Page 165 of Detectives in Love

“Five,” I remind her, my tone firm. “Five questions.”

She looks back at me and gives a small nod. “Right. Just like we agreed.” Then her gaze shifts between us, her posture straightening like she’s about to deal cards. “Here’s how this works: I’ll ask five questions, one at a time. You both answer each of them. Then I give you what you came for. Deal?”

“Deal,” Xavier and I say at the same time.

“Great,” she says, pressing her lips together like she’s testing a new lipstick. “But first, if you don’t mind, I’m going to track down the waitress and order some tea. I’ll be back in a minute.” She stands, leaves the recorder on the table, and walks out.

As soon as the door closes, Xavier picks up the recorder, checks if it’s on, then sets it back down.

“Maybe you were right,” he says, leaning back. “I’m starting to feel like this might’ve been a mistake.”

“We can still walk,” I tell him, offering a small smile. “Honestly, I have no idea if she’s bluffing—but I’m good with whatever you decide.”

Xavier shrugs, eyes on me, thoughtful, brows drawn. “The articles, the journalists tailing us—it’s too much to be a coincidence. And we don’t have any other leads. So yeah, I’m inclined to see what she has. Better than nothing.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I say, nodding. “But the second it starts to feel off, we’re out. Okay?”

He nods again, but there’s still a crease between his brows. Something’s bothering him.

“Hey,” I say, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “Stop frowning or I’ll kiss you again—and then we’ll be on the front page tomorrow.”

That gets the corners of his mouth to twitch. Barely a smile, but his eyes lighten a little. Then he leans in and starts buttoning the top of my shirt without a word.

“Hey, I only started wearing it open because of you,” I remind him. “Last time you said I looked like a stuck-up dork.”

“People are going to talk,” Xavier says, a flicker of mischief in his eyes.

It takes me a second to get what he means—then I do. Right. The hickeys. The ones he’s been leaving all over my neck lately. Shit. They probably showed through the collar.

Just as I’m processing that, the door swings open and Selena walks back in.

“Right, so,” she says, flopping onto the seat across from us. “Shall we?”

“Let’s get it over with,” I mutter with a sigh, already bracing myself for whatever she’s about to throw at us.

“Sure,” Selena smirks. “But I’m hoping for real answers here, not just yeses or nos, alright? I need something worth writing about.”

Xavier and I stay quiet, but she takes our silence as agreement and clicks on the recorder.

“So,” she begins, her tone just a little too pleased, “let’s start with the big one. What exactly is the relationship between you two? I mean—really?”

I keep my expression neutral, though my first instinct is to walk straight out of the room. Still, I stay put, trying to look unfazed.

“Mr. Doherty?” she says, turning to me. “You first.”

“We’re partners,” I say, keeping it vague—true enough to be honest, but just careful enough not to give her anything more.

“Work partners? Or lovers?” Selena presses, raising an eyebrow. “You’ll have to elaborate.”

I blink, resisting the urge to glance at Xavier. I can’t look at him—not when I’m about to lie.

“Work,” I say. “Work partners. And friends.”

Something twists in my chest—sharp, almost like guilt. I can feel Xavier watching me, but I keep my eyes on Selena.

It’s not untrue. But it’s not the whole truth either. I’m not even sure I could name what we are to each other. Lovers? Yes—but not just. What I feel for Xavier has a weight, a heat, a tenderness that the word “lovers” doesn’t begin to hold. Soeven if Iwerelying to Selena Hast—which technically, I’m not—I wouldn’t feel bad. I never promised her honesty.

“Alright,” she says, though there’s a flicker of disappointment in her voice as she turns to Xavier. “What about you, Mr. Ormond?”