“No, because that wasn’t the message she was sending.”
We stopped at the corner to wait for the Walk signal. “You can’t possibly think she was encouraging your advances.”
“Then what was all this?” Alex ducked his chin, sending me a sidelong look through fluttering lashes.
The impression was annoyingly on point. If one didn’t know better, I could see howsomeof Terry’s mannerisms might read as coy. “She’s shy.”
“Is that why she didn’t tell me herself?”
“She was working up to it. Anyway, it was strongly implied.” The light changed, and I hurried into the crosswalk.
“What was it?” he asked when we were safely across.
“What was what?”
“That she didn’t like about me.”
My shoulders tensed. What was the diplomatic response?It’s not you, it’s her. She took a vow of chastity. Her parents have already arranged marriage to a Carpathian prince.Meanwhile, the truth lodged in my throat:I told her not to date you.
“You’re not her type,” I finally managed. It seemed that wasn’t enough of an answer, because he continued to regard me expectantly. “She’s a very quiet person. Whereas you’re more”—I circled a hand in the air, trying to conjure a better word thanpromiscuous.“Friendly.”
“Friendly?”
“Yes. You know, sociable. Free with your attentions.”
He reached out to grasp me lightly by the elbow. Reluctantly, I turned to face him. “You think I should sew anAon my shirt?”
Staring at the point above his heart indicated by a fingertip, I struggled to follow his train of thought. “Like a monogram?”
“As inThe Scarlet Letter.”
Again with the unexpected literary references, though there was no guarantee he’d read to the end of this one either. “I’m just trying to be helpful,” I said primly. “Prevent any misunderstandings.”
Alex shook his head. “I think you just slut-shamed me.”
“No!” I looked around in alarm. “And I hate that word.”
“Do you have a better one? How about ‘strumpet’?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”Casanova,maybe. Orlouche,though he would probably think it was a compliment. He raised his eyebrows, letting me know he was still waiting for a response.
“She’s a Cecile, okay? Not a Marquise de Merteuil. FromDangerous Liaisons,” I added helpfully. “By Pierre Choderlos de Laclos. They made a movie out of it.”
“For people like me who struggle with big words?”
“No!” Who knew scoundrels were so sensitive? “I just don’t assume people like the same things I do.”
“Whatdoyou like, Mary?” In an instant, his tone turned playful and intimate, as though he’d flipped some internal switch reverting to his default setting. I might have been fatally unnerved had I not noticed we were about to turn onto my street.
“Oh, you know,” I said vaguely, holding out a hand for Cam’s bag.
He made no move to relinquish it. “I don’t know, which is why I asked. I think we should finish our conversation. You can say more foreign words.”
“I’m pretty sure this is where our paths diverge.” I shaped a V in the air between us, pressing the heels of my hands together.
“I’ll walk you to your door.”
I started to decline, but then the full meaning of his words hit. “Wait, how do you know where I live?”
