Our walk back to the hotel was quiet. I held his hand, being sure that I walked close to him, but part of me was shaken. By that kiss. I knew public displays of affection were necessary, but I hadn’t expected it to feel like that. I hadn’t expected it to light a fire in me, to feel like fireworks were going off. I hadn’t expected to want him to kiss me again. Not for this ruse, but because he wanted to.

Inside the lobby, I squeezed his hand and smiled as we breezed through, waving kindly to Ketan, who’d given me the recommendation. We took the elevator to our room and went inside. I crossed the sitting room and headed to my bedroom, planning to change clothes, planning to focus on the plan, on tomorrow, but as I was halfway across the room, I heard him call my name.

“Umm, about the kiss,” he said, leaving it hanging there for me to interpret.

I turned back to him, forced a smile and tried to figure out what he wanted. Accolades, maybe. “It was great,” I said, and realized that it sounded like I meant the kiss was great. And it was, but that’s not what I wanted to say. I felt tongue tied, and blurted out, “I mean it was a great idea, the kiss.”

“You seemed unhappy,” he said, his eyes laser focused on me, like he was trying to read my mind.

I shook my head. “I was just surprised,” I told him. “I hadn’t expected it. It was a good idea. It looked authentic.” It felt it, too, but I didn’t say that. I looked down at the tile floor of the room.

He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you thought it was a good idea. I just didn’t want to have offended you.”

I looked up, smiled. “You couldn’t offend me. I understand what’s going on.”

He walked over to me, closer than he should have been, tossing an arm around my back and pulling me into him. “This would be OK?” he said, his face less than an inch from mine, his warm breath on my cheek. I don’t think I’d ever been this close to him, not all of me, his abdomen pressed against mine, his hand on the bare skin of my back, where the shirt exposed my midriff. My heart seemed to skip a beat in my chest and I swallowed. My face felt flush and I was having trouble thinking clearly. There was something very right about this. I wanted to kiss him again. I wanted him to kiss me again. I considered edging my head just a hair closer, thought about pressing my lips to his. But, this was an entanglement I didn’t need. Smart money was to do this job and get as far away from Ryan Harper as possible. And I always did the smart thing. Well, except for the occasional jewelry heist. And if I was going to be stupid enough to attempt this heist, I wasn’t going to compound it by getting involved with Ryan.

“This is fine,” I whispered. I took a step back, his arm holding tight for just a second, as if he didn’t want to let me go, but then he released me.

“Good to know,” he said, though his tone was bitter.

“I want to go over the plan for the tour,” I told him. “First, let me change for bed and wind down a bit, alright? Then we can go over the details.”

He nodded, headed to the sofa, and sat. I went into the bedroom and let out a deep breath. I was happy for the space, to not have to worry that I’d give in to my desire to react to Ryan. I took off my clothes and hung them in the closet and then pulled out my pajamas: boxer shorts and a baby doll Baltimore Ravens t-shirt. I parted my hair down the center and braided each side for a Pocahontas look. I shivered, as I thought of one of the many offensive things Americans like to say: “Are you a dot-Indian or a feather-Indian?” And every jerk who ever said it thought it was a clever line. I blew out. It didn’t matter. My brain was clearly looking for ugly American tropes to think of, anything that would help me push thoughts of Ryan from my head.

Well, I knew one thing that would easily do the trick. Planning ahead. I sat down on the bed, and pulled out the folder Pauly had given me. Tucked inside was a brochure of the diamond factory, which talked about the tours. I scanned it again. I’d read it before. A small slip of paper Pauly had folded inside had a sketch of the tour route and the office I’d need to be settled in, as well as the discards room.

I could do this, I told myself. For Lynx.

There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” I said, looking up.

The beige door popped open and there was Ryan. “I wanted to get my pajamas.”

“Of course,” I said, with a smile.

He went over to a drawer he’d put some of his things in and grabbed some clothing. He was gone within a minute and I looked back at the brochure. Dread pooled in the pit of my stomach as I wondered how I’d let Pauly and Ryan talk me into this. Oh yeah. Lynx. He needed this money and he wouldn’t approve of how I was getting it. I hated dad for being a criminal and I’d suggest Lynx should hate dad, too, and here I was being a total hypocrite. Though, Lynx had never hated dad. That wasn’t how he lived. Maybe the cancer had helped him get over petty stuff, or maybe he’d always been like that, but Lynx loved you wholeheartedly, mistakes and all. That’s why I needed to help him. I was here and I’d committed, so no second thoughts.

There was another knock on my door. I looked up. “Come in.”

The door opened and it was Ryan again. This time he looked tentative, as he walked over. “I was thinking,” he said, as he sat on the opposite edge of the king-sized bed. “Um, that we can do the physical stuff for show, you know. But it’ll be awkward trying to convince these guys that we’re a couple if we don’t know anything about each other.”

He looked a little nervous as he sat there, now staring down at the floral bedspread beneath him.

“I think we know plenty about each other. You’re 25, you’re a marketing executive at Harper Shipping, you graduated from SUNY, you like to gamble and you’re known as a rich American party boy.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Lily told you all that?”

I laughed. “I’m sure in some iteration, she did. But I Googled you once I agreed to Pauly’s plan. You like tall, leggy brunettes, so I’m somewhat in your range, in terms of dateability. Five-five isn’t tall, but I am brunette, and I was friends with your sister, so it makes total sense that we could be a couple.”

He shrugged. “So how did we meet?”

I stared at him a moment too long. “The way we met?” I asked, wondering what he wanted. A cover story, perhaps. He was overthinking it. The best liars — and by best, I mean the ones who get away with it most easily — are usually telling the truth most of the times. That’s why you couldn’t tell they were lying. Keeping the lies to a minimum made the con work best. “There’s no reason to come up with some fake story about how we met. It was at Lily’s birthday party, five years ago. You offered me a shrimp.”

His mouth popped open. “You remember?”

“Sure, I remember,” I said with a chuckle. “Lily was down to earth. Well, you know that better than anyone, but she had horror stories about her stodgy family. I was worried I’d be immediately hated by everyone. Which, was not an unreasonable fear, as both your parents hate me.”

He scooted closer to me, and shook his head. “Both of my parents don’t hate you,” he said, though there was a falseness to it. “They just wanted Lily to use her degree, and they got the impression that you convinced her to do otherwise.”

I tapped the brochure in my lap. I suppose they could see it that way. That they would see it that way. “You know, I didn’t convince her to go traipsing around the world to make a difference.”

He nodded. “I know. Lily always had a strong mind. I think my parents just wanted someone to blame for her not doing what they wanted. I mean, she had a Harvard undergraduate degree in sociology and a master’s in something ridiculously important.”

“Cultural anthropology,” I said. “We both interned at the Smithsonian one summer. I worked in natural history, and got to help curate parts of their precious stones exhibit. She worked in the human origins exhibit and she liked it, but she realized she didn’t just want to see what people used to do. She wanted to be where people are.”

He nodded. “I know. She said that was a defining summer for her. Anyone who listened would know.”

That was true.

“How did you two meet? I mean, I know you were roommates after sophomore year, but before then?”

I couldn’t help but smile as I thought of the only person who flunked out of Harvard my freshman year. “My roommate had problems,” I said. “I was on scholarship and she wasn’t. I also think she was a sex addict.” His eyes widened at that. “Yeah, all sorts of guys, different guys all the time. I stayed in the library and sometimes the common areas. I happened to be trying to get some work done the one time Ginger — that was my roommate’s name — was out, and your sister stopped by. They were chemistry partners and Ginger had totally flaked on an assignment, so Lily was coming to have a word with her. We talked and hit it off.”

“So, I should thank the sex addict for being here right now?”

I rolled my eyes. “If you want, I guess you could. Whatever the reason, I’m glad I met Lily. She was a good friend. She reminded me that being the smartest person in the room wasn’t worthwhile if the people in the room weren’t listening.”

His eyebrows crushed together in confusion. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Well, I’m good at what I do,” I admitted. “I mean, at everything I do. I pride myself in being the best. I work hard at it and I do it right. I spent the two days while Pauly got our visas practicing picking locks. Not just any locks, but the locks on the doors they have here. I had Pauly get the specs of the doors and I went to a hardware store and bought locks that are very much like them, and I picked them. Two hundred and forty-two times to be exact. I didn’t bring my own tools because it would look weird, and set TSA off on some witch hunt that would end up with me being banned from boarding the plane. Wasn’t worth it. But I did practice, and because of that I should be excellent, even though I have to use the tools that Chandran brings. And I gave him the list, so as long as he got me what I asked for, I’m good.”

“Chandran?”

“He’s Pauly’s guy here. We’re going to meet him tomorrow morning.”

“He’s coming here?”

I shook my head. “No way. Too dangerous. We’re going to have breakfast at the open-air market, street vendors. We’re to sit on a bench and he’ll make his way over.”

He frowned for a second, and then, said, “Alright. Would have been nice to have some advanced knowledge, though.”

He was right. I nodded. “Sorry,” I said. “Pauly just didn’t want you to know too much. He doesn’t quite trust you.”

“Then why does he want me here?”

“You know why,” I said. “Insurance. He thinks that if things start to go a little sour, he can still get the diamonds back if you’re here, if your daddy thinks you’re in trouble and calls in favors to get you out.”

He shook his head. “I’m only here because my dad has already said he’s going to stop bailing me out.”

Hmmm. I guess I’d known that, but it sounded so much more depressing the way he said it. I patted his shoulder. “I’m sure your dad would help if you were in a real bind.”

He shrugged. “We got side-tracked,” he said. “We were supposed to be getting to know each other.”

“Favorite color.”

“Onyx,” I said.

He grinned.

“Yours?” I asked.

“Onyx,” he said.

I raised a brow.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he went on to his next question. “Favorite food?”

I shook my head. “I can’t tell you that. You’ll think I’m disgusting.”

He frowned, leaned toward me, getting closer than he had any right to. “You’re my lover,” he said. “I’m wining and dining you and buying you diamonds. As long as we’re going with that story, you owe me your favorite food.”

I didn’t like him using this to his advantage. Yet, he did have a point. We were partners on this and partners had to trust each other. I swallowed. “Brussels sprouts,” I whispered.

“Tell me that’s a joke, like the first-born kid thing,” he said.

I shook my head.

He put both his hands on my shoulders and looked me squarely in the eye as if I were some pitiful urchin. “As disgusting as that is, I still adore you.”

I rolled my eyes. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Hamburgers,” he said proudly.

I teasingly opened my mouth and stuck a finger down it as if barfing.

He ignored me. “Favorite holiday.”

“Christmas, duh?”

He squished his brows in confusion. “You celebrate Christmas?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I thought Indians had other holidays.”

I shook my head and sighed. “Well, Christian Indians follow the Christian holidays, regardless of what country they live in,” I said.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I told him. He wasn’t the first person to say something ridiculous based on preconceived cultural notions. It happened enough that I’d be angry every waking minute of the day, if I got angry about it every time. And he hadn’t come from a place of meanness, just ignorance. And the best remedy for ignorance is education. “A lot of Indians are Hindu, and they have their own set of gods and holidays. My father was Hindu, but my mother grew up in Baltimore and raised us Baptist. Not that my father didn’t tell us about the different gods, like Ganesha, Krishna, and Hanuman, but we were a Christian family.”

“When did your mom die?”

The words hit me a little hard and part of me wanted to say I don’t want to talk about it, but experience has taught me that the quickest way to get people in your business is to say you don’t want to talk about it. “Three years ago. Murdered”

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t murder her.”

He opened his mouth, probably to say he was sorry again.

I cut him off. “Sorry, that was a shitty thing for me to say. Sometimes, I get tired of the sorries.”

He let out a knowing sigh. “Yeah, I know what you mean. People say that about Lily, and it was never their fault.”

I try not to cringe at that, because sometimes I do feel like it was my fault. I suggested the trip that Lily died on. Wouldn’t that have to make it a little bit my fault?

“Why did you become a teacher?” he asked.

I was confused by the sudden change of subject. “What?”

“You looked sad talking about your mom, and I didn’t want that. So, I thought I’d get away from sad questions and go back to questions I should know the answer to if we’re pretending to be lovers. Why did you become a teacher? I mean, you have some fancy degree, don’t you?”

“I have an undergraduate degree in geology and engineering and a master’s degree in mineral engineering. And you’re right. Generally, people with those degrees wouldn’t become public high school science teachers.”

He scooted slightly closer to me, and lay down, staring up at the ceiling. “So, why did you waste all that schooling to teach ungrateful brats in New York city?”

I couldn’t temper the anger I felt over his flippant attitude toward those kids. “Because they’re not ungrateful brats,” I told him. “Because too many people look at them and write them off without a thought. I’ve seen it before, Ryan, and it makes you feel awful when people just look at you and disregard you.”

He looked pensive for a moment, and asked. “People treated you that way?”

“Not when I was very little. We used to live in a nice apartment, a working-class neighborhood in Brooklyn. My mother thought all my father did was work in a jewelry store that Pauly owned. I think she was naïve, or just in love. She wanted to believe my father.” I smiled at the memory. “He was the kind of guy that made you want to believe anything he told you. But when she found out he was a thief, when she realized exactly who Pauly was, she asked him to quit and he wouldn’t. So, she left, and we went from happy and middle class to less happy and struggling.”

“He wouldn’t support you?” Ryan asked.

I shook my head. “She wouldn’t take it. Didn’t want crime money. She said she could do it on her own, and she did. It was for the best. My parents separated when I was 9, and my father was imprisoned when I was 11. They went looking for his assets, seized them, so if mom had taken it, the government would have come for it. And if she had taken it, maybe she would have taken him back at some point, too. Maybe she wouldn’t have found her own way. She succeeded, and she cared, and I loved her for it. I loved her for taking care of us, for doing the right thing, not the easy thing. And I’ve strived to do that, too. Ignored those who thought I couldn’t because I lived in the wrong zip code and went to the wrong school. I strived to do my best every day, just as my mother did.”

I sighed and breathed out. “Though, I admit I’ve had lapses. Like now. But for the most part, I’ve avoided being involved with Pauly or anyone at Club Diamante. Back when I needed money for grad school, I did some work for Pauly. Not heists. But I helped him certify stolen stuff. I even helped a couple of the ladies who work at the club, who wanted to leave the life. Stacie, the waitress you met. I helped her by hooking her up with a friend who went to Harvard Law. He gave her some advice on her law school essay. She got in, and will be starting in the fall.”

“That was good of you.”

I shrugged. It was right to help someone I could, because I was able to. “Anyway, I became a teacher because I wanted to help kids who feel like no one cares about them. Kids who don’t have an Akilah Neel in their corner. Kids who don’t have that example. I wanted to use my knowledge to help people who needed it, not people who wanted to exploit resources so they could get rich. And frankly, a lot of what I’ve learned to do is just about ripping apart our earth so people can grab gems they deem precious. What’s precious are people and hearts and minds. I’m not sure exactly when it hit me. Maybe it was my internship out in California, with the people who seemed so intent on finding their next big pay day or bonus, but something clicked, and I decided I was on the wrong track. While I was good at what I did. Excellent, in fact, it didn’t matter, because what I was doing wasn’t important. So, I signed up for this transition to teaching program and got a job teaching high school science. And it’s grueling and underfunded and the kids can be a handful, but they listen, and what I say matters, in really important ways. And they want guidance. The kids are already excited about the summer program I’m working on to keep their skills up. These are kids who have hated school, who now don’t, who now want to come and learn in the summer, and I think it’s because someone cares. Because I care. So, that’s why I gave up helping some mining company drill for whatever precious metal or gem they hoped to exploit. I didn’t want to be another exploiter, I wanted to be someone who brings good into the world.”

He stared up at me in awe. “That’s a good answer.”

I laughed. “I’m glad you approve. I mean, if you hadn’t, I would have quit teaching and offered my services to this factory tomorrow.”

His face turned sour. “I just meant it made sense to me, the way you phrased it.”

I suppose I shouldn’t have given him crap about it. I changed the subject. “So why are you in marketing for your father’s firm?”

He laughed and stared up at the ceiling. “Because it’s easy. Because he would give me a job and I wouldn’t have to do it.”

That was an honest answer, though somewhat disappointing. I had never quite understood people who didn’t work their hardest at what they were trying to accomplish. My mother always said we had to take pride in our work, to do it to the best, to be brilliant at it. I couldn’t imagine being happy in life if I didn’t give one hundred percent to the things that were important to me. “Why don’t you want to do it?” I asked.

He sat up, looked me in the eye. “Because it’s not me. It’s him. It’s just more of him pushing me into what he wants, and I don’t have the energy to fight him. Because Lily had that spark, and she was the fighter. I’m the one who does what I’m told. Or at least, I don’t fight the things I’m told to do. I’m passive aggressive. I listen dutifully and then ignore every word. It’s easier that way.”

“Is it?” I asked, sincerely wondering. “Is it really easier to just pretend you’re on board so you push your conflict to later. Is it really easier to say you plan to do something, not even meaning it? Is it really easier to ignore a job, than to just give it a try and see if you like it? Why not tell him what you want to do, and see if you can work out a solution together? Or try it his way, if you want. I mean, I don’t understand why you don’t even try at it. It seems like you’d be good at marketing. It’s just telling stories.”

His look in response said he thought I was crazy.

“My friend Tina does marketing,” I said. “And she says it’s just about figuring out the story of your buyer’s needs and then telling them a tale that makes your product their perfect happy ending. If their story is that they weigh too much, then end it with your product helping them shed pounds without even trying. You can tell a good story. Just do it in a different way.”

He shrugged.

“Have you tried doing the work?”

“I’ve tried to not be there. I’ve tried to do everything but be at the place that I told myself I didn’t want to be. But, no, I haven’t tried making a success of it.”

“You should,” I told him. “I think you’d do well if you applied yourself. Look at us now. I mean, you’re taking this seriously, trying to make sure it works.”

“I am.”

“Good,” I said.

“So, tell me one more thing,” he said to me, and his blue eyes narrowed on my face. “Why did you bring me here? Not me, Ryan. But why would you bring your boyfriend here? Why would you schedule us here for a trip, if we were really dating?”

I hadn’t expected that question. I closed my eyes for a moment to think. When I opened them, I had an answer. “Because this is part of who I am. I wasn’t born here, but my father was, and even though our relationship was rocky, I loved him, and this country shaped him. It was part of his roots, and I would just want to show any man I loved how wonderful the place is.”

He nodded.

“Why did you come with me?” I asked. “I mean, what would get the inimitable Ryan Harper to come to India for a vacation.”

He smiled. “That’s easy. Love. When I love someone, I’ll do anything for them.”

“Oh,” I said, looking into his big blue eyes. The way he looked at me, the intensity of it almost made me feel like the words he was saying were for me. I needed to go. I scooted off the bed, leaving my papers, and said, “I need to call Lynx.”

I grabbed my cell phone and left the room. I went out on the balcony and called, but got his answering machine. It was 10 o’clock at night here, which meant it was around 11:30 in the morning back home in New York. I left him a message and then went back inside. Ryan was still on the bed, but he was snoring. I walked over, thinking he was joking with me, but as I got closer, I realized he really was asleep. I sighed. There didn’t seem to be any point in waking him. It was a king-sized bed. I crawled in on the opposite side, and closed my eyes.