Elle lifted her head, catching Darcy staring.
Around them, the air crackled, Darcy’s whole body tingling from her scalp to her soles. She shivered as Elle leaned a little closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her, her wine-sweet breath warm as it puffed against Darcy’s face. Too close. Darcy wasn’t supposed to be getting close to anyone.
Darcy stood quickly, wobbling briefly before steadying herself on the edge of the couch. “Do you want more wine?” Without waiting for Elle’s answer, she strode off in the direction of the kitchen, both their glasses in hand.
Darcy rested her forehead against the stainless-steel door of her fridge and breathed deep. Get a grip. Clearly there was chemistry at play, but as satisfying as giving in would be in the moment, the consequences would be catastrophic. Elle was looking for love and Darcy wasn’t. End of story.
After filling both glasses from the black plastic pour spout on the atrocious box of wine, Darcy took a healthy swallow from hers and returned to the living room, uncertain of whether she’d have to let Elle down gently.
“Enough about astrology,” Elle said, taking her glass from Darcy with a smile. “We should probably talk about selling this.”
The tension between Darcy’s shoulders subsided. They were on the same page then. “More than we have already?”
Elle made a soft noise in the back of her throat. “I mean, the logistics of it all.”
Darcy liked logistics. Logistics were safe. They could talk about that. “Okay.”
“We’ve got our double date on Saturday. Then Thanksgiving at my parents’ and Brendon’s Christmas party. Is that it?”
Is that it? As if it weren’t already too much. “Unless Brendon springs something else on us, which is entirely in the realm of possibility.” Darcy paused. “That’s only one event of yours. Not exactly equitable.”
Elle laughed under her breath. “You haven’t met my family. But Thanksgiving is an all-day thing anyway, it’s like a two-for-one. No worries.”
Yes, worries. “If you say so.”
Elle pulled a loose thread on the bottom of her sweater. “In terms of selling it . . . what exactly are you comfortable with?”
“Comfortable with?”
“You know.” Elle huffed. “There’s more to making everyone think we’re dating than knowing each other’s middle names and where we went to school.” Her tongue darted out, wetting her bottom lip. “Like, being comfortable with a certain degree of . . . familiarity. Hand holding, touching—”
“Fine.” Darcy clutched her wine, thigh burning with the ghost of Elle’s touch. “That’s . . . fine.”
Elle’s forehead wrinkled. “Fine? You’re good with—”
“Anything.” A dizzying wave of heat crashed over her as her mind caught up to her mouth. It had been how long exactly since she’d gotten laid? Too long apparently. Darcy coughed. “Whatever it takes to sell it.”
“Okay.” Elle worried the corner of her bottom lip for a moment before gathering up the gel pens scattered across the coffee table. “Well. That’s all I had. Unless there was something you wanted to add?”
Right. There was something. She’d made a mental list. If she could just remember, stop getting distracted by— “Actually yes. I was thinking it would be a good idea if we set a termination date.”
Elle straightened from where she’d been hunched over the bags of craft supplies. “Sorry, a what?”
Darcy tugged at the hem of her skirt before primly crossing her legs at the ankles, knees slanted to the side. “A termination date, the day on which a contract ends and a deal expires. We should set one.”
Elle nodded. “When were you thinking?”
Darcy grabbed her phone off the table and several swipes later, she presented Elle with a screen showing her calendar. Her phone shook faintly in her hand, hopefully not enough for Elle to notice. “Today’s November fifth. Why don’t we keep it simple? December thirty-first?”
Elle resembled a bobblehead, nodding briskly and for too long. “Sure.”
“I know neither of us asked for this,” Darcy added. “I’m sure we’ll both be glad when we don’t have to keep pretending.”
God knew she would. This was all more involved than she’d anticipated. Getting to know Elle, being in close proximity with her. It was too much, made it hard for her to think, made her want things she had no business craving with Elle.
The new year couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter Seven
ELLE (7:15 P.M.): about this double date
ELLE (7:15 P.M.): your sister forgot to ask what we’re doing
ELLE (7:16 P.M.): so what’s the 411?
BRENDON (7:20 P.M.): You know the Seattle Underground? Entrance is in Pioneer Square?
ELLE (7:22 P.M.): i know of it yeah
BRENDON (7:24 P.M.): There’s an escape room. I thought it’d be fun. Race against time, you know?
BRENDON (7:25 P.M.): Then drinks? Trivia and drinks? Thoughts?
ELLE (7:27 P.M.): an escape room?!?
ELLE (7:27 P.M.): ive always wanted to do one!
ELLE (7:28 P.M.): and yes to trivia and drinks
BRENDON (7:30 P.M.): Sweet!
BRENDON (7:32 P.M.): Btw! Contracts are moving along on HR’s end. You should have a final draft in your inbox early next week.
ELLE (7:33 P.M.): yesssss
ELLE (7:34 P.M.): cant wait!
ELLE (7:35 P.M.): and thats perfect timing because mercury wont be retrograde yet
ELLE (7:35 P.M.): and youre not supposed to sign contracts during retrograde
BRENDON (7:36 P.M.): See, even the universe is jizzed about us working together.
BRENDON (7:37 P.M.): FML. Jazzed. Sorry.
ELLE (7:38 P.M.):
* * *
“Be honest. How do I look?” Elle gave a twirl, the hem of her dress flouncing against her thighs as she spun, ending with a spirited flourish of her fingers.
On the couch, legs tucked beneath her, Margot cocked her head, expression inscrutable. “Honest, you said?”
Elle dropped her arms and sighed. “You don’t like it.”
Margot sucked her lips between her teeth. “It’s not that I don’t like it, I do. You look like a punk rock Rainbow Brite.”
Huh. Margot’s comparison wasn’t off the mark. She’d paired her favorite navy dress from ModCloth, the one with the rainbow unicorn print, with the black rainbow patent Doc Martens she’d snagged on sale at Buffalo Exchange. Shoes that would hopefully be perfect for traipsing around in Seattle’s Underground. But, without a doubt, the most critical part of her outfit wasn’t the shoes, but instead was her comfortable undies. She was ready for whatever the universe hurled her way, including but not limited to chafing calamities.
Thirty minutes after waving good-bye to Margot, who again assured Elle she looked fine, she stepped inside the heated interior of the Underground’s tour office and spotted Darcy’s red hair over by the will call window. Right on time.
“Boo.” Elle poked Darcy in the side before leaning against the ticket counter.
Darcy’s throat jerked, her eyes dipping to take Elle in from head to toe. “Wow.”
Elle’s knees went weak so she decided to work with her body’s reaction rather than against it. Dipping at the knee, she gave a mock-curtsy, tugging at one side of the hem of her dress. “I’m choosing to interpret that as a compliment, Buttercup.”
Darcy wrinkled her nose. “Buttercup?”
“Baby? Sweetheart? My moon and stars?” The amount of pleasure Elle took in Darcy’s deepening look of disgust was second to none. “We forgot to think up pet names.”
“Let’s not.” Darcy thanked the attendant when they slid a stack of tickets beneath the plexiglass divider. “We’re trying to sell it to my brother, not make him think I’ve had a personality transplant.”
“Where is Brendon?” Elle craned her neck, searching the crowd for Brendon’s tall frame and mop of auburn hair.
“Se
arching for his date.” Darcy gestured to an empty bench against the wall beside the posted sign that said TOURS START HERE. “She thought we were meeting at the bar first.”
Elle followed as Darcy led the way across the room and tried not to stare. Darcy wore dark, high-waisted, figure-hugging jeans tucked into a pair of brown riding boots that made their height difference a little less disparate, and her green sweater brought out the honey-colored flecks in her eyes. Not that Elle cared about Darcy’s eyes or that the color she wore complemented them. It was a passing observation, that was all. The sky was blue. The grass was green. Darcy was beautiful. Universally acknowledged truths.
Darcy’s butt barely touched the bench before she stood back up. “There they are.” She pointed across the room to the doubled-doored entrance before quickly spinning back around to face Elle. The corners of her mouth puckered, her nostrils flaring delicately. “Okay, here’s the plan. If Brendon starts digging for details, let me do the talking.”
“That’s a terrible plan, baby.”
“It’s a great plan, and don’t call me baby.”
“I’m not going mute to make you happy. I’ll look like the one who’s had a personality transplant. Besides, we have a game plan. We discussed it. You don’t get to pick the game and make all the rules, Darcy.”
Elle had agreed to fake a relationship, but she refused to be anyone other than exactly who she was, not for her family, not for the people they set her up with, and definitely not for Darcy. If the idea of being coupled up with her was so objectionable that a few pet names got Darcy huffy, she should’ve thought twice before fibbing to her brother.
Darcy shot a quick glance over her shoulder and frowned. “Fine. Try not to oversell it and don’t offer up information unless Brendon asks.”
Before Elle could respond, Brendon spotted them through the crowd, waving and making his way over with a leggy brunette who was rocking the hell out of a pair of four-inch candy-apple red stilettos. Drool-worthy, but not exactly the right attire for heading underground.
“Hey, glad you could make it.” Brendon wrapped Darcy in a bear hug before giving Elle a quick, enthusiastic squeeze. “Guys, this is Cherry. Cherry, this is my sister, Darcy, and her girlfriend, Elle.”
Girlfriend, huh? Elle glanced at Darcy. She looked like she was about to argue but thought better of it, instead reaching out and resting a slightly stiff hand against the small of Elle’s back. Elle leaned into the touch and aimed a dazzling smile up at Darcy. That wasn’t so hard, was it?
“It’s nice to meet you.” Cherry nodded, slipping her fingers around Brendon’s elbow. “Cute dress.”
“Thanks.” Elle tugged at the skirt. “It has pockets.”
A man with a thick handlebar mustache approached. “Lowell party of four for the escape room?”
Brendon stepped forward and patted his pockets. “Yeah, I’ve got the tickets—wait.”
“I have them. You asked me to pick them up from will call, remember?” Darcy passed them to the man whose nametag read Jim. He gave the stack a cursory glance before tucking them away inside the inner pocket of his blazer. “Follow me and mind the stairs.” He sighed heavily, mustache twitching when he caught sight of Cherry’s heels. “Terrain gets a touch uneven.”
Down a rickety set of wooden stairs, the man led them into a hall, lit by several flickering incandescent bulbs. The air was cool and damp and a little musty, earthy even. Moss—or maybe that was mildew—grew on the gray brick walls, concentrated around the grout lines. Somewhere, a pipe was leaking, the steady drip, drip lending to the overall vibe of abandoned decay.
“Ever been to the Underground before?” Jim asked.
Everyone shook their heads.
“Quick bit of history before I give you the backstory for your one-of-a-kind escape room experience. In 1889, thirty-one blocks were destroyed in the Great Seattle Fire. The buildings were rebuilt and the streets were regraded a couple stories higher than what was previously street level, a strategic decision to prevent flooding from Elliott Bay.”
Jim gestured around them to where the hall branched to the left and right. “Seattle Underground, as we now know it, is a network of passageways that existed at ground level prior to the regrade. For a time, pedestrians and business owners continued to use these underground sidewalks, but that all changed in 1907 when the city condemned the Underground out of fear of the bubonic plague. As a result, portions of the Underground were left to deteriorate. Opium dens, speakeasies, gambling halls, brothels, and doss houses cropped up, operating in the literal shadows of society, right beneath everyone’s feet.”
If the walls down here could talk, she could only imagine the sorts of seedy, scary stories they’d tell.
“Which brings us to your escape room.” Jim set off down the hall to the left at a quick clip, waving for them to follow. When Cherry stumbled on a loose cobblestone, Darcy rolled her eyes.
“Is there a theme? Or are we just trapped in the Underground trying to escape?” Elle asked.
Jim smoothed his mustache with a finger. “Is there a theme? she asks.” He stopped in front of a nondescript door, wooden and without windows or special markings. “The year is 1908. Each of you were unfortunate enough to lose family during the reconstruction that followed the Great Fire, prompting you to seek closure by communing with your loved ones via a séance.”
Ever the skeptic, Darcy snorted.
Elle couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tease. “Psst. Your Capricorn is showing.”
“Shh.” Darcy’s cheeks turned pink in the dim, flickering light of the Underground. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“You’re cute when you blush,” Elle blurted.
Brendon grinned, looking awfully smug as he rocked back on his heels. Darcy simply stared, blush deepening to the point where her freckles disappeared.
The room was cool and drafty but still, Elle’s whole body flushed at her failed brain-to-mouth filter.
Jim continued his spiel, “You were referred to a spiritualist by the name of Madame LeFeaux who operates out of one of the illustrious gambling halls in Seattle’s Underground. Under the cover of dark, you convene. Madame LeFeaux begins to conduct the séance, and a foreboding chill settles over the already cool space, an impossible breeze blowing through the enclosed room extinguishing the lights. Someone shrieks.” Jim’s pale blue eyes bounced between the three women. Elle narrowed her eyes at the assumption.
“Me.” Brendon pointed at his chest. “I’d totally scream.”
Darcy smiled fondly at her brother.
“Out of nowhere, the lights return. You blink, eyes readjusting, and note that Madame LeFeaux is missing.”
“Perhaps because she was a con artist,” Darcy muttered. Such a skeptic.
“You’re trapped inside the séance room and the spirits Madame LeFeaux called upon are angry to have been disturbed. You’ll have one hour to find the key that opens the door—the proper door—that will lead you out of the Underground and to safety. But be careful—there are other doors. Choose wisely, or you won’t reach the street, but instead one of the dangerous, illegally run gambling halls. And if you don’t escape within an hour?” Jim arched a bushy white brow and let the question hang for a moment, building the suspense. He turned the knob on the door and ushered them inside. “You’ll be at the mercy of the spirits who grow stronger by the second.”
Inside the simple, stone-walled room was a large round table covered in a floor-length tablecloth. A crystal ball sat atop its surface. Several chairs were overturned, further setting the scene. Against one of the walls rested a mirror, sturdy and with an ornately carved wood frame.
“Remember.” Jim paused dramatically. This was so campy it hurt. Elle loved it. “Whether you’re a skeptic or a believer, there’s more than smoke and mirrors at play. Good luck, and your time starts . . . now.”
Jim shut the door, locking them inside.
For a moment, they were silent, soaking in their surrounding
s. The room was austere, all stone and hard surfaces, and yet, starting was a little overwhelming. Especially with the giant red timer mounted to the wall, counting down the seconds, reminding them what was at stake even if it wasn’t real.
“So.” Brendon rocked back on his heels, neck craning to survey the ceiling. “Anyone have any idea where to start?”
Darcy pointed at the table where the crystal ball sat on a three-legged pewter stand. “There.”
Not a bad idea.
There was nothing special about the crystal ball, nothing Elle could see at least. Nothing other than the fact that it wasn’t perfectly smooth, was more of a nonagon than a sphere, and its stand was glued to the tablecloth. The tablecloth was unadorned and glued to the center of the table, too. Lifting its edges revealed nothing but a smooth, wooden surface. Huffing softly, Elle dropped to her knees.
“What are you doing?” Darcy demanded, stepping closer.
“Call it a hunch.” Elle peeked up at Darcy from beneath her lashes.
“I think Elle has the right idea. You two go low, and Cherry and I’ll search high, yeah?”
Darcy set her purse on the floor beside the door before dropping to her knees beside Elle. She lowered her voice, “What was that about?”
“What was what about?”
“I look cute when I blush?” Darcy narrowed her eyes.
“Well, it’s the truth,” Elle admitted, sweeping the floor with her hands.
Darcy scoffed dismissively, effectively brushing aside Elle’s compliment and making her feel like a complete and total fool for bothering to be nice.
Written in the Stars Page 9