“That’s it?”

  “And another one afterward, where we see how it went.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “But the date itself is totally private…apart from a photographer, who will be taking discreet, tasteful pictures for our website.”

  “What if it goes badly?”

  “It won’t. Trust me. The worst that happens is you get a free meal in good company. Stella needs this to work as much as we do.”

  And there it was. Pygmalion’s warning came back to me then. Stella had an angle here, just like Colin did. For them, it was about seizing an opportunity to get publicity and to raise money. What was it for me? I wondered. An obligation as part of my job? A fun distraction? An actual date with an actual woman that might go somewhere? I knew what I wanted it to be, but I didn’t know about Stella. I had the feeling she was much better at acting than I was.

  Chapter 4

  Stella

  Date night found me standing in front of my closet contemplating breaking my de facto dress code and pulling out an actual dress—the lone one I’d packed, on the off chance I had to meet the king or something. I had officially entered bizarro world. My mother, of course, sensed this disturbance in the Force—to mix universes—and called at just that moment. I couldn’t lie. I was grateful for the distraction.

  “Yes, Mom,” I said, putting her on speaker.

  “Please, is that any way to greet your darling mother?”

  “My darling mother who engineered this date in the first place?” I asked and sat down in the cushy leather chair in the corner of my London apartment. I’d been here for a few weeks, and so it had developed the air of a tornado having been through. I’m what could charitably be described as a slob.

  Discarded T-shirts littered the floor and a notebook sprawled open with notes for tomorrow’s column on the bed. I hadn’t transformed in at least a month and the stars overhead at night made me itchy in my skin. But London felt dangerous in that respect—so many surveillance cameras.

  “I simply told Vickie she was a PR genius,” she said. “Which she obviously is.”

  “Mom.”

  “When’s the last time you went on a date?”

  It’s not like I was a virgin. But relationships? Not my thing. I liked Stuart. Anyone who could get a name like Hero McHeroface from the crowd and go on being an actual hero was obviously a better-than-decent person. Which certainly would not describe my previous type, who was perfectly okay with a one-to-three-night stand and then see ya.

  “What if he takes this seriously, Mom?” I collapsed on the bed next to the notebook. “Did you think about that? He seems like an actual nice guy.”

  She went quiet for a second. “Oh,” she said. “You’re worried about him. This is so interesting. Can you tell me when he was born?”

  “Mom. I read him the night we met, so you don’t need to. And no, I’m not worried about him for that reason. I’m worried about him because he seems like a sweet kid.”

  “Kid? He’s twenty.”

  “Too young for me.”

  “He could learn a lot from a slightly older woman. And maybe you could learn how to have fun.”

  I sighed. A heavy, we’ve-been-through-this sigh. “You’re the romantic. Not me.”

  “It’s the most disappointing thing, sweetie,” she said. “You’ll get over it eventually. All cynics are just romantics who haven’t met the right person.”

  I mouthed the last words along with her. This was not a new conversation. So I tried to distract her with something that always, always worked. “How are the numbers looking?”

  I listened as she sat down at her desk and clicked her computer to life. I could picture every step of it. Her office was a brightly colored mix of charts, product samples for our online store, and stacks of spreadsheets. I missed her.

  “Who cares?” she said, figuring out what I was up to before she started rattling off statistics and ad revenues. “I just want you to be happy.”

  She meant it, I knew that. “I’m not not-happy.”

  “That’s not good enough for our daughter.”

  Tears pricked at the back of my eyes, threatening to ruin the makeup I’d spent a full ten minutes on. It got me every time. The casual our. Her refusal to even consider moving on from Dad. There was probably nothing healthy about it, and yet my kind, hippie-vibes, approachable mother shut down anyone who suggested she would ever love another man with a firm, “That’s not up for discussion.”

  “I miss him, too.”

  “Every day,” Mom said.

  “I meant right this second, because he’d tell you to back off and that no one is good enough for his baby girl.”

  My mom snorted. I’d successfully lightened the mood. “I think he’d have gotten over that after you were an adult. You better go get dressed. Wear something nice.”

  She hung up before I could protest. She did that sometimes. The ninja.

  And she was right. Traitor Vickie would be here any minute.

  I put on my usual T-shirt and jeans purely out of stubbornness, but when the buzzer signaled my publicist’s arrival I added a necklace with all five of the birthstones attributable to Leo—peridot, onyx, ruby, carnelian, and amber—arranged on delicate silver as if they were planets. And a leather jacket.

  Vickie eyed me and said, “The Ivy’s posh. Are you sure you don’t want to dress up a bit?”

  “This is my signature look,” I told her. “So no.”

  She must have sensed she wouldn’t win this one, and I’d just make us late arguing. She herded me into the back of a waiting car, ordered the driver to “Drive on,” and started to talk a mile a minute. “I’ve already been by the restaurant and checked out the lighting and the camera setup for the interview outside. All you have to do is five minutes of a joint interview with Stuart, promoting Reachers, plugging your brand, and making googly eyes at each other.”

  “Leading people on, you mean.” Possibly leading Stuart on, which I wasn’t comfortable with at all. “Can we have a minute before the interview? In private?”

  Vickie examined me, as if trying to decide whether I would go rogue. It was tempting. But mostly I wanted to make sure that no one got hurt by this publicity game.

  “I’m nervous, too, you know,” she said.

  “Oh, are you going on a fake date engineered by your publicist and your mother?”

  Vickie blinked. “No. I set it up and I have an unpredictable client. This is for the best. People like the two of you together. What’s so wrong with making people happy?”

  “Why is everyone obsessed with happiness?”

  “It makes the world go ’round?” the driver put in. He had a swirl of silver hair and a lively voice.

  “That’s love,” I corrected.

  “What’s the difference?” he countered.

  Hah. He should meet my mother.

  Vickie leaned forward. “You won’t repeat anything you’ve heard on this drive, will you? We’d appreciate your discretion?”

  He tapped the brakes, then went on. “It is part of my code to never repeat people’s secrets. I’ve been driving for twenty years and I’d never…”

  I settled back to let Vickie clean up this mess of her own making.

  Stuart

  Kelly answered the door and looked me up and down.

  “Aren’t you going to let me in?” I asked.

  “You haven’t spiked your hair.”

  It was true. I’d been trying to decide how to wear it in the days leading up to my date with Stella. As Hero McHeroface I always appeared with my hair spiked up and dyed. I’m still trying to figure out which color mix is best, but I tend to go with Redcoat red and varying amounts of gold. Kelly gets me to add glitter sometimes but I prefer not to. That stuff goes everywhere. This date had come about because of Reachers but I was the one going on it so I’d decided to go as myself. It felt like the right decision until I saw Kelly’s face.

  “Should I spike it?”

  She shrugged.

  “Kelly, seriously. Should I spike it?”

  “It looks okay down, I guess.”

  I should have spiked it. What had I been thinking? No. It was okay. I could still fix this. I dashed past Kelly and upstairs to the bathroom. I faintly heard the sound of my mum’s hello drifting up after me. The tap dripped like a ticking clock as I foraged in the cupboard. They should have fixed that by now. At the back was an almost empty pot of gel from when I lived here. Mum had kept all of my old toiletries in a little plastic bag in case I popped over to visit. I blew a kiss in her general direction and got to work.

  Once my hair was done I went into Mum and Dad’s bedroom. The Ivy was posh, and I didn’t have anything suitable to wear except my interview suit. Which was okay, but the ties I had were way too formal for a date. My original plan was to buy something new but Dad was adamant that I borrow his stuff instead and, against my better judgment, I’d agreed to come here to get ready. He’d laid out a number of ties on the bed, along with several shirts. There was a red shirt with black rose edging that was cool but hard to pull off, and a charcoal-gray shirt that seemed safer. As I tried to pick between the two, I heard his slow footsteps on the landing.

  “Wear the red one,” he said. “It goes with your hair.”

  “Dad, did you ever actually wear this?”

  “When I was dating your mother.”

  “Did she like it?”

  He gave me a smile that briefly took away the years. “I don’t recall any complaints. Actually, the tie that goes with the other shirt will work with that one. Try them together.”

  I did and he looked pleased until he saw the knot I’d tied.

  “You should use a full Windsor. It sits better.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “Come here then, I’ll do it.”

  For a few moments I was sixteen again and Dad was doing my tie, and I was still hiding my ace and he was still hiding his illness, and I felt looked after. My throat was a little tight when I thanked him.

  “How much do you like this girl?”

  “Stella’s not a girl, Dad. She’s a grown woman with her own show.”

  He chuckled. “Well, in that case, you better have these.” From the pocket of his dressing gown he produced a small box. I took it and opened it to find a set of silver cuff links in the shape of dice. “They’re my lucky set,” he told me as I fastened them in place. “Never let me down.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “You’ll find out,” he said, and I immediately wished the earth would swallow me up.

  “It’s just a date.”

  “Sure it is. Talking about dates, shouldn’t you be on your way by now?”

  I looked at my watch and realized, to my horror, that he was right. “Bye, Dad,” I said as I fled the room. “Bye, Mum,” I called as I ran down the hall. Kelly opened the front door for me.

  “Oh,” she said as I passed her, “you’ve spiked your hair. I thought you were wearing it down.”

  I glared at her over my shoulder.

  “Good luck!” she added, closing the door.

  By the time I arrived at the Ivy, everyone else was already there. Colin was giving instructions to the cameraman, and I could see Stella chatting with her PR woman. Or, more accurately, I could see her listening to her PR woman, who was talking through her smile at about a hundred miles an hour.

  My heart lifted and sank when I saw my date. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but the jewelry was exquisite. Stella had somehow managed to look casual and fancy at the same time, the way that Hollywood stars do. More to the point, I was overdressed in comparison. Shit. I knew I shouldn’t have spiked my hair.

  “There he is!” said Colin, with obvious delight. “Ready to start?”

  “One sec,” Stella replied and, to my surprise, headed straight toward me. I suddenly realized I had no idea how to greet her. A handshake was too formal. Maybe we should hug? Or I could kiss her on the cheek? Was that too forward? If I just said hello that could come across as cold, and I didn’t want to insult her. What did Americans do? And why hadn’t I thought about this until now?

  She quickly crossed the space between us and it struck me that, my hair aside, we were about the same height. Unlike my work boots, my smart shoes were flat, bringing me down an inch since last time. Her first impression would be that I’m shorter than she’d thought. Great.

  “Hey, Stuart.”

  “Hi.”

  I thought she was going to stop, but she kept going until she was definitely in my personal space. She opened her arms for a hug. Just a hug, I wondered, or a hug and kiss? I had no idea what I should do! Fleetingly I wished Kelly were here for support. If she were powering my ace, I’d be able to react faster. And I’d be more confident. Next to Stella I felt incredibly mundane. But, mundane or not, she hugged me.

  I hugged her back.

  It was…How can I put this? We fitted. I could feel her warmth through my shirt, and she hugged me close so our bodies pressed together. I’d expected something quicker, more for show, but this felt natural. She held me for a long moment and I held her. It seemed right. Maybe this was going to be the start of something beautiful. I felt her breath on my ear as she whispered:

  “Look, we both know this isn’t real, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun, right?”

  My mouth moved before my brain could react. “Right.”

  “Thanks, Stuart. That is such a relief. It’s all pretty weird, but at least we’re in it together.”

  I didn’t say anything, I was still in shock. She stepped back from the hug and I felt the air turn colder on my chest.

  “So.” She held out a hand. “You ready, partner?”

  I nodded and took it.

  We walked to the door of the Ivy where Colin and the cameraman were waiting. They were already filming. Of course they were. I felt a thousand things all at once, most of them bad. I should have been relieved. There was nothing to worry about now. We could pretend for an evening and then get back to our lives. I wasn’t relieved, though. I was upset. Pygmalion was right; this was all about ratings and money. I’d wanted it to be something more. I’m such an idiot.

  Stella nudged me in the ribs and I belatedly realized that Colin had asked me something.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “That’s okay, Hero. We can see your mind is on other things.” His smirk sent the blood to my cheeks. “I was just asking if we could interview you individually but it’s clear you’re already inseparable. What do you think, Stella? Are the stars looking favorable for you both tonight?”

  She glanced up at the overcast sky. “I don’t know about the stars, but Stuart looks great.”

  Colin laughed loudly. “That sounds like a yes from Stella. What about you, Stuart, excited for the future?”

  It took me a moment to find my voice. “I can hardly believe this is happening. It’s like…” someone has plucked out my heart and started tearing it into pieces “a dream come true.”

  Stella

  We’d finished the awkward interview, so at least we’d be on our own. Well, almost. Until later.

  Colin and Vickie were talking to the videographer, no doubt congratulating themselves in the process. Both were beaming. Stuart and I drifted closer to the restaurant entrance.

  The Ivy definitely lived up to Vickie’s description as “posh.” We were in the theater district and the restaurant was in a building that wrapped around a corner in a dramatic V with the front announcing its name and a moon-and-stars motif on the glass, which was probably why they’d picked it for our date. Patterned glass on the rest of the windows blocked the view inside. The dramatic angles reminded me of a miniature version of the Flatiron in New York, where Mom’s book publisher was based.

  “Should we wait here for any last marching orders?” Stuart asked, pausing on the sidewalk.

  “We could ditch them,” I suggested. Then, still feeling bad at how casual I’d played the evening with my jeans, I said, “But then you’d have worn that fabulous outfit for nothing. My mom told me to dress up, and that’s why I didn’t.”

  Stuart smiled. “She’s a meddler then?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “My dad made me retie this tie,” he countered. “Kelly insisted I get ready at their place.”

  I remembered our abbreviated conversation the other night. “You were saying you worry about her?”

  “Her moods, yeah.” Stuart started to lean against the wall and stopped himself. He wasn’t used to being dressed up, I could tell. Not like this anyway. The uniform made him more comfortable, this suit less so. “She’s always been my biggest supporter, though. I don’t think I’d be where I am without her.”

  I considered. “Well, that’s true,” I said.

  Stuart gave me a confused look.

  “She dragged you to my table, I mean. That first night.”

  “She did that,” he said. “But that’s not what I mean. She believes in me. It makes me stronger. My ace works that way—it draws from people’s positive feelings toward me.”

  I hadn’t even considered the fact I might be able to learn from Stuart what someone else’s ace was like—how it felt—without sharing that I had one, too. “Interesting. How do you mean?”

  “I can sense how people are feeling. If the people around me believe in me, it makes me strong. The more, the better.”

  “And if they don’t?” I asked.

  “Then I’m normal. I’m still figuring everything out.”

  I wanted to ask a thousand more questions, and number one was if he could tell how I felt about him. I liked him, and I didn’t want that giving him the wrong idea.