Page 24

"It's a ball, Belle. There will definitely be dancing. And if we're supposed to be a couple, we'll need to dance together without looking like we're afraid to touch each other."

"I can't dance,” I confess.

"What do you mean you can't dance?" Adam asks. “How am I your best friend and I don’t know that you can’t dance? We’ve danced together at parties, haven’t we?”

"I mean I literally do not know how to do ballroom dancing, formal dancing, any kind of dancing that requires coordination with another person."

Adam stares at me in disbelief. “Oh! I was thinking of course you know how to dance, but formal dancing. Yeah, that’s an issue.”

"When exactly would I have learned? I've never been to an event that required formal dancing skills."

"Okay," Adam says, clearly recalibrating our practice session. "Dancing lessons. We definitely need dancing lessons."

"From who?"

"I... don't know. YouTube?" Adam asks.

"You want to learn ballroom dancing from YouTube?"

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

I consider this for a moment. "Mrs. Patterson taught dance classes when she was younger. Maybe she'd be willing to give us a crash course."

"Mrs. Patterson from the historical society? She's got to be eighty years old."

"Exactly. Which means she learned proper ballroom dancing when it was actually a standard social skill. Plus, she's discreet. She won't ask too many questions about why we suddenly need to learn to dance together.”

"We're a couple, so she should ask questions. We're messing up before we've even begun!" Adam chuckles as he waves ourhands in the air. The hands that we're still holding, I forgot about that. Maybe this will work.

"That's... actually not a bad idea," Adam admits. "Though I feel like we're getting in way over our heads here."

"Probably. But we're committed now."

"Are we? Because we could still back out. Send our regrets, stay home, pretend this never happened."

For a moment, I'm tempted. The safe option would be to avoid the ball entirely, to maintain our comfortable status quo without risking exposure or complications.

But then I think about Felix Romano's visit to the library yesterday, about the way my suppressants failed when I was near him, about the constant vigilance required to maintain my hidden identity. Maybe the ball represents an opportunity to experience something extraordinary without having to risk everything I've worked to protect.

"I don't want to back out," I say firmly. "I want to go. I want to see what all the fuss is about, experience something magical, wear a beautiful dress and dance and feel like I'm part of something special."

"Even if it means fake-dating your best friend?" Adam asks.

"Especially if it means fake-dating my best friend. Because you're the only person I trust enough to share something like this with."

Adam's smile is soft and genuine. "In that case, we're really doing this."

"We're really doing this."

"God help us both."

We spend the next hour planning our fake relationship backstory, laughing at our own awkwardness and marveling at the complexity of what we're attempting. By the time we're ready to leave the library, we've established that we've been "secretly dating" for three months, that our transition from friendship toromance was gradual and natural, and that we're taking things slow because we value our friendship too much to rush into anything serious.

It's a believable story, partly because it contains enough truth to be sustainable and partly because we know each other well enough to maintain consistency.

"One more thing," Adam says as we gather our things and prepare to leave. "What are we going to wear?"

"I have no idea. I've never shopped for formal ball attire."