“Because I know you.”
“Fair.” I bite my lip, uncertain if Karo has just helped me claw myself out of this hellhole of an impossible situation or handed me a shovel to dig my own grave. “Do you really think this could work?”
“Honestly? I’m not super sure. From what I’ve read, it’s a messy thing.” After a beat, she explains, “People develop feelings, Franzi. Because they spend so much time together and pretend they’re a couple, the boundary with the real thing gets blurred. For sure there’s some psychological explanation behind this, which you’d know more about than me, but the point is, you put your feelings on the line.”
Falling for Dr. Theodore L. North? The chances of it are so low that I don’t even dwell on Karo’s warning. “I don’t think that’s going to become a problem,” I tell her, relieved that this is the only thing she’s worried about. “What will be hard, though, is not going straight for his throat whenever he says something wildly obnoxious.”
From the program leaflet on the kitchen island, the flat stare of Jacob’s photograph follows me as I pace by for what’s probably the hundredth time. I try to focus on Rosanna Alderkamp’s warm smile instead, visualizing what I’d be doing this for. Convincing Lewis, pretending to date him for the duration of two weeks.
It’s nothing compared to the decade of work I’ve put in to understand what happened to my sister on that skiing trip. Even though Karo’s amnesia was temporary, the fascination it triggered in me wasn’t. Her accident and how it jump-started my obsession with science has become a bit of a code word in my family, ever since my research became too detailed and complicated to explain.
How’s work going?my father would ask when we’d all be at their house at Christmas. I’d complain about my model not running properly, or celebrate a fresh paper publication, or thisreally cool idea I had, and they’d ask me what itmeant. I’d tell them about my attempts to translate results obtained from highly controlled environments with lab animals to safe and noninvasive settings in humans.
In those animals, each and every memory seems to have something like a fingerprint, a unique code for the place, timing, and emotional undertone of the memory. If I could detect that fingerprint in humans it might help me solve where Karo’s brain got scrambled after that skiing accident. But not only that—it could be a launchpad to help people with longer-lasting memory issues, ranging from post-traumatic stress disorder to Alzheimer’s.
I’d try and fail to explain, until it was time to cook dinner or light the Christmas tree, and revert to the surface-level explanation:I’m just trying to solve Karo’s amnesia. I’m just trying to understand how memory generally works, because only then can we come up with scientifically grounded ways of diagnosing or treating it when it fails.
That’s all I’m really doing this for. The moment of panic in Vivienne’s office? It was nothing more than a blip, a snafu, that, luckily, has a solution.
I stop the pacing, strengthening the grip around my phone and steeling my voice as I say, “As messy as it could become, fake dating might be my only option if I don’t want to risk jeopardizing everything I’ve worked for.”
“Then”—Karo inhales—“you’d better get that other person on board.”
Chapter Five
You’re late.” I cringe inwardly at my own words as soon as they’re out of my mouth.
That’s not how I wanted this to go. I sound like a headmaster scolding a student on the first day of school, not like someone who’s desperate for their academic rival to go along with a lie that puts their integrity at risk.
But really, how can he be this late?
The first day of the Sawyer’s Summer Seminars on the neuroscience of memory officially started at 8:00 a.m. with coffee and mingling. After catching up with Peter, who I shared an office with during my time in Zurich, I excused myself to find Lewis, assuming he’d be here early, too, only to wait close to the doors, nursing a cup of bad coffee, and repeatedly pulling my phone out of the pocket of my blazer to check for updates on my submitted grant until he finally showed up.
His pine scent is going extra strong this morning, like he just showered and shaved. At my greeting, a frown etches into his face. “Good morning to you, too, Dr. Silberstein,” he replies,and for once, he sounds neutral. Not angry neutral, just… neutral. Maybe it’s too early for him to be annoyed.
“We need to talk.” I push the—now cold—cup of coffee I’ve been saving for him into his hands. It almost sloshes over the edge, but he tilts the cup, avoiding disaster and sparing his crisp blue linen shirt.
Admittedly, it’s not my smoothest moment. I had pictured it differently: guiding Lewis to a corner of the room, instilling a sense of gratitude for the gesture with the coffee before diplomatically telling him that we really cannot fix the misconception that has arisen, or else I may as well kiss my career prospects goodbye, and finally laying out my much better alternative solution. But instead, I can’t rein in my animosity.
He eyes the coffee suspiciously. “What is this?”
“Is it so inconceivable that I picked up coffee for you?”
His gaze ping-pongs between me and the coffee. “If you want me to retract that comment on your paper, my answer is no.”
I bite my lip at his arrogant tone. Breathe in and out, and remind myself of the presentations I’ve given in front of funding committees. This is no different. A proposal with perfectly deducted reasons.
“It’s just coffee,” I insist.
He takes a sip and immediately winces.
“Still conference coffee, though, and thanks to you being late, probably cold by now,” I add. Capitalizing on the moment and the fact that he’s busy swallowing the horrible coffee, I touch his elbow to steer him away from the busy door. “Let’s move over there.”
But before we can make it anywhere, Vivienne steps in front of us, holding a tablet to her chest. “Frances, there you are! I’ve been looking for you.” She’s wearing a mustard-yellow wrap dress that’s a splash of color in the muted blues and grays of the room. “Lewis, good morning!”
Fuck squared. If Vivienne is here, Jacob cannot be far behind. And as much as I need her to believe that the obnoxious scientist at my side is, in fact, my boyfriend, I first need to convince said obnoxious scientist to play along. Preferably before Jacob walks up to us and witnesses how far Lewis and I are from being a couple.
“Good morning,” I respond, forcing cheer into my voice to gloss over my nerves.
