The Gender Game by Bella Forrest (historical books to read txt) 📗

he'd stop asking me questions. He caught my shoulder with a right hook, though I was careful to keep my face protected. As our sparring progressed, a realization dawned on me. This fighter and I might just be two people in an empty hall, but the fact that we were man and woman made this moment feel suddenly epic, sweeping, groundbreaking. Nobody in the world might know it—not even my male accomplice—but we were making history. I doubted any man and woman had ever stood on such equal ground before since time began in Patrus and in Matrus. The male in front of me was looking me in the eye without prejudice, without bias or discernment—as I was looking at him. The thought filled me with such euphoria that I found myself quite breathless, in a daze; so much so that I almost missed blocking a punch.

If only more people could experience this, was all I could think to myself.

I didn’t want this sparring match to end. I wanted Lee to leave me alone for at least another half-hour so that I could continue immersing myself in this feeling… but then the pager buzzed.

I dropped my fists, my heart dropping along with them like a heavy weight.

"I'm sorry," I managed, stooping to my jacket and retrieving the device.

"I'm outside”, said the message.

I turned back to the fighter, whose name I still hadn't asked, and shook hands with him. "I've got to go," I said before hurrying out of the room, although a piece of me remained in that ring with him.

As I moved along the hallway back toward the reception, my fingers reached up to check that my facial hair was all still in place. Now that hard reality had returned to me, I was afraid that I'd gotten too carried away and all that dancing around might have loosened it. Maybe the mustache was slightly less firm than before, but altogether the hair felt okay. Nothing was going to drop off during the time it took me to return to Lee across the road.

As soon as I stepped through the door, I kept my eyes on the ground and hurried forward, not even glancing to the reception desk, though I sensed someone there.

I let out an internal sigh of relief as I reached the main exit. Out of view of the receptionist, I threw caution to the wind and raced up the twisting stairs. But as I turned the corner to climb up the final flight, I almost collided with someone. I staggered back too quickly, and before I could find my footing, I tripped down several steps until my back hit the stairwell wall.

It was Viggo.

Standing in his trench coat and looking more imposing than ever from his elevated position five steps above me, he had stopped in his tracks and was gazing down at me.

What was he doing here? He couldn't have been here for training—his schedule had made no mention of it.

I straightened and averted my eyes to the stairs, attempting to recover and act as though nothing had happened. Indeed, I expected Viggo to also continue descending right past me, but to my horror, he stayed exactly where he was. And when I reached his level, he reached out a hand and gripped my upper arm. I found myself being scrutinized by his hard stare, his face inches away from mine.

Crap.

I stopped breathing as his right hand moved to my face. The next thing I knew, I felt a tug on the skin above my upper lip, and then his hand was drawing away again, clasping my fake mustache between his fingers.

I swore in my head. What were the odds of me getting caught as I left the building? And by Viggo of all people?

Viggo seemed to have a penchant for turning corners at the most unexpected of moments.

His frown deepened. "Would you like to explain this?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

Viggo was one man who definitely had no use for Deepvox.

My mind went into a panic. What do I tell him?

My angst was hardly helped by my pager going off again. Lee must be wondering where I was. Dammit. I was so close to Lee. And yet I was stuck.

As Viggo's eyes lowered to my beard, I realized there was no point in concealing my identity any longer. He seemed to have already detected that my beard was fake, too, and once that came off, there would be nothing to hide the softness of my jawline. He might even recognize my bare lower face. He'd seen me twice already.

As my mind raced for what explanation I could possibly give him, I realized that it ought to just be as close to the truth as possible. That was the best way to lie.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Sorry for what?" His face contorted.

"I-I'm not a man." The words sounded weird coming from my deep throat.

Glancing nervously up and down the stairwell, I gripped one corner of my beard and stripped it off like a piece of wax. Next, I reached for my wig and unclasped it, letting my long hair fall down my shoulders.

All that remained now were my lenses. But Viggo didn't need me to remove those.

"Mrs. Bertrand."

"I'm sorry," I repeated, my voice constricted. "I've been having a tough time getting used to the ways of Patrus. It's hard never being able to roam by myself. I just wanted a little freedom. To roam the city without my husband holding my hand… My husband approved of this. He thought it would help with the transition."

Viggo's eyes widened. "He approved of you masquerading as a male and roaming the city by yourself?"

"How else do you think I got hold of this costume?" I replied. "He gave it to me. But I am not by myself," I added quickly. "My husband has been following me around from a distance, to make sure I don't get myself into trouble. He's just on the other street. I can take