The Conspiracy of Us (The Conspiracy of Us 1)

I really, really didn’t want to cry in front of him. “I’m ready to go now,” I said quietly. My voice didn’t even hitch.

Jack stepped forward. “I’ll take you—”

“No.” I jerked away. My breath rattled in my chest. “Somebody else is probably going back anyway.”

“I am.”

I closed my eyes as Stellan stepped up beside me. Which was the lesser of the two evils?

Jack had lied to me. I’d asked him over and over about my father. He knew exactly how much this meant to me. I’d told him embarrassingly personal things. And he knew his own employer was my father, and he didn’t tell me. The betrayal burned through my blood like acid.

And yes, Stellan was supposed to interrogate me, but now that I’d met the Saxons and Jack knew Madame Dauphin’s plan, he couldn’t lock me up and throw away the key. Plus, it looked like there was no way I was ending up anywhere but the Dauphins’ tonight.

I didn’t look at Jack or my father as I followed Stellan out of the ball and rode silently in the elevator to the ground floor.

Thank you, world, for reminding me again exactly why I never let myself care.

We made our way to a line of waiting long black cars, and I stared up at the glowing tower, stretching nearly a thousand brilliant feet into the gray-and-purple night.

Stellan watched me. “What is your story, kuklachka?” he finally said.

I blinked, and the orange glow of the Eiffel Tower blurred into watercolor.

•   •   •

Stellan stopped in front of my room.

“So,” he said. “You tell me you’re no one, then almost get killed at a boutique, run away from a club in Istanbul, and now you’re crying in a ball gown. You’re sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”

“There’s nothing to tell.” My voice came out in a rasp. “You really don’t believe me?”

Stellan unlocked the door to my room. “I learned long ago that I’m the only person I can trust, so no. I don’t believe you. I just can’t figure out what you’re trying to cover up.”

I pushed past him. “And I can’t figure out why you’re so temperamental. You were threatening to kill me a couple of hours ago, and now you’re pretending to be friendly.”

Stellan followed me into the room. “If I was actually threatening to kill you, you’d be dead.”

“I’m going to sleep. Please leave.” I stalked to the bathroom.

In the mirror, Stellan came into view and leaned against the doorframe. I turned on the sink and washed my hands.

“You know, spies are usually good liars. So are pretty girls,” he said.

I tossed the lavender soap into the soap dish so hard, it bounced out and slithered to the bottom of the sink. I whirled on him.

“Really?” The water dripped down my forearms, and I grabbed a towel. “Sometimes I can’t tell whether you’re trying to interrogate me, or kill me, or sleep with me.” I snapped my mouth shut and felt my whole body flush.

The corner of his mouth crooked up. “To be honest, I can’t quite decide either.”

“Get out.”

Slowly, he pushed off the doorframe, blocking my way out. “You know, if you were a spy, I’d be impressed. Nothing hotter than a talented girl. I mean, I’d have to kill you. But before I did—”

“Go. Away.” The tears were building behind my eyes again, frustration and exhaustion and bone-deep sadness. I threw the towel on the sink and swiped at my face with the back of my hand. “Seriously, go away.”

Stellan studied me. “What is it that’s upsetting you so much? Prada?”

I suddenly thought of that first morning, before Prada, when I was wearing nothing but a robe and my biggest problem was trying to forget how attractive Stellan was. It seemed like another lifetime.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine. I just want you to leave so I can sleep.” I had to brush against him to get through the doorway, and he blocked my way with one hand.

“You’re rubbing your eyes a lot for someone who’s fine,” he said, not entirely unkindly. His hand was warm on my hip.

The tears swam even closer to the surface. I forced them back by sheer will and pushed the rest of the way past. “I’m fine. My contacts itch, that’s all.”

There was a pause. “You wear contact lenses?”

I felt the scowl drop off my face. Oh God. I forced myself to turn and glare at him again, but I couldn’t cover the beat of hesitation. “I have really bad vision.”

He pursed his lips, and there was a knock on the door. Elodie stuck her head in and said something to Stellan in French without even a glance at me.

Stellan sighed. “It appears I’m needed. Sleep well, little doll. There will be guards outside to make sure nothing happens to you overnight.”

I covered my sigh of relief with a yawn. I could only hope that another purple-eyed girl was so far out of the realm of possibility that he wouldn’t connect my contacts to his suspicions.

He made no show of hurrying, and I shoved him the rest of the way out with the door. I closed it behind him, locked it, and rested my forehead against the cool wood while I listened to the two sets of footsteps retreat down the hall.

I collapsed onto the blue velvet comforter, the fabric of my dress crinkling under me.

I lay there for a second before I pulled out my phone and called my mom again. Nothing.

I put the phone back in my bag and dug around for my locket. I set the Prada necklace on the bedside table and tied the two ends of my locket’s broken clasp around my neck, then buried my face in the comforter. I felt about a hundred years older than I had a few days ago. I knew so many things I’d never wanted to know. And at the same time, I felt like a little kid. So much less sure of the world, of myself, of everything.

My father didn’t care about me. Pretty soon I was going to have to accept that my mom was actually missing. And Jack had lied. I trusted him—I finally trusted him—and he lied. After everything we’d been through. I didn’t even know what that meant. When had he told Saxon? Did they have some kind of plan that involved keeping me in the dark? It didn’t seem like my father cared enough to have a plan like that.

I rolled over to my back and stared up at the canopy above the bed.

It felt so trivial to be sad about a boy right now. Jack lying to me shouldn’t hurt so much, especially compared with everything else. Like Mr. Emerson. I reached into my bag again and found the piece of paper with the Order’s phone number on it. Ironically, I’d written it on the back of the sketch of Jack’s tattoo I’d done in Ancient Civ that day. I traced the drawing with one finger. I almost wished I had a compass tattooed on me right now. I could use some direction.