He uncorked a bottle of chardonnay with an expensive-looking label before pouring himself a glass, and she was so jealous watching him take his first sip, she relented. What could one glass hurt? She didn’t have any alcohol in the guesthouse—and that had been intentional. There’d been no alcohol in her house growing up, and she hadn’t gotten into it very much since, but she didn’t want to face the temptation to self-medicate. “Actually, I’ll have a little.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You won’t think I have a problem with alcohol if I have one glass, will you? That isn’t part of the test?”

He chuckled. “Relax. I’m the last person you have to worry about.”

“Then, why am I here?” she grumbled.

He handed her a glass. “I guess I feel it’s my responsibility to make sure you’re okay, seeing as I’m the only one who has any contact with you.”

“How do you know there aren’t others?”

He seemed hopeful when he said, “Are there?”

Not really. She’d spent the past month ignoring her friends and fighting with her family. But it was none of his business. And she would’ve told him so—except, if she couldn’t make this situation work, her alternatives were even less attractive. You can do this, she reminded herself. Just play your role. “Of course.”

“Can you prove it?”

She took a sip of wine. “How?”

He held out his hand. “Show me at least one text exchange in the past twenty-four hours with a friend or family member that proves someone is keeping track of you.”

She blinked at him. Oh, my god, he’s serious. “I would, but I don’t have my phone with me.” She was relieved to be able to say that. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her latest exchange with her mother.

Fortunately, she really didn’t have her phone. Before the accident, she’d been tethered to technology just like everyone else. Now she rarely even bothered to look at it. Not only was she afraid to hear from those she loved, the internet was anathema to her. She was afraid she’d see something about herself, or even the movie, and fall apart.

“And you expect me to believe that’s normal behavior for you?” he asked.

“Why not? Not everyone carries their phone when they’re going next door to dinner. It’s polite to leave it behind.”

“And I’m sure that’s why you did it,” he said facetiously.

“You don’t believe me?” She could tell he didn’t.

He leaned in, studying her face.

Instantly self-conscious, she took a step back. “What are you doing?”

“Is there some...medical reason you have to wear those bandages?” he asked.

She lifted her hand to make sure they were still sticking to her cheek. “No. Why?”