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“Is it real?” she said. “What you two have? Because I’ve been watching you all afternoon, and I keep trying to find the… you know, the catch. The part where it’s for show.” She smiled, embarrassed, and pressed on anyway. “My mom used to say you can tell a real one because he watches you when you’re not doing anything. Just… existing. And he’s been doing that all afternoon. Every time you cross the terrace.” Her thumb moved on the glass. “I just need to know if that actually happens. To real people. Because if it does, then maybe I’m not…” She didn’t finish, and she didn’t have to.

And here’s the thing I’ll have to carry, always: I didn’t hesitate. I looked at Damian across the water, and he looked back at me—just existing—and I told her the one fully true thing I said all afternoon.

“It’s real.”

Davina’s eyes went glassy, and then she laughed at herself and thanked me, and I watched her walk back into the party lighter than she’d arrived, straight toward the rest of her life, and I stood in the shade with my armful of dead bottles and let her go.

Chapter Thirty-Six

After forty-five minutes on the road back, Damian pulled into the parking lot of a taqueria in Ukiah. We sat in a vinyl booth under fluorescent lights, eating carnitas and nursing margaritas. Bachata played on a tinny speaker.

We were giddy-tired, nervous energy humming in us as we ate.

“This beats the hell out of beetroot tartare on endive,” I said.

Damian laughed. “I passed on that. And the adaptogenic fig thing.”

I took a long drink. “I can’t believe we did it.”

“You did great,” he said.

“Um, no. You did great.”

“I had the easy job.”

“The easy job?” I stared at him. “You casually disarmed six jaded women before swimming laps like a merman. The swim was…outstanding.”

“The photographer asked.”

“It was calculated. Just like your regal strip in front of Vivienne.”

“I took off my clothes.”

“I guarantee you the photographer’s looking at those photos now, and it has nothing to do with checking her own work.”

“Maybe she’ll sign up, too,” he said.

I paused, my fingers resting on the stem of my glass. “But now it’s going to be hell.”

“I know. But what part, specifically?” he said.

“Waiting to find out if they signed up. How will you know?”

“My mother will call me.”

The word put me off eating for a moment.

“They’ll sign up,” he said, watching my unease. He placed his hand over mine.

His certainty was a relief. It was also as unnerving as watching him charm a grieving woman into signing up for a retreat with a death cult.

“We need to talk about Saturday,” I said.

Damian went quiet and glanced out the window.

“What?” I said.

“You can’t do it on the beach. They have people posted for miles out, watching.”