Chapter Twenty-Two The Act

The moment Draco was on the landing outside their suite, he let out a long, slow breath, and gave his hands a shake to clear the last of the adrenaline thudding in his system. This wasn't normal. It wasn't exactly unwelcome, but it wasn't what happened to him around women. Malfoys didn't get nervous. And this was a job.

He skipped down the stairs into the foyer quickly, keen to take the edge off with a drink, vainly attempting to stuff the now exceedingly intriguing and exceedingly badly timed thoughts that he had begun to toy with back into whatever box they were coming out of. These were all things that could be attended to later. When he wasn't pretending to be Hermione's loving no-longer-secret boyfriend.

Oh Merlin what have I done.

He was at the bar and ordering before he really had a chance to take in his surroundings. "A double firewhiskey and a gillywater, please."

"Yes, sir."

Draco tugged at his cuffs, impatient and preoccupied.

Just keep it together. This is a job. You have a lot of control. Use it. It's a job, it's a job, it's a JOB.

"Well, well, well. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it."

Draco whipped around. "Pansy."

Pansy Parkinson leant idly against the bar a few feet along from him. She was wearing emerald green dressrobes with a thigh slit that left little to the imagination. It was the first time he'd seen her since he'd broken the news of her father's murder. She had been stoic then, the steeliness of her gaze cracking just slightly. Her mourning was for private. To the average observer it would seem that she hadn't had any news of the sort. But Draco could still see the cracks and the emotion bleeding out. It hardened her eyes, and gave her expression a more set quality.

"Draco." Pansy lifted her glass in a faint salute.

The barman returned with Draco's order.

Draco sipped his firewhiskey, using the time to gather his thoughts and force his expression into Malfoy indolence. He knew better to be taken in by her languid attitude. Her eyes were sharp, hunting for information, and he knew that she would be even more relentless than usual with her pain bottled up inside. He'd had some inkling that when the rumours were put out about a potential story that Pansy might turn up, but he hadn't been sure if she would. She had become a rather well-known gossip columnist, almost as acerbic as Rita Skeeter, with a knack for uncovering the dirty little secrets of the wealthy and influential. Many a powerful member of wizarding society had been exposed by her savage reportage. Truth be told, he shouldn't be surprised at all – she had always had a nose for gossip and secrets. "And what brings you here? Work or pleasure?"

Pansy let out a low bark of laughter. "All my work is pleasure, Draco, you should know that by now." Her voice was a purr.

"I think we have very different ideas about what constitutes pleasure."

Pansy knocked back the last of her drink like it was water. "I don't doubt it. But then you only ever did know work, didn't you, Draco. Zero guesses what's brought you here."

Draco heard the extra press of interest in her voice, and would have sworn he could feel the intensity of her gaze on him ratchet up another notch. Grief did strange things to some people, and the Auror informant had clearly done their job well. "Oh, I don't know." He shrugged. "You know me."

"Hm." Pansy took a sip of the fresh drink the barman had brought her. "I don't think I do anymore these days, Draco. It's been a while since we caught up…properly, I mean. Years, in fact. And a little bird told me–"

"There you are, darling." Draco whipped around at the sound of Hermione's voice, and had to exercise an extreme amount of control not to let his jaw drop. She made Muggle elegance far outshine wizarding standards. Her hair was sleek and twisted up into a low bun, held in place with what looked like a net of thorny gold rose stems. Around her neck was a smooth crescent of gold, like a modern version of a torc. He didn't know how she'd managed to come up with accessories that complimented the dress he'd made, but he knew he'd have to congratulate her later for achieving their aim of being nothing less than jaw-dropping.

The eyes of every witch and wizard in the room were on her, and whispers had already begun to circulate.

She sauntered up beside him, brash and confident as she took his free arm and leant into his side. She reached up to cup his cheek, guiding his face down towards hers. "Sorry for the delay, you know how difficult my hair can be to wrangle."

Draco couldn't help but melt into the kiss. He could feel her nervousness in the tenseness of her lips, even through the show of sensuality, and he rubbed his thumb gently against her back in soothing circles, and was rewarded when her mouth softened against his. Then they were apart again, and he felt oddly bereft. "Not at all," he murmured, voice husky. "And you know I love your curls."

Hermione flushed. "Old flatterer, you." She turned to Pansy, extremely aware of the heat in her cheeks and the speed of her pulse, and the feeling of Draco's mouth, so soft, fitting against hers, and his fingertips gliding along her spine. "Hello, Pansy. Long-time no see."

Pansy did not have the same amount of self-control as Draco it seemed, for her mouth had fallen open. Then it abruptly shut, her eyes narrowing and flickering between the two of them, taking note of every detail. "Indeed, Granger. It seems I'm a bit behind times." She raised her eyebrows pointedly at the pair of them.

"Oh," Hermione let out a small giggle, glancing up at Draco. "Everyone is."

"I see…"

Draco could practically see Pansy taking notes in her head for the article she was concocting. "Must dash, Pans," he interrupted smoothly, "we wouldn't want to dine too late. Your gillywater, Hermione." He handed her the drink, wrapping his arm more firmly around her waist after it was free, and gathering his own drink. "See you around, Pans."

"You can count on it."

They both worked at maintaining a nonchalant pace as they walked away in the direction of the dining room, Pany's gaze a hot laser on their backs.

Well done.

I think I'm still shaking inside.

You did fine.

I still think I'd prefer to duel a Death Eater.

Hermione paused a moment.

I mean, not that it was unpleasant, it was quite nice, but I–

I know what you meant, Granger. It's OK.

Was it? …I mean! Do you think she was convinced?

Draco paused, keeping his thoughts back through sheer self-control.

Yes, it was. And I would say so – but she'll be suspicious, and watching us closely. Like just about everyone else in the room – well done.

Oh Merlin. I'm not sure I like this kind of attention.

Relax. You're with a Malfoy, remember.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

Was that supposed to be helpful?

Yes.

Hermione glanced up at him and met Draco's teasing smirk, then stuck out her tongue.

Draco feigned offence. "So unladylike, Miss Granger. Whatever will I do with you?"

"Love me for it, Mr Malfoy, like you always do?" Hermione gave him a cheeky smirk, and even Draco forgot himself for a moment.

He smiled. "But of course, my dear."

They stopped before the maître d' standing at the doors to the dining room. He bowed deeply. "Ah, Mr Malfoy, Miss Granger. Please follow Alphonse – he will take you to your table."

The dining room was as lavish as the rest of the hotel, with high ceilings covered in ornate and gilded plaster work, the walls papered with crimson, the plush carpet deep oxblood red. The round table they were brought to could have comfortably seated eight with plenty of room to spare. It had a beautiful lamp centrepiece that cast light and shadows over the intimate alcove it was set into, and an artfully arrange plant display around the back of the semicircle velvet seat provided ambience and a degree of privacy.

They slid into the seats, were provided with menus, and left alone.

"I can't believe there are people who routinely holiday like this," Hermione whispered.

Draco shrugged, smiling lazily. "Well, you're one of them now."

Hermione raised an eyebrow over her menu.

Draco ignored it. "Anything take your fancy?"

"Nothing that the Ministry budget for this kind of operation would cover."

Draco dropped his menu and pulled the front of Hermione's down to reveal her frowning face. "Hermione. Do you seriously think I expect the Ministry to pay for the bill here? Order what you want."

Hermione flushed. "But I–"

"No buts."

Hermione frowned.

"Call it my treat."

"It's not fair though–"

"Hermione. Just let me do something nice for you."

Hermione met Draco's gaze. He was earnest through the Malfoy façade, that she couldn't deny. "I–" Before she could finish he swooped down on her, catching her mouth in a kiss. She was too surprised to struggle, automatically responding, her mind scrambled until she heard footsteps near and stop by their table. The waiter. Annoyed, she gave his lip a bite – a waiter was hardly of much consequence for their plans. He was doing this just to win a stupid argument.

He stilled a little, and she felt smugness spread through her. That will teach him.

Then he nipped her back. Hermione felt a flutter in her stomach, her satisfaction vanishing with confusion and shock, and a degree of regret as Draco finally released her.

"Ah, Alphonse. I will start with the braised guinea fowl, I think. Hermione?"

I hate you.

It was an opportunity.

Not much of one!

You shouldn't underestimate the power of staff knowing gossip.

Hermione gave him a mental huff, but couldn't truthfully deny that he had a point. "I'll have the langoustine."

"Excellent choice, mademoiselle. And for mains?"

"Seabass for me."

"The venison, please."

Draco restrained a faint expression of surprise at her choice.

"And wines?"

Draco looked to Hermione, an eyebrow raised in question.

"Whatever is usually paired with the dishes, please."

"And some still water for the table," Draco added.

"But of course." As Alphonse finished the last of his notes, another waiter appeared with a dish of oysters on ice, placing them on the table as Alphonse bowed. "Bon appetite."

Hermione frowned slightly at Draco.

"It's a thing for Monte Rosa," Draco clarified. "They don't do complimentary bread rolls."

"I see."

Draco picked up and oyster and a slice of lemon. "Do you like them? We can have something else if you don't."

"No, I like them a lot actually. Harry and Ron have never understood."

"Lemon?"

"Of course."

"Good. Open your mouth."

Hermione could only stare at Draco. There was heat in his eyes, but gentleness too, and the lip of the oyster shell was almost touching her mouth. She parted her lips slowly, her eyes still fixed on his, and allowed him to tip the tangy, salty shellfish into her mouth.

She chewed and swallowed, still staring at him. His eyes never left hers as he put down the shell.

"Good?"

"Mmm."

"Good."

"Your wine." A sommelier had appeared, bottle in hand, and they had to turn their attention to him as he first proffered the bottle then poured a little out for each of them to taste and approve.

Hermione could still taste lemon and sea on her lips as the sauvignon blanc chased the flavour on her tongue, cool and tart. Something about the combination was making her feel warm, and she couldn't stop seeing Draco's eyes as they had met hers over the shell. She had never thought that grey could be so warm.

"And champagne."

Hermione was startled out of her thoughts. "But we didn't order–"

"But I did, my dear." Draco took her hand, and brushed his lips against the skin. "We are, after all, celebrating, are we not?"

Hermione couldn't decide if she was more annoyed or pleased at the helpful blush that rose to her cheeks from the gesture. She smiled. "True."

Draco passed her a glass, the bubbles effervescing on the surface like fireworks, and clinked his against hers as the sommelier left. "To us."

Hermione smiled, hardly aware of how close they were to each other. "To us." She sipped. It was delicious and sweet, and bubbled all the way down her throat. "This is actually the first time I've had a champagne I liked."

Draco laughed. For a moment he seemed young, carefree – a young man, in a restaurant, with his girlfriend. "I should hope so, it's rather good stuff."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but knew it wasn't meant as a boast. She spotted a haze of emerald near the entrance from the corner of her eye.

Pansy is here.

I'm surprised she waited so long to come in, to be honest.

Probably sending some quick owls about us.

All the better for our purposes then.

Indeed. I'm surprised she's here…given her father…

That's Pansy for you. Work is the best distraction.

Seems to be a Pureblood thing – no emotions allowed!

Draco raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement.

You're not wrong.

Hermione sipped her wine, trying not to let her tension show as she gripped the glass.

Draco reached over to where her other hand had fisted in the silk folds of her dress, taking it and rubbing some of the tension out. He met her surprised gaze.

Everything will be all right.

How can you be so sure?

Because I'm a Malfoy.

Hermione felt a little flip in her stomach at the smirk that spread across his face.

Prat.

Yes.

Hermione bit her lip to restrain her own smirk, and quickly leant in before she lost her nerve pressing a kiss to his mouth. She felt his surprise, but it was quickly gone as he slid closer, leaning into her, his right hand still holding her left.

She forgot what they were doing for a moment, and then –

"Oops! I'll take that."

"Hmm?" Hermione blinked, a little dazed as Draco took her tipping wine glass from her hand just before it spilled.

Draco leant in, his face hidden in her hair, his lips just grazing her ear. "Miss Granger, I never knew I had such an effect on you." His voice was a growling purr, and Hermione felt her fingers reflexively curl and clench.

Is she still watching?

Hermione felt herself come back into the room with an unpleasant bump. The act. She summoned a flirtatious giggle, but didn't feel any of the emotion at all.

Yes.

Draco withdrew. "We'd better finish those oysters then."


They spent the rest of the meal outwardly happily ensconced in their own bubble, feeding each other small pieces of food from their dishes, proceeding to steal bits from one another's plates, and whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears from time to time.

Not long after Pansy arrived, Rita Skeeter put in an appearance, and between the pair of them they were able to cover the various eagerly watching eyes, and more than once could spot the dart of a Quick Quotes Quill.

Internally, however, neither was the carefree lover they portrayed, and each was too absorbed in their own internal deliberation between moments to realise the preoccupation of the other.

By the time they left the dining room, Hermione was able to function almost on automatic, giggling when Draco leant close to her, slipping her arm into his unbuttoned suit jacket and holding him around the waist.

"Hermione Granger, I do believe you're a little tipsy."

"Draco Malfoy, I do believe you're to blame."

Draco smirked. "Well, you said you wanted to celebrate."

Hermione lifted a finger to her lips and giggled again. She was, but not as much as they were pretending. "Shh." She moved to press her finger against Draco's mouth.

His eyes smiled at her.

They're still watching.

I know.

He kissed her finger lightly. "Let's go upstairs."

Hermione gulped a little, but covered her reaction by rushing ahead, tugging him after her.


The moment the door was safely locked behind them, they both let out a deep breath.

"Do you think we convinced them?"

Draco nodded, undoing his bowtie as they walked back to the bedroom together. "If I know Pansy she'll still be looking for additional information to confirm, and Rita will just want even more juicy bits to write about, but yes, I'd say we hooked them."

"Good."

Draco glanced over at Hermione. She was standing by the bed, absently smoothing the already perfect covers. He didn't need to see the tension in the muscles of her back, he could practically feel it radiating off her. He slung his jacket over the back of a chair, watching her carefully. "Are you all right?"

Hermione spun around like she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't. "What? Yes! Of course! I'm fine!"

Draco frowned at the brightness of her tone. "You don't seem it."

"Draco you can drop the act – you don't need to pretend you know me that well anymore," Hermione snapped, turning away again.

Draco's lungs felt strangely airless. "I'm not pretending."

"Well then just don't kid yourself that you know me that well, OK? I'm fine." She stalked into the dressing room, slamming the door behind her.

Draco flinched at the bang of the door, nonplussed and trying to ignore the sting her words had caused.


Hermione bent over the dressing table, a hand to her mouth to muffle the sobs that had descended upon her. The tears she couldn't stop, however.

Why did I do that?

Her shoulders shook, the tears dripping from her cheeks onto the polished wood of the table with soft splats.

Not now. Please not now. I don't like him, I don't like him, I don't!

She held her breath, trying to force the soft gasps back into her body.

Why me? Why now? Why him? Why us?

The longer the act had gone on, the more it had unsettled her. The welcomeness whenever Draco reached out to touch her, to tuck back a stray curl or stroke her hand in passing, the solicitude of his words and how good it felt to have someone care, the wrongness of that feeling given that this was all just a pretence, the knowledge of the mortification he would feel if he had known her thoughts, and the guilt that they were here to do a job, to catch a killer, and all she'd been able to think was I wish this could go on.

She forced herself upright again, staring at her tear stained reflection. You are better than this, Hermione. This is just loneliness. You are Hermione Granger. Go out and apologise.

She sniffed as surreptitiously as she could, pulling out her wand to restore her makeup and dry her face, and then turned around to the door, forcing herself to open it before she convinced herself not to.

"Draco, I'm sorry. I–" Hermione looked around the empty bedroom.

Draco was nowhere to be seen. His discarded jacket was no longer draped over the armchair, and she could see that the door to the bathroom was still open, and the interior dark. She was alone.

"Bugger. GodDAMMIT, Hermione!" She stomped a foot. The thick carpet took away most of the satisfaction from the gesture.

She spun on the spot, forcing herself not to cry again, blinking angrily.

A piece of paper on the bed caught her attention.

She rushed over to it, crumpling it as she picked it up. Draco's neat, close handwriting was on the hotel stationary.

Hermione,

I'm just downstairs. Figured you needed some space. I'll be back later.

Draco

Hermione flopped onto the bed, and then slowly let herself slide down the edge and onto the floor. The note fell from her slack grip, drifting away across the carpet.

Stupid.

She let the tears flow.


Draco stood outside.

He knew the moment he reappeared downstairs it would undo all the work of their evening if he was spotted, so had cast a disillusionment charm before making his way down the stairs, and out into the grounds.

The snow was falling steadily, and in the silence of the mountaintop he could hear the sound of the flakes as they fell. His breath had fogged the moment he had stepped outside, the tuxedo grossly inadequate for such climes and altitude. A quick warming charm, and he was comfortable.

He had walked away from the stone balustrade balcony, aware that with the light spilling out from inside anyone with beady enough eyes would spot him, and made his way down into the gardens.

Now he was on a lookout over the surrounding mountains and valleys, faint white shapes in the darkness, the frozen lily pond behind him. It wasn't hard to guess the reason for Hermione's outburst. They'd both been taking liberties with each other all evening. She wasn't one for pretence. He'd known that from the start and guessed how it would grind against her convictions.

He sighed, watching the steam cloud of his breath roil out into the darkness. She was quite possibly the realest person he knew. He had only ever known her to be authentically, unapologetically herself. And now she was going against all her natural instincts, the very way she had carried herself since they were children, because it was the only option left to them.

He tried not to think about how she probably felt about having to do this particular kind of act with him of all people. That cut a little too close.

There were times when he'd thought she was genuinely enjoying herself, when he'd thought that maybe she wasn't just having to pretend. That some part of her perhaps wasn't repulsed by their act, but rather, maybe, welcomed it. He knew he would have had to have been made of stone not to have any reaction at all himself, but he had known that from the outset and stuck to the rules he had laid. Nothing opportunistic. Nothing without purpose. This was not a chance to steal a kiss he might never have had, to touch her the way he would like to. This was a job, to save lives, and much as he might want it to go further, he would not step beyond the boundaries of what might be reasonable within the pretence.

He rubbed his chest, still feeling the sting of her words despite himself. It was the first time she'd been anything near angry with him since he had first let her into his mind. The sting grew stronger.

An unhelpful little voice in the back of his head flicked the word Krum at him, and he felt that old heat flare up again. Of course, if he had been Krum he wouldn't currently be outside. They'd probably be chatting in front of the fire, perfectly at ease, coming up with the approach for tomorrow.

Draco kicked at a tuft of frozen grass.

It's your own fault, you know.

Draco kicked the grass harder.

He knew this was the case. He knew that if he hadn't been such a little git in school then they could have been friends long ago. But there was no point in raking up all that all over again. That was the past. It couldn't be changed. Even if there were times when he really wished it could.

He sighed again, and wandered off into the garden, quickly enveloped in the darkness and flurries of snow.


When Draco returned it was with no small degree of apprehension. He had remained outside, idly walking the paths, snow gathering on his shoulders and in his hair. Eventually even the charm couldn't keep the cold at bay however, and shivering, he had slipped back inside and up to the suite.

He padded quietly across the plush carpets, unable to hear anything to indicate where Hermione was or what she was doing. He had no idea what the time was.

The door to the bedroom had been drawn to, but hung slightly ajar, and dancing firelight spilled out into the hall. He pushed at the door, thankful for the well-kept hinges, and peered in, wondering if Hermione had already gone to sleep.

He didn't see her at first. Then there was a movement by the fire that caught his eye, and he saw her.

She was sitting on a low footstool before the fire, her back to him, slowly towelling her hair dry. The Muggle way. Her hair was made heavy by the water, and hung in waves, catching the firelight and taking on its golden hue. She dropped the towel into her lap and began to brush through her curls, slowly, almost thoughtfully.

Draco felt suddenly as though he was spying on something very private. Somehow there was more intimacy in this moment than in all the stolen kisses, the not-so-secret glances, and suggestive touches of dinner. He was seeing Hermione as herself, as she was when she thought no one was watching.

He watched her comb through the tangles with her fingers, a water droplet flicking into the grate and hissing, and was reminding of his mother doing the same thing when he was younger. She had liked to dry his hair in this manner, carding her fingers in his hair while they sat before the fire, telling a story to keep him from fidgeting.

He stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him with a cough.

Hermione whipped around at the sound, her face transforming from momentary shock to hopefulness, and then embarrassment as she met his gaze.

"Draco! I– Is that snow?"

Draco glanced down at himself and realised he could be mistaken for a snowman. The heat in the room was welcome, but it was already melting the flakes and making his shoulders wet. "Oh. Uh, yeah." He sniffed, annoyed that his nose would surely be pink from his extended period in the cold. "I'd better have a shower." He quickly crossed the room, ducking into the bathroom and closing the door quickly behind him, leaning against the wood and letting out a deep breath, and then kicking himself mentally.

Why couldn't I have waited outside longer? Stupid.


On the other side of the door, Hermione's face fell. Within an instant she had taken in the snow, the pinkness of his pale features, the apprehension in his expression. The speed of his departure only confirmed all that she already suspected. She had hurt him.

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself feel the full force of her regret and guilt, and then went back to drying her hair. She still didn't really know what to say. An apology, obviously, but the explanation of why would undoubtedly be most unwelcome, not to mention poorly timed.

She shook her head firmly, making her mind up. It was her fault for not controlling her emotions. It was her fault for indulging in fantasies when they were doing a mission. She would apologise when she could, and then she would focus on the job. She would be a professional. That was all.


By the time Draco had gotten out of the shower and slowly towelled his hair dry in front of the mirror, brushed his teeth, checked his face for stubble and painstakingly removed the barely-there traces on his chin, and gone through several options of what pyjama bottoms to wear, even he had to admit that he was stalling.

He sucked in a deep breath as he finally laid his hand on the bathroom door handle, lifting his chin, and forcing an expression of composure onto his face.

He turned the handle.

The only light left in the room came from the faintly glowing coals in fire, and the lamp on one side of the bed. The other side was shawled in shadows, and he could see the outline of Hermione under the covers, lying with her back to him.

A mixture of relief and disappointment washed through him. It's your own fault for being a coward. He couldn't deny that some small part of him had hoped that she would still be awake. That she might have wanted to clear the air. He shook his head at his own foolishness. This is easier.

He got into bed as stealthily as possible. It was so large and well-padded he barely made his own side depress as he lay down. He wasn't sure how light of a sleeper Hermione might be, but either way, a bit of care couldn't go amiss.

He slowly rolled over onto his side, his back to hers, and flicked off the light. It seemed infinitely harder to try to fall asleep.

Draco fidgeted a little.

Snap out of it. This is stupid. You're just two colleagues, doing a job. It's been a long day, you're tired, so sleep.

He huffed a sigh, and closed his eyes, and waiting for sleep to take him.

On the other side of the bed, Hermione tried to keep her breathing slow and regular. The moment Draco had come in her heart had been hammering, indecision filling her body as to whether or not she should just speak.

But then the opportunity had passed, and it would be too strange to suddenly turn around when he thought she was already asleep. She kicked herself mentally, listening as Draco had huffed to himself, and then to the sound of his breathing slowly deepening.

She closed her eyes, listening to the sound, and letting herself drift with it.


Hello lovely readers and quarantine friends! I did the thing! A monthly update achieved!
I'm pretty proud of myself. My current focus has been really strongly on my novel at the moment (the first half is almost done - HUGE MOMENT) so apologies if these quarantine chapter updates aren't as polished as normal. After I've finished the first half I will try and get some more writing done on this fic so I can try to continue doing a monthly update for however many months quarantine goes for.

And onto the chapter!
The fakerelationship is now well and truly begun! And it's a longer chapter 3 I think we can all agree that this is the fun and flirty content we want for lockdown times. Sadly, it's not all just fun and games, there is still the angst, because, let's be real - they both definitely have feelings for each other, which they've both practically admitted to themselves at this point, so all of that emotional knotting just got a whole lot knottier.
I personally found this interesting/tricky to write because like yes, they've both consented to this situation where they're going to have to be physically intimate to achieve their mission, but also it's a really fine line to tread when each of them thinks they're the only one who has feelings, and taking advantage of the situation is a total no-go bad thing to do. So I hope I hit that balance right. I want more angst than gross opportunistic behaviour.
I also think it's really easy for all of the opportunism to sort of be pushed onto Draco in this kind of a trope, but also Hermione is just as guilty of a bit of wishful thinking.

Anyway, my personal writer angst to one side, I hope you enjoyed it, and that it made you smile during these tough times!

Please do review and/or favourite :) Tell me what you like or don't like :) Questions and speculations are always welcome :D As is incomprehensible flailing if that's what you go in for :)

If you want to get access to sneak previews to chapters before they're posted, you can like me on Facebook (JZJ Tomkins) or follow me on Twitter ( jtomkinsauthor) or Tumblr (jzj-tomkins):)