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CHAPTER 6
publish date:
2026-06-22 12:24:29The Public Experiment
"A street fair, Avery? In Queens?" Vivian stood in the center of the living room, looking down at her outfit with profound distress. Avery had explicitly forbidden a suit, so Vivian had compromised with a crisp, tailored white linen button-down and unblemished designer sneakers. She looked like she belonged on a yacht in Monaco, not standing on melting New York asphalt in July. "It’s a night market," Avery corrected cheerfully, adjusting her faded denim jacket. She grabbed Vivian’s hand, intentionally weaving their fingers together. Vivian’s hand went rigid, her skin cool, before her fingers slowly, reluctantly tightened around Avery's. "And yes, Queens," Avery added. "Deo has stringers tracking your car's GPS. My source says a freelance photographer is already waiting near the noodle stalls. If we want people to believe we are blissfully, chaotically in love, we have to go where the board thinks you'd never be caught dead." "We look ridiculous," Vivian murmured, but she didn’t drop Avery's hand as they stepped out of the air-conditioned car and directly into a wall of oppressive humidity, neon glare, and the thick scent of sizzling garlic and fried dough. The market was packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Avery led the way, aggressively cutting through the crowd and dragging Vivian behind her. She could feel the intense focus of Vivian’s gaze on the back of her head. Every time a passerby bumped into them, Vivian instinctively closed the distance, her chest pressing against Avery’s shoulder blade, shielding her from the swarm. "There," Avery whispered, nodding toward a man with a heavy camera strap tucked loosely under his jacket near a smoke-filled skewer stall. "That's Deo’s guy. Look happy, Thorne." "I don't know how to look 'chaotically in love' while being asphyxiated by charcoal smoke," Vivian hissed. "Then let me do the work." Avery turned sharply, backing Vivian up against a colorful booth selling over-the-top street desserts. She planted both hands on the wooden counter, trapping Vivian between her arms. "Two spicy cumin lamb skewers and a giant, double-dipped chocolate strawberry stick, please." When the food arrived, Avery didn't ask for a napkin. Instead, she took a massive bite of the chocolate-covered fruit. A rogue droplet of dark chocolate immediately threatened to ruin the pristine white of Vivian’s shirt. "Avery, your structural integrity is failing," Vivian warned, her eyes darting to the melting sweet. "Fix it then," Avery challenged, leaning in close. Vivian’s breath hitched. Her gaze dropped to Avery’s lips, where a tiny smudge of chocolate sat right at the corner. Out of the corner of her eye, Avery saw the photographer raise his lens. Vivian didn't reach for a tissue. Her emerald eyes darkened with a sudden, competitive spark that made Avery’s heart do a violent flip. Slowly, deliberately, Vivian reached up. Her thumb brushed against the sensitive skin of Avery's lower lip, wiping the chocolate away with a heavy, lingering pressure that sent a jolt straight down Avery's spine. Instead of cleaning her hand on a napkin, Vivian kept her eyes locked on Avery's, completely holding her captive. The intimacy of the gesture was staggering. It wasn’t corporate acting. It was pure, unadulterated friction. "Is that authentic enough for your camera friend?" Vivian murmured, her voice a low, gravelly vibration. Avery swallowed hard, her bravado suddenly evaporating into the humid night air. She cleared her throat, her chest heaving slightly as she stared at her wife. "Yeah. Yeah, that'll do." "Good," Vivian said. A tiny, triumphant smirk ghosted across her lips as she took one of the spicy lamb skewers from the tray. "Because if I am going to risk a three-thousand-dollar shirt for a corporate counter-offensive, I at least expect to enjoy the food." As they walked away, their shoulders firmly glued together against the crowd, Avery realized a terrifying truth: she had set a trap for Vivian, but she was the one currently caught in it.
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The adrenaline from the midnight stand-off did not dissipate when the tail lights of the county trucks vanished down the river road. Inside the pavilion wing, the air remained thick with the trace of tracking diesel exhaust, wet wool, and the faint, unsettling ghost of Gemma’s jasmine perfume. Vivian stood by the glass terrace sliders, her shoulder muscles taut beneath her soaked sweater as her eyes continued to scan the pitch-black perimeter of the orchard. Avery walked out from the pantry block, carrying a dry flannel shirt and a clean wool blanket. Her face was pale beneath the grease smudges, the exhaustion finally catching up to her jawline. She didn't say a word as she dropped the wet canvas bag by the door and stepped directly into Vivian’s space, draping the blanket over her wife’s shivering frame. "The county line is clear, Viv," Avery murmured, her dry lilt rough and quiet. "The local registry has the federal certificate locked. She can’t execute another file." "Gemma di
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