SCARLETT
Ethan texted again on Saturday.
*There's an art exhibition downtown. You seem like someone who'd have strong opinions about art. Come with me.*
I read it twice. Then a third time. It was a good text, confident without being pushy, which was apparently his reset after the library incident. I appreciated the effort.
I typed back: *What kind of art?*
*The pretentious kind. Overpriced paintings with names like "Void No. 7." Very dramatic.*
I laughed out loud, actually laughed, the sound surprising me in the quiet of my room.
*Fine. When?*
*Sunday. 2PM. I'll pick you up.*
I stared at the last line. He'd pick me up. From the mansion. Where Simon lived.
I typed back: *I'll meet you there.*
Sunday arrived grey and mild. I wore a rust colored wrap dress and gold earrings and tol
