Ana shakes her head. “It was too easy.”

I let out a breath. “It was. But…”

But I don’t want to think about that right now.

I reach across the table and settle my hand on Ana’s. She looks up at me, one copper eyebrow arched.

“But we’re alive,” I continue. “Rosalita is alive. And for one night…” My thumb strokes across the ridge of Ana’s knuckles, committing each bump, each divot, to memory. “I would like for that to be enough.”

My thigh inches across the bench, closer and closer to her.

“What are you doing?” Ana asks, though she must know damn well what I’m doing.

The corners of my lips twitch with a repressed grin. “Something I’ve wanted to do for a very long time.”

I lean over the table and, with the entire tavern as my witness, I kiss her.

Distantly, I’m aware of someone shouting. Applause. But none of that matters. All that matters is that I am here and so is she. That this is not my father’s house. That there are no ghosts to haunt me here. That I am with her. And I am not ashamed. I am alive. More alive than I have ever been.

And for today, that will have to be enough.

I am very good at pretending I know what I’m doing. Feigning confidence is a skill I have mastered with the proficiency of a virtuoso. No one does it better than me.

But for all my skill, pretending to know what I am doing does not actually help me when it comes to the actual doing of a thing.

Then, the artifice is stripped away and all that is left is my own ignorance.

This is the thought that plagues me as I climb the stairs, Ana’s hand warm in mine and just a tiny bit clammy. Perhaps she’s as nervous as I am. Perhaps she also has no idea what she’s doing. Hard to believe considering she grew up in a brothel but stranger things have happened I suppose.

The toe of my boot catches on the top stair, and I stumble. Ana’s hand keeps me from pitching forward onto my face. She yanks me upright. My heart hammers in my chest with the force of a war drum.

This was a mistake. An error in judgment. You don’t know what you’re doing. You can’t fake it. Turn around. Claim a cramp. Anything. Save yourself.

“You all right, Kiki?” Ana asks. A small crease forms between her brows as she looks at me, puzzled. Her hair is tied hastily away from her face and somehow, that makes her even more charming to me. My hands automatically go up to adjust the slightly off-kilter angle of her hat. It must have slipped when I fell, making her lurch along after me.