Page 11 of Fake it With Me

“You live here?”

“I live here.”

“This is a compound. This is what supervillains live in.”

Despite myself, I grinned. “Are you calling me a supervillain?”

“How many people live here?”

“Just me and Daisie. And now you, for the next month.”

“That’s insane. You could house a small army in there.”

“The guest wing is mostly empty.” I started toward the entrance.

She followed, still looking around like she’d stepped into an alternate dimension.

“You’ll have your own suite,” I said. “Bedroom, bathroom, sitting area. There’s a desk if you need to work on your school stuff. High-speed internet throughout the house. The kitchen is fully stocked, help yourself to anything.”

We stepped inside, and I watched her reaction. Most people had one of two responses to the interior of my house: either they were impressed and tried to hide it, or they were intimidated and tried to hide that. Liza looked like she was experiencing both simultaneously.

The foyer was two stories high which made the whole place look so much bigger. It was an open floor plan, so the moment you stepped through the front doors, you were looking straight out to the ocean through the floor-to-ceiling windows that covered the back side of the home. Light streamed through the windows, reflecting off the polished tile floors.

“I can’t believe people actually live like this,” Liza muttered, more to herself than to me.

“You’ll get used to it.”

“I really don’t think I will.”

I led her through the main living area and down a hallway to the guest wing. Her suite was at the end, with views of both the water and the gardens.

I opened the door and gestured her inside. “This is you.”

She stepped in, set down her camera carefully on the desk, and just stood there looking around. The room was large and I knew it was several times bigger than most New York studio apartments. It was decorated in soft blues and whites that were supposed to be calming. There was a king-sized bed, a sitting area with a couch and chairs, the desk I mentioned, and a door that led to the bathroom.

“The closet is through there,” I pointed. “Bathroom has a tub and a separate shower. Towels are in the cabinet. If you need anything—toiletries, extra blankets, whatever—just let me know.”

She turned to look at me, and for the first time since she’d arrived, she seemed uncertain. Vulnerable, even. “This is really happening. I’m really here.”

“You’re really here.”

She took a deep breath. “Okay.”

“My daughter will be home in a few hours. Settle in. Get yourself together. She can’t see you pissed or freaked out.”

She scowled at me. “I’m not pissed or freaked out.”

“You are.”

It wasn’t up for debate. It was very apparent she was both those things.

“Right. Okay.” She took a breath, seemed to steel herself. “I should probably unpack.”

“Take your time. Rest if you need to. Daisie will be excited to meet you, but I’ll make sure she doesn’t overwhelm you.” I hesitated at the door. “Liza? Thank you. For doing this. I know it’s a lot.”

She smiled. “Thank you for not letting your security team confiscate my camera.”

After I left her to settle in, I went back downstairs and took some of my own advice. I couldn’t look as panicked as I felt when Daisie got home.