Sugar Sweet Sin

Facing the Demons

"We have to go," Jack says.

"Why?" I'm working on a batch of lemon tarts, but my cell is jammed beneath my ear. I've spent the last ten minutes going over every last detail of the Dante encounter with Jack, including the invitation to his house on Sunday.

"Because how often do we get invited to the home of one of the Fontaines? Or any celebrity, for that matter?"

I don't bother pointing out that I've been to Dante's place before. Attending Dante's little get-together means continuing to engage him, and I refuse to do that.

"You work for Brockman now," I remind Jack. "I'm sure you'll have plenty of chances to hang out with celebrities."

"Not at their homes. Or at their private parties. Come on, Ash, how bad could it be?"

"Very bad. Very, very bad. I don't think he believed me when I told him I had a boyfriend."

"All the more reason you should show up with me and we should rub it in his face."

"I'm not sure we could pull that off."

"Are you kidding? People always think we're a couple when we go out together."

He's right—Jack and I have been mistaken for a couple more than once while hanging out in public. But it's one thing to fool a stranger or a random waitress at a restaurant and another to deceive an ex-boyfriend. Especially one as observant as Dante.

"There's no way Evan would go for this," I say, trying another tactic.

"Screw Evan. I want to hang out at Dante Fontaine's house," he says. "Besides, if Evan gets pissed, I know how to make it up to him after."

I roll my eyes. Evan's never had a problem with my friendship with Jack, but Jack's never pretended to be my boyfriend before.

"I'm not going to do it," I say. "It'll be too awkward."

"Will Emilia be there?"

I hadn't even thought about that possibility, but it makes me sick to my stomach. "It'll be awkward either way. Showing up there won't accomplish anything."

"The way I see it, it accomplishes several things," Jack counters. "First of all, it shows Dante Fontaine that you aren't afraid of him. If you don't show, he'll always think that he managed to get to you."

"You don't know that."

"Secondly," he continues, "it gives you the chance to rub your new relationship in his face."

"My new fake relationship."

"He doesn't know that. It should still make him jealous. That's what you want, isn't it? Or would you prefer that he knew your lady bits are as dry as the Sahara?"

"Ew, Jack."

"Well, I think getting out of your shell will make you feel better. But it's still not the most important reason for you to go."

"What is, then?"

"Your best friend just got one of your cakes in front of hundreds of very rich, very important people and now you owe him."

I set my pastry bag of lemon curd aside. "Going for the guilt trip, I see."

"Is it working?"

"I'll have to get back to you."

"Don't worry. I'll be bugging you mercilessly until then."

"Goodbye, Jack."

I hang up before he can plant more dangerous ideas in my head. Because the more he talks, the more sense he seems to make. That's definitely not good.