“That’s him.”
“Who?Lizzie, I don’t feel good about this.”
“God, stop being such a bossybig brother, Henry.”
“Alright. Alright. Just make sure to text me when you get back. Or I could stay on the phone until...”
“I’ll text you!” I snap, hanging up, weirdly annoyed and flattered he’s so concerned.
“Henry?” August asks, checking his Uber app.
I glance around. It looks like our tour group is gone.
“Just an old friend.”
“Hmmm...” He raises one eyebrow as he holds the car door open for me. I get in, noticing the paranoia easing away. Instead, I start to feel more in my skin. Everything seems sharper,brighter. Stringed lights drape from a nearby pub, glowing as warm as fairy orbs. Our taxi passes the flower market, and I’m mesmerized by the wooden crates of pink and red roses, yellowrhododendrons, the hues resplendent even at night. I still feel caffeinated and very alive.
Interesting.
“What’s in this gummy, August?”
“No idea,” he says, head leaning back in the seat beside me. “I bought it from one of my students this afternoon.”
“Youwhat?”
But his phone rings with Madonna’s “Die Another Day.”
“Hullo, Gertie!” August exclaims.
I glance sideways, but the taxi’s maneuvering through loud Spitalfields Market traffic, and I can’t hear the voice on the other end.
“Uh-huh... Uh-huh. Yep, sure. Be right there. In fact, I’m feeling good—kind of high, not quite ready for the night to end, and truth be told I was kind of hoping you’d call. This time I’m bringing my friend Elizabeth. She’s a real gem.”
“Huh?”
As soon as the call ends, he glances over at me with that irresistible smirk. Maybe it’s the waning gummy, but his dimple seems deeper and my stomach lurches.
“So, Elizabeth, are you up for a bit more fun?”
“What kind of fun?”
“The worst kind. Deliciously wicked.”
He leans forward, redirecting the driver to Soho.
“What kind offun?”
“Burlesque.”
17
“I thought you were joking when you said you danced burlesque.”
“No, I was joking about wearing the corset.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s very simple,” August says as we pass by Soho’s backstreets of brightly painted storefronts and cafés. “I told you I work hard to have a life outside the mind. My cousin Gertie manages the performances at The Fin de Siècle, and when she’s short-staffed, or when I’m justbloody bored, I work there. I’m wearing loads of makeup, a bowler hat, and a very naughty vest—and no one knows who I am. It’s marvelous. And tonight,youare joining me onstage.”
