I stare at him. There’s a deep line between his dark, furry eyebrows. "You… timed when I lost my shoes?"
"I noted when you stopped wearing them."
"That's—" I search for the word. "Creepy? Impressive? Creepressive?"
"Surveillance."
"Same thing!" I try to point at him accusingly but my finger doesn't quite go where I want it to. "You're creepressive and I don't like you."
Whatever I took in the bathroom is hitting weird now. The champagne was the foundation; this is the building doing a fun little dance. Molly? Something sparkly that someone handed me. Their face is already gone. Doesn't matter. Nothing matters except that my mouth tastes like a nightclub floor and there's a very large, very silent man cataloging my every failure.
"You're going to be sick," he says.
"I am NOT." I sit up straighter, which is a mistake. The world tilts. I grab the door handle. "I am the picture of grace and elegance."
"You have champagne in your hair."
My hand flies to my head. Oh God, I do. It's sticky. When did that happen? Did I pour champagne on my own head? That seems like something I would do. Past Marisol makes terrible choices and Present Marisol has to deal with the consequences.
"It's a new beauty treatment," I say with as much dignity as I can muster. "Very expensive. You wouldn't understand."
The car stops. We're home. My building rises up all glass and steel and quiet judgment, just like Nico Rosetti.
"You two should be friends," I tell him, gesturing at the building. "You have the same personality."
Getting out of the car is an adventure. My legs have apparently decided they don't work anymore. I lurch sideways, catch myself on the door, lurch the other way, and suddenly there's a warm hand under my elbow, steadying me before I eat concrete.
"I'm fine," I announce. "Totally fine. The ground is just… aggressive tonight."
"The ground is stationary."
"The ground is a LIAR."
Eduardo the doorman greets me with perfect professional blindness. "Good evening, Ms.Delgado."
"Eduardo! Light of my life! Have you met my new shadow? He's allergic to joy."
Eduardo's face doesn't flicker. God, I love Eduardo. I should give him a raise. I should give everyone a raise. I'm going to buy everyone presents and throw a party and—
The elevator doors open and Nico practically shoves me inside. Rude.
"You're rude," I inform him.
"You're intoxicated, ma’am."
"I'm FESTIVE. There's a difference." I slump against the mirrored wall and immediately regret it, because now I can see myself from seventeen angles and I look like a raccoon that fell into a champagne fountain. "Oh no."
"What?"
"I'm hideous. Don't look at me. I'm a swamp creature."
"I've seen worse."
"That's not comforting! That's the opposite of comforting!" I try to fix my hair but it's hopeless. There's definitely champagnein it. And is that… glitter? Where did glitter come from? "I'm a swamp creature covered in glitter. I'm a DISCO swamp creature."
The elevator doors open. I fumble with my clutch, which is a mistake because everything spills out. Lipstick rolls across the marble. My keys clatter. A little bag I shouldn't have skitters toward his feet.
We both look at it.
