CLANDESTINE : Spencer Reid

40

Estelle happens to be in town at the end of February when I finally send in my PhD applications. I will hopefully be hearing back by mid-April, but that doesn't give me a lot of time. So, Estelle insists we go out to a pub near Georgetown to celebrate my presumed return to the world of academia. I'm not sure I'll even do it.

Since my luck is so awful, of course Estelle overhears me receive a threatening phone call from Caro about my lack of a date for the wedding. She is threatening to go nuclear. It's worse than one of Cletus' cousins who will be paired with me for the reception. Actually, Stéphane's date told her that Luc is single. The idea of brining him is nothing short of mortifying.

Especially since if he comes it might let slip exactly what happened last month in Québec.

"You can bring me," Estelle jokes. "I can be your life partner."

"She'd decapitated me and serve me for dinner if I did that," I roll my eyes.

Really, I owe it to Caro. She lied to Cletus' parents. They weren't pleased when they found out our parents were divorced prior to my father's death. So, she's told them that Stéphane is engaged to a French woman and my supposed boyfriend is going to propose to me any day. We're just waiting until after the wedding so we don't steal her thunder.

A stable family life. Out of all the lies she could come up with, that one is maybe the most stupid. Even more so than banging on Mylène's poor English skills to not reveal the lack of engagement.

"Ask Dr. Reid," Estelle says.

I don't look at her. Instead, I press my cheek to the small table we've gotten for the apartment. The cheap wood is warmer than I had imagined. It's still so cold outside, and the wedding is in less than three months. The music on her radio is clear but my head isn't.

"No."

"I thought you two were friends now," Estelle points out. "Besides, it's at least believable that you'd be in love with him."

"You are the worst," I put my head in my hands. "You're getting a chore list for your birthday this year."

"Stop sulking," she mumbles. "It's so unattractive. Get up. We're leaving in twenty."

Having her around is nice. I can't even be mad that she wants to celebrate my finished applications. We'll end up at a pub like one of the ones we frequented while at Oxford. At least it's Saturday, and if I really want to, I can be hungover all day tomorrow.

So, I get ready. After I come out, make-up on and a jumper too, she sends me back into my bedroom and forces me to change. She says I look like a middle-aged white lady in the worst kind of way. At least she doesn't force me to take down my messy bun.

She makes me do a shot before we leave. At least then the wind isn't as cold on my exposed neck. She drags me out. I just went out last weekend, and I didn't get drunk then. It's warmer inside the pub. The bodies inside heat the air even if it isn't packed. She orders us drinks at the bar and pays for them. I'm too intoxicated by the smell of musk from the guy leaning next to me. The lights are dim, the air hot, and I'm maybe glad she made me wear a shirt rather than a sweater, even if it's lowcut. She drags me over to the booths once we get in there.

Sitting at the spot is my brother and Reid. Together. They look up at me. Reid offers me a small wave. I don't even think to return the gesture.

What the fuck is going on?

"Hey!" Stéphane grins, pulling himself out of the booth.