Jessie grins. “Yeah, I get that vibe, too. I’m sure all will be explained once Jay decides to show his face. Oh, and by the way, did you hear that Brian’s being charged for attempted murder, and charges are being filed against Una for the whole computer hacking thing?”

“Really!” I exclaim, my jaw dropping.

“Really,” says Jessie.

Some strange satisfaction forms inside of me. It feels inherently right that those two are finally getting what they deserve after all the lives they’ve destroyed. And I have Jay to thank for it.

Before we can talk more, the house lights dim, and a video is projected onto the screen at the back of the stage. The video that plays is for last week’s lottery numbers, a pretty blonde presenter coming on and calling out the selected balls. There are murmurings among the audience, and then the short video is over. Another video starts up, this one showing Jay standing in the living area in his apartment. He looks into the camera and begins to speak.

“So, I guess you’re all wondering why you were invited here tonight.”

A man in the front row snickers disdainfully. “Yeah, you’d be right about that.”

“I suppose it’s accurate to say that I’m not your favourite person. You all lost your jobs because of me. My court case had your newspaper shut down, and I’m probably the last person you want to see right now, so I’ll make this quick. I investigated each and every person who worked for the newspaper, and the thirty-three of you are the only ones who came up clean. So, the question that I’m going to ask you all now is, did you play the lottery last week? I’m guessing you’re going to say no, or that you did but didn’t have much luck. Well, I actually beg to differ on that. All thirty-three of you played.”

A few surprised sounds come from the audience, but mostly everybody’s still sceptical. Video Jay pulls a small piece of paper from his pocket and holds it up to the camera.

“You see these numbers. Anybody recognise them?”

I let my eyes drift over the paper. It’s a lottery ticket, and the numbers selected are the exact numbers called in the previous video. The winning numbers! Gasps of disbelief fill the room. I stare at video Jay in awe, not understanding how this can be real. It’s not possible to predict the lottery. It just isn’t.

Almost every single person is confused. Video Jay’s smile reaches Cheshire cat territory as he goes and picks up the camera. He carries it over to his kitchen table, where there are dozens of envelopes spread out neatly across the surface, all containing addresses and stamps. Jay pans across the envelopes and continues talking from behind the camera.

“Anybody recognise these locations?” he asks.

One woman speaks up, rising from her seat. “That’s my address!”

“If you look real closely,” says video Jay, “you’ll see that each envelope is addressed to those of you in the audience. Inside each envelope is a check made out to the receiver. Last week’s lotto amounted to just over four million euros. Since you all played and won, each of you is now one hundred and twenty-five thousand euros richer. I hope this makes up for the stretch of bad luck you’ve all been having lately.” He puts the camera back down so that it’s on him again. “If you look to the bottom left-hand corner of this video, you’ll see that I filmed this yesterday, and I am now going to pay a visit to the post office. Tomorrow morning, check your post — you might just find a little surprise waiting for you.” He smiles into the camera, and then the video shuts off.

The audience bursts into animation, exclamations of disbelief filling the venue. By some strange feat, Jay has just won the lottery for all of them.

That’s some magic trick. Or was it a trick at all?

I want to ask him how he did it, but there’s no sign of him anywhere. Then, as if by magic, I sense somebody’s eyes on me. Turning around, I see Jay standing at the back of the venue. He smiles, gives me a nod to follow him, then turns and walks down the hall that leads outside, his back to me. I rise from my seat and hurry after him. Jay walks slowly to let me catch up, stepping out onto the cobbles of Temple Bar. The Saturday-night crowds are out in droves, filling the streets with their drunken shouts and excited laughter.

He turns to me, his eyes lit up with their trademark post–magic trick mischief. I beam up at him, shaking my head. He links his arm through mine.

“Good evening, Watson. Care to take a stroll?”

Silently, I nod, and we walk down the street until I stop and turn to face him again, placing my hands firmly against his chest. “Okay, I have to ask. Was that real? Did you really just magically win the lottery for all those people?”

He grins. “I’d like to hear your theory.”

“Hmm, I was thinking maybe you used the money from your settlement, but that was two million, not four.”

One eyebrow raised, he tells me, “I’m actually donating my settlement money to a charity for victims of domestic abuse.”

I gape at him. “You are?”

He swipes his thumb over my chin. “Yes. I’m certain some of your goodness must be rubbing off on me,” he murmurs, almost absently, as his eyes trace my features.

“Don’t give me that. You were always good. Too good. But please, tell me if what I saw on that video tonight was real.”

Jay looks at me for a long moment, eyes shining brown and green under the street lights. “Do you really want an answer?” he asks back. “Isn’t it more exciting not knowing, just letting the possibilities be endless? Like, maybe I’m a genius and figured out some mathematical formula of probabilities to predict the lottery. Maybe I bribed the ball guy to rig the system.” He pauses to laugh and pulls the same ticket he’d shown on the video out of his pocket. “Maybe I faked this ticket, and I’m just giving them my own money. Maybe I’m psychic. Maybe I had a real good time at the poker tables. The maybes could go on forever, Watson, but we both know that mystery is better than the truth. So why not live with the magic? Be a kid again and believe in the fantastical. Life is more fun with a little smoke and mirrors.”

He gives me a devilish wink.

I shake my head at him, unable to keep my smile from growing wide. I point a finger into his chest, beaming up at him. “You, Mr Fields, are insufferable.”

He laughs. “That’s a lie. You find me charming. I know when you’re lying, remember?”

“Have I ever mentioned how much I hate that?”

“You don’t have to,” his voice is full of affection. “I can tell when you hate it, too.”

Something pops into my head, and I wag my finger at him. “A-ha, but I lied to you once, and you never knew.”

“Oh, yeah,” he says indulgently. “And when was this?”

“The night I was attacked by the thug. It wasn’t random. Una was there.”

Slowly, his smile grows wider. “I knew you were lying then, too. Didn’t you notice my knuckles were fucked up the next morning?”

“No, I didn’t. And what does that mean? You spent the night on the couch.”

“Not the whole night. I snuck out, found the fuck Una paid to threaten you, and made sure he wouldn’t be doing it again.”

I stare at him, awestruck. “How did you know?”

“I asked you a few innocent questions, watched your reactions, and figured the rest out for myself. It takes a lot of practice to be able to lie to me.” He pauses, voice going soft and sexy. “And I’m too obsessed with you not to know every single one of your tells.”

That answer both endlessly pleases and irritates the hell out of me at the same time.

“That’s…okay, that’s kind of cool.”

He chuckles tenderly as his arms go around my waist, pulling me flush against his body. I press my face into his shoulder, breathing him in. “And I love you,” I whisper.

He lifts my chin and takes my mouth in a slow, lingering kiss before coming up for air. “Yeah, ya do.”