CALLIOPE GLANCED AROUND the Nuage bar without seeming to turn her head, a skill she had mastered long ago. A lightly foamed macchiato sat on the counter before her, untouched. Various young men and women in suits were starting to file in, for business breakfasts or a quick coffee. More than one of them had cast her a tentative, curious look. Easy targets, if she was looking to pick up a mark. Which she wasn’t.
Truthfully, Calliope had come here because a hotel bar was one of the easiest places to go when you were alone and uncertain of your next move. Safe, neutral, undemanding. Like a foreign embassy, she remembered joking to Brice.
There was something soothing about being at the bar this early, when everything was still cool and shining, the bottles lined up just so. It was a little slice of quiet between the loud nighttime hours and the bustle of midday.
Calliope felt adrift in a way she hadn’t in years. There was nothing tying her to anyone anymore, really. Her luggage was all stacked behind the Nuage’s front desk, except for her pouch of jewelry, which was folded securely in her crossbody purse. She could cut and run, melt away into the city—duck into any public park or corner bodega or department store—and not a soul would know where she was. It was a curious feeling.
She sighed and gave a few commands to her contacts, flipping over to the feeds, and gasped aloud. The headlines drove all thoughts of herself and her current situation from her head. Somehow Avery Fuller’s secret had gotten out, and the world knew about her and Atlas.
In retaliation, Avery had burned down her family’s apartment—the entire thousandth floor—while she was still inside.
Calliope felt strangely numb at the news. She couldn’t believe that the world no longer contained Avery Fuller. Avery, who’d been many things to her: a stranger, an obstacle, and ultimately, something approaching a friend. Bright, effervescent Avery, with her ready smile and her sunshine hair, who literally lived on top of the world. She would never have guessed that a girl like that would do something so irrevocably drastic. But then, Calliope knew better than anyone that you could never tell what people were hiding, behind the facade they presented to the world.
She curled her palms around the coffee mug for the warmth, wondering at what a strange thing love was. It could make you feel invincible, and then a moment later it could utterly destroy you. Calliope thought of Avery and Atlas, trapped in an impossible situation. She thought of her mom and Nadav. Would they have had a shot, if they had met in a completely different context?
Calliope wondered where Elise was right now. Already she must have ditched her contacts, disconnecting from everything as if she’d vanished from the world in a puff of smoke. Just like Avery.
“I thought I might find you here.”
Brice slid onto the seat next to her. Calliope’s pulse suddenly echoed through her body, all the way to her fingertips. He looked different today, but maybe that was simply the fact that she had mentally given him up, only to discover that he was hers again after all. Or was he?
One thing was for certain. After what she’d seen between her mom and Nadav, Calliope knew that she had to tell Brice the truth. He deserved that from her.
“I’m not what you think I am.”
“I had no idea you’d started reading my thoughts,” Brice remarked and waved for a coffee. “What is it that I think you are, aside from beautiful and unpredictable?”
Calliope let out a breath. “I’m not . . .”
She trailed off, uncertain how to continue. Not nice? Not a good person? “My name isn’t Calliope.”
Brice didn’t even flinch. “I know.”
“What? How—”
“I’m a little offended that you don’t remember our first meeting, on the beach in Singapore. Back when you called yourself Gemma.”
“You remember that?” How long had she feared that Brice might make that connection—and yet here he was, saying he’d known all along, and he didn’t seem upset. A beam of light seemed to fall through Calliope’s worry, to touch something hopeful and tentative within her.
“Of course I remember,” he replied. “You’re unforgettable.”
“Why didn’t you say anything, if you knew?”
“For two reasons. First, because I don’t totally know. I’m still not sure why you and your mom have been skipping around the world changing your names. I have my theories,” he said, in answer to the worried look on her face, “but now isn’t the time to discuss them.”
She held her breath. “What’s the second reason?”
“I wanted to get to know you. The real you. And I did,” Brice said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Calliope felt a bright, delicate joy bubbling up within her. Brice knew the truth about her, or at the very least he suspected, and yet it didn’t matter. He still wanted to be here with her.
“So,” he went on, his tone shifting from flippant to earnest in that lightning-quick way of his. “What happened to bring you down to the Nuage so early?”
“Nadav found out that my mom and I aren’t who we say we are. Needless to say, he wasn’t pleased.”
“Does that mean you’re leaving New York?”
“My mom already left. I stayed,” Calliope said softly, and a little of the old flirtation reared its head. “I have . . . unfinished business in New York.”
She had positioned her hand, tentatively, on the bar between them. Brice wordlessly put his hand over hers.
“Am I the unfinished business?”
“Among other things,” she replied, lifting her eyes to his.
“What other things?”
“The city,” she began, then hesitated. How could she possibly explain the way she felt about New York? She loved it, in that strange way you can love something that never loves you back, because it has left its imprint on your soul. Calliope belonged in New York, or maybe she belonged to New York. She’d been so uncertain when she came here—like clay that couldn’t hold its shape—and now she had form, had texture; she could feel the fingerprints of New York all over her the way she felt Brice’s touch on her skin.
There was so much here, so much color and taste and light and motion. So much pain and so much hope. The city was ugly and beautiful at once, and it was always changing, always reintroducing itself to you; you couldn’t look away even for a moment, or you might miss the New York of today, which would be different from tomorrow’s New York and next week’s New York.
Brice flipped her palm over to hold her hand in his. “What’s your plan?”
Calliope took another sip of her coffee, wishing she had a spoon so she could stir it around, whisk it with more force than was necessary. She felt brimming with new purpose.
It dawned on her that today was Monday. “School, I guess?” The idea of going to a multivariable calculus lecture right now felt a bit ludicrous. “I need to figure out some things. Figure out myself,” she said slowly.
“What is there to figure out?”
“My personality!” she blurted out. “I don’t know who I am anymore. Maybe I never did.” She’d spent the past seven years slipping seamlessly from one role to another, being clever or stupid, rich or poor, adventurous or afraid, whatever the occasion demanded of her. She had been everyone but herself, lived every life except her own.
But this time, she could be whoever and whatever she wanted to be.
“I know you,” Brice said stolidly. “It doesn’t matter what story you’re telling or what accent you’re using. I know who you are and I want to keep on knowing you, Calliope, Gemma, whatever your name is.”
Calliope hesitated.
She had never—well, almost never—told anyone her real name. That was the central tenet of the rules they lived by. Never tell anyone your real name, because it makes you vulnerable. As long as you protected yourself with fake names and fake accents, no one could hurt you.
But no one could ever know you that way either.
“Beth,” she whispered, feeling a seismic shift within the world. “My real name is Beth.”
Her contacts lit up with a new flicker, from a sender registered as Anna Marina de Santos. Here’s to this time.
Tears gathered at the corners of Calliope’s eyes, and she let out a strangled laugh. It was Elise, of course, already operating under her new name.
“Here’s to this time,” Calliope whispered, and nodded to send the reply. “I love you.” She imagined her words translating into text, darting all the way up to a satellite and across the world, to flash across her mom’s brand-new retinas. If only she could reach through the intervening miles and hug her just as easily.
Love you too.
“Beth,” Brice repeated, and held out his hand as if introducing himself. His eyes were dancing. “It’s nice to meet you. Please allow me to be the first to welcome you to New York.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Beth said and grinned.