Page 8 of Set Play

And if Henri knows, he is going to be so pissed at me.

My eyes fall down to my coffee cup, still raised halfway to my mouth but now trembling.

Merde. Get it together, Élise. Henri has been mad at you before, and you’ve been fine. You’re also assuming he knows. He didn’t say anything during our call the other night, so maybe he doesn’t know.

My mouth opens, closes, and opens again, doing an excellent impression of a beached fish, as I try to find the words to answer my best friend.

Finally, I manage to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth, only to stumble over my reply, “I-I d-did…I didn’t have a date with Reyes, Niamh. Where the hell did you hear that?”

I try to sound nonchalant, but panic laces every word. I know the answer, but I need confirmation, and maybe a tiny part of me hopes I’m wrong.

Please don’t say it. Please don’t say it.

She shrugs like this is an average Sunday breakfast chat and not one that has the ability to flip my life upside down. “Someone at the bar recognized him, took a picture, and uploaded it to social media. Apparently, it’s gone viral.”

At least her damn banshee screech is gone.

“How could you not…” Niamh trails off before she finishes her question, but I cringe anyway.

How could I not have seen them? That’s what she was going to ask.

I know my lack of social media is odd. Most people in their mid-to-late twenties live on it, but my mental health can’t take it.

Social media and I have always had a parasitic relationship, with me stuck in the role of host.

When I was younger, things weren’t too bad, just an occasional rude comment from a mean girl at school. But then I got injured, which made it impossible for me to participate in any sport for several months and led to me quitting all the teams.

The people I thought were my friends turned on me, in person and online. The only one who stuck by my side through it all was Henri. Things got so bad that I deleted all of my social media accounts, Maman and Papa pulled me from school, and they enrolled me in private home schooling.

I never made new accounts.

“Sorry, Él,” she whispers, reaching over the table to grip my hand and offer me a small smile of comfort.

I return the gesture, knowing that she needs reassurance that I am not angry with her. Cautiously searching my eyes for any sign of distress, Niamh continues, “Anyway, whoever posted it tagged him and now everyone is freaking out because he never dates. I mean, it’s Mateo Reyes, Éllie!”

And we’re back to screeching.

“Mateo. Fecking. Reyes. The guy is like a perpetual bachelor, and ye bagged him. Are ye coddin’ me?1”

Shaking my head, I have to bite back a smile at the odd idiom. She continues her rant, declaring that I should have told her and as my best friend it’s her right to know these kinds of things.

“Niamh.” I try to interject, but she steamrolls the interruption.

“Uh, Niamh?” I try to catch her eye this time but fail again.

After a third failed attempt, my exasperation boils over. “Niamh!”

She falls silent as my voice echoes through the kitchen, causing us both to wince. “Merde. Désolée pour ça,2” I apologize softly, before explaining everything. “I didn’t bag Mateo.”

She opens her mouth, probably to bring up the pictures again, but this time, I steamroll her interruption. “I can only imagine how things looked in the pictures, but I swear, it wasn’t a date. Some jackass who thought he walked out of a western romance wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer and got a bit handsy.”

She inhales sharply, fury rising to the surface of her face, and I hurry to finish the abbreviated version of the story before she launches into another tirade. “I told him my boyfriend was waiting for me, but he still chose to not respect that. I tried to step away from him, and that’s when I unfortunately ran into Reyes. Literally. He must have overheard everything because he played along. That’s it.”

Both the excitement and fury in her eyes dim as I wrap up my story. When she speaks again, it’s at a socially acceptable volume, her voice still carrying its usual lyrical cadence.

“Remind me, why is it unfortunate that you ran into Mateo Reyes? You know I don’t date, but I wouldn’t mind him helping me out if I had been in your shoes.” She lifts her own mug, suggestively raising her eyebrows as she blows on her herbal tea.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at her and sigh. She knows what happened; she saw it first-hand. Niamh has been my friend the entirety of Henri’s rivalry with Mateo.