Page 131 of Playing Her Game

The house has that familiar nighttime warmth to it. Floorboards creak occasionally, someone laughs, and the low murmur of conversation drifts up through the stairwell. I roll onto my side, intending to ignore it.

Then I hear Sofie's voice. “That's what Aleks told me.”

I open my eyes.

I can't make out everything they're saying, but the conversation seems to have settled around me. I should probably feel embarrassed about that. Instead, I'm too tired to do much more than lie still and listen.

“He said she told them she's in love with him,” Sofie continues.

“Oh, Anna,” someone says, sounding delighted.

I pull the covers higher over my shoulder. Wonderful. I'm a topic of conversation.

At least, from what I can hear, no one is discussing my parents. That would be worse. Much worse. I have no desire to explain any of that tonight, or to hear my life dissected over a cup of tea while I'm upstairs pretending to sleep.

I am profoundly grateful to Aleks for keeping his mouth shut about that part.

“Did she really say that?” another voice asks.

“She did,” Sofie says. “And apparently she's going to tell him.”

A pause follows, then a burst of laughter.

I close my eyes.

I knew coming here would mean dealing with the Hen House. I love them. I do. But sometimes I wonder whether any of them have ever considered minding their own business for five consecutive minutes. Not going to lie, I love that too, though.

Then Noelle speaks. “Told you she was with him in Chicago.”

Silence. Then several women start talking at once.

I open my eyes again. They knew. Of course they knew.

I stare at the ceiling, letting that settle over me. I hadn't thought I'd been particularly obvious. I'd thought I'd kept things to myself, that I'd managed to hold on to a little privacy while I worked out what Rez meant to me.

Apparently, I had fooled absolutely no one. I press my face into the pillow to smother a laugh.

The conversation downstairs moves on, although I catch the occasional mention of Rez's name. I can't quite make out the rest, and I don't try very hard. Exhaustion is winning, my bed is warm, and the people downstairs are my people, even when they're too interested in my love life.

Let them talk. They can have their theories. They can congratulate themselves on being right.

Tomorrow, I have a birthday to enjoy. And the day after that, I have a man to surprise.

Iwake to someone whispering my name. “Aunt Anna.”

I pull the covers over my head.

“Aunt Anna.”

“No.”

A giggle. “Aunt Anna, it's your birthday.”

“I know.”

“Then wake up.”

“That's not how birthdays work. A girl gets to sleep in.”