Thursday morning. One day before the Marcus Knight dinner.
Victor has summoned us for “narrative alignment.”
I’m calling it lying practice.
“Think of it as method acting,” Victor says, setting up a whiteboard. “You need to tell this story until it becomes muscle memory.”
Adrian sits beside me, close enough our knees almost touch. Almost.
“We already have a story,” I say. “Art gallery. Modern architecture.”
“You have the skeleton. Marcus will want flesh. Details. The moment you knew.” He looks at Adrian. “When did you know Zara was different?”
“When she told me to leave her alone,” Adrian says without hesitation.
I look at him. He’s not joking.
Victor writes it down. “Good. Unexpected. Human. Zara, when did you know Adrian was worth a second look?”
“When he didn’t treat my ‘no’ li
