Jenna Black - Replica

Whatever the reason, Nadia was Mr. Guthrie’s sole pupil—unless you counted Dante, who was openly listening now that Jewel wasn’t around to harass him about it.

No matter how much Nadia usually enjoyed Mr. Guthrie’s lectures, this time she could barely focus enough to keep up with him. She found herself constantly watching Dante out of the corner of her eye, searching for any clue to who he really was, what he really wanted. Trying to discern whether he was a danger to her, a possible ally, or just a coincidental bystander. Once or twice, Dante caught her looking, and Nadia hastily glanced away.

When the class was over, Nadia doubted she could have repeated back a single thing from the lesson. She chatted amiably with Mr. Guthrie as the teacher packed up his things. If she was going to confront Dante about the note, now was by far the best time to do it, so, as Mr. Guthrie made his way out, Nadia drifted over to the refreshments table, where Dante was clearing away the untouched plates of sandwiches and pastries. She fixed herself a nerve-soothing cup of tea as he carried the plates away. Then, when he returned, she pointedly made eye contact.

The wariness that crept into Dante’s expression the moment she met his eyes put her on alert. True, she didn’t make a habit of initiating conversation, but something about the way he was looking at her made her think he knew exactly why she had stayed behind.

Dante averted his eyes and reached for the coffee urn.

“I want to talk to you,” Nadia said, though she was sure he’d already guessed that much.

Dante hesitated a moment as if in surprise, then shrugged and picked up the urn. “So talk,” he said, turning his back on her and carrying the urn toward the dumbwaiter at the far end of the room.

Nadia shook her head at him as she followed on his heels. “You’re the world’s worst imitation servant,” she told his back, and was rewarded by a faltering of his footsteps.

He recovered quickly, resuming his march toward the dumbwaiter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He wasn’t the world’s greatest spy, either, Nadia decided. Shouldn’t a professional spy be able to lie more convincingly than that? Then again, he didn’t look to be any older than Nate, and he couldn’t have had a lot of on-the-job experience. Perhaps Mosely had set him on her as some sort of a training mission. If so, he’d need a lot more training before he’d be ready for the real thing.

“Why don’t you make things easier for both of us by dropping the charade?” she suggested. He kept his face averted as he thumped the coffee urn onto the dumbwaiter, but she could see the flush of red creeping up his neck. Whether the flush was embarrassment or anger, she couldn’t tell.

“Drop what charade?” he asked, turning his back on her again and striding toward the refreshments table.

He moved fast enough that if she’d tried to turn and follow at the same speed, she’d have spilled her tea. “You know, a real servant wouldn’t turn his back on his employer and walk away when she’s trying to talk to him.”

He stopped in his tracks, his broad shoulders tight with tension. He risked a look at her, and there was an expression she couldn’t quite interpret in his eyes. Anger, maybe, though she thought it was more complicated than that.

“You’re not my employer,” he said. “Your father is. And I have a lot of work to do.”

Nadia had known who Dante’s true employer was since before she’d ever laid eyes on him, and it wasn’t her father. Perhaps she would get him in trouble by revealing she knew the truth about him, but there was too much at stake for her to continue being so cautious. She put the cup of tea down, no longer interested in it.

“You work for Dirk Mosely,” she countered, unable to keep the distaste out of her voice. He seemed remarkably likable for someone who worked for Mosely, but then maybe he was better at acting than she gave him credit for. “You’re here to spy on me, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t know it.” Not that her pretense had been any more convincing than his had been.

Nadia could practically see the denial on the tip of Dante’s tongue as he once again met her eyes, this time with a definite hint of belligerence in his expression. But both the belligerence and the denial faded away as his shoulders slumped. Maybe he realized that nothing he said would convince her, or maybe he was as tired of pretending as she was.

“If you’re so sure you’re right, then what is it you want to talk about?” He sounded weary, almost defeated, and she wondered what Mosely would do if he found out Dante’s cover was blown. A reasonable man would understand that Dante’s cover had been ridiculously thin to start with and wouldn’t blame him for being discovered, but Mosely was not a reasonable man.

“I’m not going to tell on you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she reassured him.

He gave her a wry little smile. “You mean you’re not going to call your good friend Dirk and demand I be removed from your home immediately?”

Okay, maybe that hadn’t been what he’d been worried about. She matched his smile and his dry tone. “Much as I love chatting with him, no, I’m not.”

Some of the tension eased out of his shoulders, and he came closer to her, no longer looking like he was on the verge of fleeing. The look in his green-flecked eyes softened in sympathy.

“He hurt you yesterday, didn’t he?” Dante asked.

Nadia reflexively put her hand to her middle, where Mosely had hit her. The pain had been sudden and shocking, and the ugly threats that had come with it had haunted Nadia’s sleep. “I thought I hid it better than that,” she said, her knees suddenly feeling weak. She headed toward the conference table, grabbing a chair and turning it around to face Dante as she sat down.

Dispensing with the servant act completely, Dante pulled out another chair for himself and sat. “You’re much better at acting than I am,” he assured her. “It’s just that I know how he operates.”

“You were very nice to me afterward,” she said. She remembered the kindness in his eyes when he’d found her, still reeling from Mosely’s visit, and she remembered how he’d made her a cup of tea without being asked. “Was that all part of the act? Mosely being the bad cop and you being the good one?”

Dante raised an eyebrow. “Did I ask you any questions?”

No, he hadn’t. Hadn’t shown any sign that he was trying to take advantage of the weakened state Mosely had left her in. “Guess you’re as bad at being a spy as you are at being a servant.”

She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, but Dante didn’t take offense. Instead, he smiled, the first full, genuine smile she’d ever seen on him. The smile brought out dimples, which in combination with the freckles over the bridge of his nose might have made him look cute if he weren’t so physically imposing.

He really was nice to look at. Not as polished and traditionally handsome as Nate, of course, but he was more rough-hewn and rugged. Certainly not the kind of boy an Executive girl should be attracted to, but maybe that in and of itself was part of his appeal.

“I’m still a beginner,” he said, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Give me a couple years, and I’ll have earned my cloak and dagger.”

She shook her head at him, realizing that he’d been putting on more of an act than she’d originally thought. Now that he’d decided to stop pretending to be a servant, his whole demeanor had changed. Even his body language was different, loose and completely relaxed. She’d seen hints of this side of him before—most noticeably when she was verbally sparring with Jewel and he was trying not to laugh—but even if he hadn’t quite mastered the demeanor of a servant, he had certainly managed to make himself considerably more stiff and formal.