“Maybe we should take a moonlit stroll instead? If dancing isn’t your thing. The night-blooming jasmine has an intoxicating scent.”
Alarm tightens the line of my spine. What if he’s supposed to murderme? I can’t let Felix take me to a second location. “Didn’t you promise me a drink?”
“Of course. Where are my manners?” He pats my hand, like he’s indulging my girlish whims. “What’s your poison?”
I choke on a nervous laugh. Surely he hasn’t seen through my plan? Just in case, I widen my eyes like someone who doesn’t know right from left.
“I’m not much of a drinker,” I confess. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“Champagne it is!”
My grin is at least half genuine this time. Felix is about to serve me the perfect opportunity. When he returns from the sideboard with two glasses of sparkling amber liquid that smell strongly of apple cider, I accept one with a smile. Felix lifts his glass as if he’s about to make a toast.
“Actually,” I interrupt, with a little nose wrinkle I’m hoping reads as cute rather than grossed out, “could I possibly get a few canapés too?”
“Those canapés? Over there? Where I just was?” He points over his shoulder.
I nod, eyes wide and innocent. But not too wide or too innocent.
“Of course,” he says, remembering he’s supposed to be suave. “Your wish is my command.”
“I’ll hold your glass,” I volunteer. “Since you’ll need both hands.”
“Thanks.” He takes a couple of steps before stopping to look back at me. I flash him another sugary smile, heart rabbiting in my chest. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else while I’m over there? Napkin? Toothpick? Floral arrangement?”
“Just a little nibble.”
He nods. As soon as his back is turned, I shift the stem of the second glass to my left hand, freeing up the right to unlatch the secret compartment on my ring. It takes mere seconds to shake the ring above his glass before snapping it closed again and transferring that flute back to my right hand.
When he returns with my cheese and crackers, I hand him his sparkling cider, accepting the plate in return.
“Cheers,” I say, raising my glass.
What I really mean isGame on, Felix.
CHAPTER FIVETHE BODY IN THE POOL
Between the travel, the family drama, the murder, and Felix, I sleep like a rock that night. When my eyes open the next morning, my first thought is POOL.
The place, not the game.
The courtyard behind my grandmother’s building has a “Secret Gardenbut make it Mediterranean” vibe. Claude hired a landscaping crew to transform the standard budget hotel concrete wasteland into a hidden grotto, complete with birdbaths and sundials nestled amid the lush greenery. The pool is now saltwater, painted a deep blue on the inside. High walls covered in climbing vines block out the rest of the world, and a faux ancient statue of a kid in a furry loincloth holding a pan flute presides over the scene from the center of a burbling fountain.
I spread one of my grandmother’s luxuriously fluffy towels over my favorite lounge chair, claiming not only this spot but the entire domain. If I came down and Felix was already here, I certainly wouldn’t hang around to let him see me in my bathing suit. Here’s hoping he’ll feel the same way.
It’s annoying to have to think about this stuff, but if last night’s game taught me anything, it’s that Felix is in it to win it. He’s not going to fade into the background and let me do my thing.
I pick up the old copy ofVogueI swiped from the basket in my grandmother’s living room, flipping past the first few pages of ads before setting it aside. Now that I’ve beaten Felix here, I can relax. Maybe close my eyes for a bit. Tipping my straw hat so it covers my face, I rest my hands on my stomach.
When the heat gets unbearable, I’ll take a dip. For now, between the shade and the hint of morning breeze, I’m perfectly comfortable. At last, some freaking tranquility.
“Didn’t realize you were a fashionista, Space Cats.”
The sigh sticks in my lungs, too heavy to budge. Is he making fun of my bathing suit? It’s a classic black one-piece with a scoop neck and tiny diamond-shaped cutouts at the waist. Five seconds ago, I would have called it chic.
Lowering my sunglasses, I squint up at Felix. He’s wearing basic board shorts and a T-shirt, so there’s not a lot of room for mockery. We’ll call the Battle of the Bathing Suits a draw.
“Did you say something?” I ask, as if I’ve only just noticed him there and can barely bring myself to care.
