If You Could See the Sun (52)

“From who?” I say, confused. The whole point of Beijing Ghost is that I’m meant to operate alone: undetected, unseen.

He raises his brows. Waits.

“What, you?” I say it like a joke, but his expression remains completely serious.

“Why not?” He holds up the pen he’s been spinning. “Exams are over. We’ve both got some extra time on our hands. And I go to The Place all the time. I could be of some help.”

“But. But if someone sees you—”

“We can go there early,” he says readily, shrugging. “I’ll show you around a bit, then head back on my own when you find her.”

“But you—I just—”

The pen stills in his grip. He cocks his head a few degrees, his gaze steady on me, sharp and assessing and intensely black beneath the classroom lights. “What?”

And I don’t know what. Only that the idea of meeting him alone outside school at night makes my stomach dip as though I’ve just tumbled from a great height. I mean, sure, we’ve been walking to class together and I’ve even been inside his dorm room, but this...with only the two of us...this is—

“I won’t be able to focus with you there,” I blurt out, then realize exactly how that sounds.

His lips twitch. It’s the same half-suppressed smile he wears when he’s making his grand closing statement in a debate tournament, or when he knows the answer to a particularly hard question in class, or when he’s making an impressive business pitch. It’s the smile he wears when he’s about to get what he wants. “Are you saying you find my presence distracting, Alice?”

“N-no. That’s not at all what I...” I clear my throat just as the bell rings, drowning out the rest of my half-formed protests. When the loud buzzing finally stops, Henry speaks up before I can.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night then.” For some reason, he sounds weirdly excited.



* * *



The Place looks like something straight out of a movie. The high-budget kind.

It’s an absolute behemoth of a road, with multilevel luxury brand stores and futuristic, glow-in-the-dark signs and rooftop restaurants crowded together along the sides, and a massive outdoor screen stretching from one end of the road all the way to the other, blocking out the hazy evening sky above it.

A clip of a dragon swimming through pools of gold is playing on the overhead screen when Henry and I step out from his driver’s car. The light is so bright it casts a golden sheen over everything, from the smooth pavement tiles to the rich midnight fabric of Henry’s button-down coat and the knife-edged angles of his face.

He’s dressed even better than usual today; his hair is all soft and freshly combed and falling just above his eyes, and he has on a crisp white shirt underneath, the collar strategically undone, the sleeves peeking out every time he moves his arms around. Maybe he’s heading off to a big event after this. A tech convention or something.

Then again, everyone here looks awfully stylish. Half the girls we pass on our way down the road could very well be models, with their velvet thigh-high boots and designer belts and bouncy, curled hair.

I run a self-conscious hand over my own plain shirt and leggings, then shake the thought away.

I’m not here to walk a runway; I’m here to complete a task and get my money.

Besides, if all goes according to plan, I’ll be invisible soon anyway.

“So. Where do you want to go?” Henry asks, his steps falling in line with mine. Our shoulders are just close enough to touch, which, I realize, isn’t something I should be noticing.

I shoot him a strange look. “Wherever Vanessa is. Where else would we go?”

“We could grab dinner first... Maybe walk around a bit—”

“And possibly miss out on our target?” My voice rises an octave with incredulity. Henry’s always been annoyingly cavalier about all the Beijing Ghost tasks, but even for him, this seems a frivolous suggestion. “Or risk bumping into her before we gather our evidence? All for a—a meal? I don’t think so. Plus, I ate a granola bar before coming here. I’m good.”

He makes a small, exasperated noise with the back of his throat. Stops walking so abruptly I almost trip. “Alice.”

“What?”

But whatever he’s about to say is lost to the swell of orchestral music in the background. The screen above us flickers, and the brilliant wash of gold light is replaced by vivid hues of red and pink. Projected roses bloom over the giant screen’s corners, magnified to the size of the outdoor dining table we’ve stopped beside, and images start flashing over the center.

Couple selfies. Shots of a pretty girl in her late twenties clearly taken by someone who knows her on an intimate level: pictures of her posing at a beach, smiling from the opposite end of a dinner table, hugging a cat and teddy bear in the comfort of her kitchen.

Then snippets of text pop up on the screen as well, written in pretty, enlarged italics.

You’re beautiful...

I’ve loved you ever since

we met in high school...

Gasps and cheers arise from the many onlookers around us as they realize the same thing I do—

It’s a proposal.

“This seems very unnecessary,” I mutter as I scan the rapidly gathering crowd. People are running—actually running—to some distant spot outside a Guess store, where I can vaguely make out the shape of a man bending down on one knee. As cheesy as the proposal is, if Vanessa happens to already be here, she seems like the type who’d join the crowd. Maybe I could spot her from here, and follow her...