Fighters. Bloodthirsty. We’d been born into different circumstances, but our essence was the same. We were both in the business of getting down and dirty for the things we cared about. Claws out, at a second’s notice.
Question was—how much did Arya still care about her father? I had no way of finding out and wasn’t naive enough to ask her directly.
I resumed my brisk walk toward her. She turned on her heel, then stopped when she saw me, her pupils dilating at my appearance.
“I have to go, Neil. Keep me posted.”
She tossed her phone back into her bag, launching toward me.
“Where’s my book, Miller?” she barked, in full ballbuster mode.
I stopped a good few feet in front of her, enjoying her gaze on me. “That’s it? No hello, how have you been?”
“I don’t care how you’ve been. All I care about is that you stole my book.”
“And I’ll give it back to you,” I replied evenly. “If you play your cards right.”
“With a page missing.” She pulled the page I’d sent her earlier today from her purse, waving it in my face. Trying hard not to laugh, I produced something from my own briefcase. The new copy of Atonement I’d purchased, which was missing the page.
“The original is safe and sound.”
Arya put a hand to her chest, sagging visibly. “Good. I thought I needed to murder you. Life in prison seemed highly unappealing and yet completely necessary for the past few hours. Although I’d like to stress you are still a horrendous person for ripping any book, for any reason.”
“Even if that reason was to get a reaction out of you?”
“Especially so.”
“I missed you, Ms. Roth.”
“Oh, put a lid on it, Miller.”
We walked into the planetarium. She didn’t ask why I’d had her meet me here. She didn’t have to. It was clear from the moment we strode into the Nature of Color exhibition.
“You know, animals are known to use color to camouflage themselves,” I noted. We walked past a stark white wall, our shadows reflecting off it in all the colors of the rainbow. Around us, kids danced to their own shadows, while their parents watched a flat-screen explaining the exhibition.
“They use it to attract mates too.” Arya clutched the jacket she was holding to her chest. “Your point?”
We stopped in front of a video of a bright white flower opening up at nighttime, staring at it. “Things aren’t always as they seem.”
“Why do I have a feeling there’s something you want to say to me, yet you never really say it?” She turned to cock her head.
Because there is.
Because I am.
Because if I’m the one who got away, how come you cannot even recognize me when I stand less than a foot away from you?
But I just smiled, handing her the second note. I’d written them in advance, which, it had to be said, was out of character for me. My main form of seduction thus far, in the rare times I went to any minimal lengths to pursue someone, was to buy them dinner. She smoothed it over in her palm, shooting me a frown.
Step 2: Introduce me to your favorite street food.
Her eyes met mine, full of sudden benevolence I doubted she was truly capable of. The princess with the Chanel purse and $500 haircut, who’d never known hunger and desperation in her life.
“Whatever happened to you and me not being able to date one another? This feels just a few kisses shy of spooning slash coadopting a French bulldog called Argus.”
“First of all, I would never adopt a dog. Quote me on that. If I wanted someone to ruin my apartment, I’d get your interior designer. No offense.”
“None taken. I could give a crap and a half about what you think about my apartment.”
Actually, it was more like half a crap, but obviously, I didn’t want to offend.
“Second, I am, above all, a gentleman. Third, the only thing remotely romantic about tonight is the fact we’re both going to get laid at the end of it.”
Arya shook her head, but at least she had the integrity not to contradict me. We both knew where this was headed. How tangled we were in this web of desire.
And then we were on the stairs of the New York Public Library, eating waffles filled with chocolate fudge, Nutella, and cookie spread.
We probably looked perfect. The image of a textbook urban date. Two dashing thirtysomethings sharing dessert at the feet of one of the finest establishments in America. A sugarcoated lie.
“How did you not die of a heart attack by now?” I asked after three bites. I hadn’t consumed anything remotely as artery clogging since I’d hit thirty and realized that in order to keep my current shape, I had to start watching what I ate.
Arya tapped her plastic fork over her lower lip, pretending to consider this. “Wishful thinking, Mr. Miller?”