Arista stared at the ground, unable to look at Grae. She finally dared to meet his eyes. “I would never lie about this, Grae, because it’s one of the only real things I’ve ever had in my life. I hope that you can at least trust that.” She prayed he could see the honesty in her face, because there was nothing more she could say.
From the corner of her eye, Arista watched a black carriage make its way slowly down the street. She knew Wild would be waiting. “There isn’t anything else I can say. Good-bye, Grae.”
Her heart cracked as she walked away, and he didn’t come after her.
That was it, then. He would tell his mother who she really was, and she would be kicked out of their home. The only place she’d ever felt welcome.
She had almost reached the parked carriage when a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind. Taken by surprise, she reacted without thinking, and had her knife out from its sheath and pressed back against her assailant’s ribs in a flash.
He froze. “I see that you can take care of yourself, at least.” At the sound of Grae’s voice, her hand dropped. Yet her traitorous pulse sped up. He had come after her.
“I do want to trust you,” he said in her ear. “Because whatever this is between us, it feels real to me, too. But you have to tell me everything so I can help you. We can figure this out together.”
Up ahead, the carriage door opened, and blind panic gripped her limbs. Would Wild approach her with Grae right here? Wild glanced their way and nodded his head, then entered the gates of the party.
Arista exhaled. That was why she couldn’t tell Grae the truth. Because someone like Wild would ruin him, for the sport of it. She wouldn’t let that happen—not to Grae. For his own safety, she had to push him away.
“I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to tell you the truth.” She felt him tense up behind her. “This is my life. This”—she waved her hand that held the knife—“is how I stayed alive. None of this is my choice, but you have no idea what it’s like. You can’t understand what it’s like to have nothing.”
“But you always will have nothing if you refuse help,” he argued. “Unless this is all really just part of the lie, too?”
The denial was right there, but it would not come out past the lump in her throat. He was right—she always would have nothing. But at least she had nothing to lose. If anything happened to Grae, she would never forgive herself.
“Is it, Ana? Is this all just a lie?” Grae demanded.
Silence stretched between them. She took a deep breath in.
“My name’s not Ana.”
“What?” The disbelief in his voice nearly broke her.
“My name. It’s not Ana, it’s Arista.” His grasp loosened and it took all of her strength to walk away from him again.
Arista closed the door softly and crept into her room.
Wild had left her by the back gate to the garden, after giving her half the money as he had promised. The coins sat heavy in her reticule. Tonight had not gone as she’d planned. How had Grae known where she would be? She’d told no one except for Becky, who had worried about Arista going alone to meet the client.
Arista groaned. Becky had told him. “Of course.”
In the morning, she would have to have a talk with her friend—try and explain the danger that Grae would be in if he were to get caught up in their world.
It wouldn’t matter now anyway, she realized with a pang. Whatever had been between her and Grae lay in pieces on the street. Admitting that even her name was a lie must have been the final straw. But it was better that Grae hate her than have him be in danger.
With a heavy heart, she sat and undid her boots, setting them carefully aside. Then she stood and began to unlace the corset—she could do it herself, as it was tied in the front for her costume. The light from the lantern on the side table cast the room in a soft glow. The colorful skirt came next, and then the white blouse and stockings. Finally she stood in nothing but her underclothes.
Arista blew out the gas lamp and the room sank into darkness. In the morning, would Grae demand answers? Or worse yet, would he continue to ignore her? Either option left a sick feeling in her stomach. She sank down on the edge of the bed. What was she going to do?
She pulled back the quilt to get into bed. A barely discernable scratching noise sounded at the door—the one that led to the garden. She listened—there it was again. The hairs on her neck stood up. She reached for her knife, tucked under her pillow, and crept to the door. When she pressed her ear against it, she heard nothing. The latch clicked, overloud in the quiet room. Very slowly she pulled the door open, inch by inch. Her eyes, already accustomed to the darkness, easily scanned the lines and shapes of the garden beyond. There were no shadows out of place. Nothing moved.
Had it been an animal? She started to close the door, and then looked down. Something lay on the stone step. A bundle of some sort.