"You are G.K. You wrote the bio."
He looked to me for verification, but I could not speak, would not utter the clever acknowledgment about to spring from my lips. I was too scared.
After my earlier tragedies, I feared saying the wrong thing.
Eventually, confused by my silence, he inquired haltingly, "Are you a writer? It is really good."
"No."
"Ah." A few moments passed in cool stillness. "Well. I guess some people compose the stories, and others live them."
That chime like a dig of sorts, but I bit my lip on any reaction, still playing my new ice bitch role, needing to defuse the earlier trifling.
Warren, not comprehending the tension between Gabriel and me, still felt it and tried to allay it. "Katharina's one of your greatest fans. She was completely ecstatic when she found out you were coming here."
"Yeah," added Wilson wickedly. "She is practically a slave to your books. Ask her how many times she has read The Glasgow Pact."
I shot him a murderous look, but Gabriel's interest focused back on me, genuinely curious. He is trying to bring back our earlier camaraderie, I recognized sadly. I could not let that happen now.
"How many?"
I gulped, not wanting to answer, but the weight of all those eyes grew too big. "None. I have not finished it yet." Practiced poise enabled me to utter those words calmly and confidently, hiding my distress.
Gabriel looked shocked. So did everyone else; they all stared at me, rightfully flabbergasted. Only Wilson knew the joke.
"None?" asked Micke with a frown. "Has not it been out for over a month now?"
Wilson, the bastard, smirked. "Tell them the rest. Tell them how much you read a day."
I hoped then that the floor would open up and swallow me whole, so I could flee this nightmare.
As if coming off as an arrogant strumpet in front of Gabriel Loftbrok was not bad enough, Wilson was now doubting me into confessing my absurd habit.
"Five," I finally said. "I only browse five pages a day." "Why?" asked Warren. She had never heard
this story.
I could feel my cheeks veering red. Warren and Micke gazed at me like I was from a different planet while Gabriel simply proceeded to remain silent and look thoughtfully diverted. I took a deep breath and spoke in a rush: "Because...., because it is so good, and because there is only one chance to read a book for the first time, and I want it to last.
That experience. I had finish it in a day otherwise, and that had be like…like eating a carton of ice cream in one sitting. Too much richness over too quickly. This way, I can draw it out. Make the book last longer. Savor it. I have to since they do not come out that often."
I quickly shut up, realizing I had just abused Gabriel's writing prowess…again. He made no reaction to my comment, and I could not decipher the mood on his face. Considering, perhaps.
Once again, I silently pleaded the floor to consume me and save me from this embarrassment. It obstinately refused.
Wilson chuckled reassuringly at me. He found my habit cute. Warren, who seemingly did not, looked as though she shared my wish that I be somewhere else.
She cleared her throat politely and started an entirely a new line of conversation. After that, I barely paid attention to what anybody said. All
I knew was that Gabriel Loftbrok presumably thought I was a difficult nutcase, and I could not wait for this night to end.
"…Collins would do it."
The sound of my name pulled me back around several minutes later.
"What?" I turned to Wilson, the speaker. "Would not you?" he repeated. "Would not I what?"
"Show Gabriel around the city tomorrow." Wilson spoke patiently, as if to a child. "Get him informed with the area."
"My brother's too busy," explained Gabriel.
What did his brother have to do with anything? And why did he desire to get acquainted with the area?
I hesitated, unwilling to admit I had spaced out just now while wallowing in self-pity.
"I…"
"If you do not want to…" began Gabriel hesitantly.
"Of course she does." Wilson shoved me. "Come on. Climb out of your hole."
We traded smartass looks, worthy of Jake and Scholes. "Yeah, fine. Whatever."
We organized the logistics of me meeting Gabriel, and I wondered what I had gotten myself into. I no longer needed to stand out. In fact, I would have liked if he could have just stained me from his mind forever.
Hanging out as we visited Seattle tomorrow did not seem like the best way to make that happen. If anything, it would presumably only result in more stupid behavior on my part.
Conversation finally faded. As we were about to scatter, I suddenly realized something. "Oh. Hey. Mr. Loftbrok. Gabriel."
He turned toward me. "Yeah?"
I frantically tried to say something that would loosen the tangled mess of mixed signals and disgrace he and I had stumbled into. Unfortunately, the only things that occurred
to mind were: Where do you get your ideas from? and Are Cady and Jerald ever going to get closer? Ignoring such absurdity, I simply shoved my book over to him.
"Can you sign this?"
He took it. "Uh, sure." A pause. "I wiill bring it back tomorrow."
Deprive me of my book for the night? Have I not I suffered enough?
"Can't you just get it signed now?"
He shrugged haplessly, as though the issue were out of his control. "I cannot think of anything to write."
"Just sign your name."
"I will bring it back tomorrow," he recited, walking away with my copy of The Glasgow Pact like I had not even said anything. Astonished, I seriously considered running over and beating him up for it, but Micke unexpectedly tugged on my arm.
"Katharina," he said pleasantly as I looked desperately at my retreating book, "we still need to talk about that matter in my office."
No. No way. I definitely was not putting out after this rout of an evening. Turning slowly toward him, I shook my head. "I told you, I cannot."
"Yeah, I know already. Your imaginary date." "It is not imaginary. It is.."
My eyes desperately scanned for escape as I spoke. While no magical portals emerged in the cookbook section, I suddenly shut gazes with a guy browsing our foreign language books.
He giggled curiously at my attention, and in a flash, I made a ballsy choice.
" with him. It is with him."
I flapped my hand at the strange guy and beckoned him over. He seemed understandably stunned, setting his book down and stepping toward us.
When he reached, I slung my arm around him familiarly, giving him a look that had been known to bring monarchs to their knees.
"Are you prepared to go?"