Her mother was fun and protective and lively. Baylee used to say that her mom, she wasn’t just the life of the party—she was the heart.
And we’d play Trivial Pursuit before dinner. Brenden won every time. I lost a lot, but her dad—he’d come in last place on purpose. I was sure he knew who the author of War and Peace was, but he didn’t want me to feel badly for coming up short.
He’s someone I’d be proud to have as a father, so I know why Baylee cherishes the hell out of him.
Baylee balls up the thin napkin. “I like those memories.”
“Me too.” I felt so a part of her world. Sometimes, painfully so.
I remember how her aunt invited me over for the same meal after Baylee’s parents passed away. Lucy didn’t ever learn how to cook ackee and saltfish like Bay’s mom. I sat at a table with Zhen, Brenden, and Baylee—and the silent consensus was that it tasted nothing like the traditional Jamaican dish.
Lucy cried while eating and apologized profusely for being a bad standin for their mom. It was one of the most gut-wrenching things I’ve witnessed in my life.
Yet, I remember Baylee and Brenden assuring their aunt that it was okay. That she tried, and they loved her for trying.
We stop at a crosswalk, a red handprint flashing on the pole, and we dump our trash in a nearby bin. I think about offering to hold her to-go bag of curry chicken and rice, but I hesitate.
Because I’m not her boyfriend. (I hate it.) “How much do you talk to your parents?” she asks.
It wasn’t a lot when I first met Baylee. It’s even less now.
We forget to cross at the light, and we end up lingering by the entrance to an Urban Outfitters, our hands brushing. I catch hers and hold strong.
“I call my parents maybe a few times a year, more if they’re already talking with Nik and he passes me the phone.” Our eyes meet. “It is what it is.” I shake my head. “I’m not even friends with all of my cousins.” There are too many. And I realize, a cousin isn’t equivalent to a mother and a father, but my parents never really got to know me.
Not even when they were around.
It’s easy lumping them into the distant-cousin category.
“I remember,” she says. “One time you forgot one of your cousins was lactose intolerant when you suggested ice cream, but you always said that some cousins you loved like siblings.”
(Dimitri.) “Yeah. That hasn’t changed.”
Baylee’s gaze drifts to the right, and she abruptly straightens up, eyes widening in alarm.
Act Twenty-Two
Luka Kotova
“Luka, go—go.” She starts to shove me away, but then she changes her mind and pulls me into the Urban Outfitters, the door shutting behind us.
Inside, we weave between jewelry stands and racks of purposefully ripped denim jeans. Her grip on my hand tightens, beyond panicked.
“Bay—”
“Shh.” She puts her finger to her lips and then slightly crouches behind the window-front manikins.
I follow suit and through the glass, I spot what she saw.
My stomach drops.
Vince, an older dark-haired AE employee, the one who caught us almost five years ago—he stands authoritatively on the sidewalk, dressed in a suit jacket and white tee. I always thought he looked like Nicholas Cage, and he’s not alone.
He speaks rapidly to Geoffrey Lesage, the young choreographer.
“Geoffrey shouldn’t be with Vince,” Baylee says. “They’re not even in the same department.” Vince is the head of marketing.
It seems weird. I can’t hear or read their lips, but Vince has several disgruntled lines on his forehead. Clearly, he’s not happy.
Geoffrey points at the store.
We duck behind the manikin’s platform.
Baylee drops to her ass and shields her face. “Shit. Shit.”
“They didn’t see us,” I try to assure her. “It’s okay.” I’m squatting and I’d reach out and hold Baylee, but that’s the issue right now. Us. Being close.
She exhales heavily. “What if they did see, Luka?” She tries to peer at the glass door without breaching the top of the manikin’s platform.
“They would’ve already rushed in here and caught us,” I whisper. “Look, we’re not even positive Geoffrey is aware of our past.” He always seemed oblivious. Case in point: he let us partner up on the trampoline.
Baylee stares off as she says, “He was with Vince.”
I see where she’s mentally headed. Marc Duval claimed that there were two AE employees informed about our contracts and watching us, just in case we broke them. We practically knew one had to be Vince. And now she’s thinking the second is Geoffrey.
She’s forgetting something.
“Geoffrey can’t be watching us. He’s new, Bay.”
“There are shakeups every season.” Her hand is on her forehead, stunned at this scenario. “What if the person who was watching us left Vegas, and Marc needed someone new to keep an eye on us? Geoffrey would be the perfect person. He’s around us more than any other company member.”
It makes sense.
I just don’t want to accept that Corporate is that close, still breathing down our necks. “Then it’s a good thing,” I say, trying to hang onto the positives. “We know exactly who to watch out for.”
Baylee nods to herself and then tries to peek over the platform but she hesitates. “I’m scared.” Her voice spikes. “Luk.”
I reach out and clasp her hand and squeeze. “I’m not going to abandon you at the end of this. Hey, Baylee, look”—I cup her cheek, and her widened gaze meets my calm—“I’m here for you. You’re not alone in this.”
Baylee leans towards me, and I wrap my arm around her shoulders, careful of her neck. Pulling her close, I kiss the top of her head.
“You know what’s strange?” she says softly, glancing once to her right. We’re secluded from most of the shoppers, and I don’t see Geoffrey or Vince nearby.
“What’s strange?”
She looks to me. “I feel the safest in your arms, but in reality, it’s the most dangerous place to be.”
I wear a weak smile. “Being with me is a dream.”
“The best dream,” she says confidently.
For the sake of our reality, I remain alert, and I risk a glance above the platform. I don’t see anyone from Corporate.
“It looks like they left.”
She tugs me down when I take too long, and anxiety surfaces in her features.
“I’ll go out first,” I whisper, “and head back to the hotel. I’ll text you if the street looks completely clear. You can leave whenever you want after me.” I know it’ll give her peace of mind if we split apart here.
“I want to see you again,” she says, so assured that I don’t even ask if she’s certain.
“I’ll text you a time and location for tonight.”
She starts smiling off my smile. “Okay.” Fear lowers her lips, but I squeeze her hand one more time before I let go entirely.
Then I rise to my feet. I have trouble tearing my gaze off of hers, all the way to the door. I push outside, people meandering down the Vegas strip.
Cars honking.
Life moving quickly.
I look left and right down the long stretch of sidewalk. No Corporate in my view. And I text Baylee as I leave.
All clear. 10 p.m. Meet me in the lobby at Two Kings Hotel. See you later, krasavitsa.
Act Twenty-Three
Baylee Wright
Stuck in an agonizingly slow cab, I check the time on my phone again. Two minutes past 10 p.m.—casually late.
That’s not bad, right? I’ll start panicking when it hits fifteen minutes.
My curls hang loosely against my chest, and I fix the buckle to my red high heels that match the prettiest and newest dress I own: a rose-red strapless cocktail number. The fabric hugs my hips and pushes up what little cleavage I have.
Luka never said if this was fancy or a really laidback outing, but we can barely find a moment to spare outside of the Masquerade together. At least not without being interrupted. So I’m taking advantage of the moment and dressing up for once.
The cab halts by a curb, and the rich, glittering purple words 2 Kings stands out amongst surrounding neon signage and flashing billboards. I’ve never been here, but I’m sure Luka has casino-hopped with Timo before.