“What?”
“My ringtone,” he said. “It’s something we should know about each other.”
Mine was a generic sound that came with the phone. I usually kept it on silent or vibrate, anyway.
He picked up the phone. “Hi, Esther.”
If last night’s closeness and his flirtatious attitude now weren’t confusing enough, we had Esther on the line.
“Her phone must be switched to silent mode,” Angelo said, looking at me. Gone were the bedroom eyes.
I left the kitchen and went to where I’d left my phone on the console at the entrance. Two missed calls from Esther.
“Okay. I’ll tell her.” He hung up.
“What did she say?”
“Jerry’s interview. She thinks it went okay and that they might ‘up the ante’ now. Not sure what that means, but she said they might do a bed check or ask us for an immediate interview …” He paused. “I think we should wear the rings daily now.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “I can’t.”
“Then carry it with you so you can slip it on if they appear.”
“I already do,” I mumbled as Angelo bent toward the empty guitar case on the floor. From a little pocket, he extracted his wedding ring and put it on.
I fished my ring out of my purse. Then, still looking at Angelo, I put it on.
We were both gazing at the other’s hand with the ring on it.
I had to get a grip—fast.
“Upping the ante … um, we don’t have any couple’s pictures, and that’s a big thing. I actually had that next on my list,” I said. “I was thinking we could take a few, change the metadata so the dates fit to vacations and dates we invent, and … if needed, we could change to different backgrounds.”
“You want to do it now?”
Not until my body stops acting silly when you’re around. I still hadn’t gotten my full grip back.
I didn’t like myself like that.
Controlling the chaos was crucial.
18
Angelo
I was flirting with her.
I didn’t mean to, wasn’t supposed to, but I was.
She wasn’t just anyone. She wasn’t someone I could just play with. First of all, she wasn’t playful. And second, there was too much on the line for us both. And third, I couldn’t read her as easily as I could usually read women. One moment, the wordfuckingkept pouring from her mouth, and I could see how she looked at me. Then, the rest of the time, she was unflirtable and uncharmable, and I wasn’t even supposed to test if she was or wasn’t.
Her employee, Dharma, on the other hand, was easy to decipher when she had approached me earlier today, before June had gotten home, while I was still working downstairs.
I had been closing the trunk of my car with one hand, holding a box in the other, and walking toward the back door when a short-haired, blonde girl wearing the shop’s logoed apron had stepped out of the storeroom to the street behind.
“You’re the one playing in the back? I’m Dharma, by the way,” she’d said.
“Angelo, by the way. Was I too loud?”
