has guessed her real identity yet—that’sthe real mystery. “Care to share your secret?”
“Moisturizer, clean living, and avoiding bad men.”
“Right. Who knew the secret to eternal youth was dollar-store face cream and instant ramen?”
She flushes bright red. Clearly, she thought I wouldn’t have time to look into her between our little closet encounter and the altar.
She abruptly averts her gaze. She’s glaring out the window now, but I can still see it: the way her throat works around a dry mouth, the sheen of sweat at her hairline. The barest tremble in her hands, like she’s weighing the pros and cons of slapping me.
I shift closer and lower my voice. “Tell me what else you’re lying about,Sammi.”
She opens her mouth, probably to deflect again, but I cut her off.
“Because here’s the thing.” I trail the line of her exposed collarbone, drinking in the goosebumps that bloom in my wake. “You can play dumb, but Iseeyou. You can’t hide from me.”
She clenches her fists in her lap. “I’ve hidden from plenty of people before.”
“That was before.” I brush a knuckle under her chin, tilt her face towards me. Watch her plump lips part of their own accord. “New game, new rules,lisichka.”
She jerks away like I burned her. “Fuck you,” she spits.
No, little fox. Not yet.
But soon.
7
SIMA
The farther we drive from the city, the worse the knot in my stomach gets.
Skyscrapers give way to suburbs, suburbs to trees. Before long, all I can see are endless rows of pine and the occasional road sign, half-eaten by moss.
Every extra mile feels like the nail in the coffin of my escape plan.
This is what you get for refusing to go to that orienteering field trip in fifth grade. You faked sick to dodge the mosquitoes. Remember? Now, you can’t read a compassandyou’re still stuck in the wilderness. Nice job. A-plus.
“Where are we going?” I finally scrounge up the courage to ask. “Out to hunt Bigfoot?”
Petyr doesn’t so much as glance at me. “Home.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly. “That totally answers it.”
This time, he does turn to me. The not-quite-there smirk he gives me makes me regret wriggling my way out of both orienteeringandboxing lessons.
Both would’ve come in handy right about now.
“You seem to be under the impression that you get to ask questions.” He leans in slightly. My space immediately fills with the scent of his aftershave. Something like pine, fresh snow, and obscene amounts of money. “Let me disabuse you of that notion. You don’t.”
With a frustrated exhale, I press my cheek against the tinted window again.Home.Whose home is that gonna be? Petyr’s? His family’s? Or is it just code for some torture dungeon where they’ll lock me up and waterboard me?
I wipe my sweaty palms against my pants and curse ten-year-old me for turning down those punching classes.
But most of all, I curse myself from two hours ago.
