“I’m fine,” I say, which is a lie the size of Manhattan.
“Of course you are.” She leans forward, elbows on the table, all that perfect hair spilling over one shoulder. “Listen, I’m not going to do the girl-boss pep talk. I’m not good at it and you don’t need it. But if you want me to tell whoever is sniffing around you to go take a walk, I can do that.”
I picture Raquel out on the sidewalk, hands on her hips, telling two huge, dangerous men in dark coats to beat it. The laugh that comes out of me is ugly and relieved. “That’s a generous offer.”
“It’s an expensive offer,” she says. “My voice coach charges extra when I shout.”
The joke lands. It also makes me feel warmth in my chest because it’s normal. My life has not had normal in a minute.
The door opens and a cold draft licks the back of my neck. A couple wanders in, arguing amiably about whether nutmeg is a Christmas spice or a year-round thing.
“Why were you there?” I ask before I think better of it. “At the party.”
She tips her head. “Because he invited me.”
I angle the cup between my hands. “And… Ivan?”
Raquel purses her lips. “He’s useful company. On certain nights.”
“So bedtime stories are off the record.”
“Something like that.”
She takes a breath. “Look. We don’t have to be enemies, Cassandra. You’re not my competition.” She lifts a hand before I can fire back. “Not in that way. I’m not a fool. He made a choice. I can dislike it and still not do the cartoon-villain thing.”
“Good,” I say. “Because I don’t have the time for an archnemesis.”
That earns me a genuine smile. It makes her prettier in a way photos don’t catch.
I look out the window, because if I look at her too long, I’m going to ask her something stupid like whether she ever felt safe with him and how she did it. The street outside is ordinary in that loud, blessed way—delivery trucks double parked, a guy jogging in shorts like it’s summer, a kid dragging a too-large sled over the sidewalk.
“You should keep your phone off,” she says casually. “I you think you’re being tracked.”
My fingers tighten around the cup. “What makes you believe I think that?”
She levels me with a look I hate because it’s accurate. “Because I have eyes.”
Silence sits with us for a beat. She takes a sip of her own drink, makes a face at the foam, then spoons it into her mouth.
“Where are you going?” she asks softly, glancing at my duffel.
I keep my tone light. “Somewhere.”
“Mm.” She taps a nail against the table. “Then sit for five more minutes and let your hands stop shaking. After that, I’ll walk you out the back and call you a car.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“Don’t spread it around,” she says. “It will ruin my brand.”
I hold the cup and let the heat sink in. The baby thought flickers and settles, not exactly calming, but making me feel less alone. I glance at the window again and catch my reflection. I look pale, tired, and scared.
I’m not safe, but I’m safer than I was ten minutes ago.
Raquel nudges the tray toward me. “Eat the biscotti,” she orders. “You look like a strong wind could take you.”
“You sound like my sister. She always tries to feed me when I’m worried. Says if you’re going to be worried, might as well worry with a full stomach.”
“Sounds like your sister is smart.”
