If looks could kill… or at least maim, then she’d be in trouble, but before Rhett let loose with any of the vitriol that was no doubt percolating around his head, she left the room, waving over her shoulder as she went. “See you tomorrow.”
None of us spoke until the front door slammed shut and the automatic locking system clicked into place. We weren’t literal prisoners—we could unlock the house at any time—but with literal wilderness around us, there was no fucking reason to leave, which was the supposed point of us being here, along with keepingTheDirty Truthslight on updates.
“What if Florence is the mole,” Rhett said suddenly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he looked between Gray and me. “I mean, it’s not like that bitch hasn’t sold us out already this year, even if it was for that piece-of-shit boyfriend. She has no money, apparently, so what’s to stop her from doing it again for the right paycheck?”
The chick in question walked through the door a minute later, yawning and rubbing at her face. She was still dressed in the oversized Bellerose shirt and tiny shorts she slept in, and at first I thought she didn’t hear Rhett, until she said, “I have done a lot of fucked up things recently, but selling out Bellerose to the media is not one of them.”
There was no anger or offense in her tone. She didn’t care that Rhett suspected her, and I already knew she believed she deserved this treatment. In some ways she did, but in other ways Flo had always been a lost little girl. Without family. Without guidance. She’d raised herself, and at times, she fucked up.
We all fucked up. But I got where Rhett’s lack of trust was coming from—it’d take me a hot minute to trust her ass again too. We had to work together, though, which meant keeping shit as amicable as possible under the circumstances.
“We should get breakfast going,” I said, pushing myself to stand. It was odd not being hungover, but at the same time, nice to feel normal. I had energy. I had some creative buzz.
I was ready to get this fucking album done, and then finally we could move on.
Leave this fucked up year behind. Once and for all.
eleven
BILLIE
Asoft tap on the bedroom door saw me jerking awake with a gasp. I’d never slept deeply at the best of times, but after being beaten half to death by the Ricci goons and held in a cage, I was lucky to snatch an hour at a time without nightmares.
“Bella?” Angelo called through the closed—and locked—door. “Are you awake?”
I groaned as I pushed up to sitting. How long had I slept? Ugh, forty minutes. Cool.
“Bella?” Angelo asked again.
“I am now,” I snapped back, irritated at my lack of rest. “What’s wrong?”
“Uh, are you dressed? Someone is here that wants to meet you.” His tone was weird. Uncomfortable, even. Was his father here? No, he wouldn’t want tomeet me.
I glanced down at myself. I’d been sleeping in just my undies, so that was a firmnoon being dressed. “I need like ten minutes,” I shouted back. “Can I have that, sir?” My sarcasm was thick, but the whole invisible shackles shit was grating on my nerves.
“Sure thing,sweetheart,” he replied, emphasizing the endearment. Oops, he must not be alone out there.
Gritting my teeth, I made my way into the en suite bathroom to take a shower. Ten minutes was bullshit; I needed at least half an hour to transform myself back into the polite, obedient mafia mistress that Angelo needed me to be.
By the time I emerged into the living room of our suite, I was fully prepared to find some man irritated at being made to wait. So I was shocked nearly speechless to find a mid-thirties woman sitting on the couch sipping tea and smiling at Angelo.
Angelo… who held a giggling baby like a fucking pro.
“Uh… hi?” My confused gaze snapped between the woman and Angelo, then to the baby and back to Angelo again. “What, um, what…? Who, uh… hi. Sorry, I’m—” I put my hand out to shake with the woman, suddenly remembering my manners.
“You’re Billie Bellerose,” she cut me off, placing her cup down and rising to her feet. Then her eyes widened as she took in my pregnant belly. “And you’re pregnant. Holy shit. Angelo, you failed to mention this part…”
Angelo shot me a dark look, one that sent a shiver down my spine. “I didn’t think it relevant.”
“Oh no? Hmm.” The woman pursed her lips, giving my bump a narrow-eyed look. “What are you, about four months?”
I hesitated, looking to Angelo for guidance. Who was this woman?
“I know what you’re implying, Brenda, but it’smybaby. Don’t go causing unnecessary drama. Fuck knows that blog site is doing enough of that without you adding more scandal.” Angelo’s words were hard and edged with warning, but his smile was still soft for the baby he held. Then he blew a raspberry on the baby’s belly, making peals of laughter bubble out of the small human.
The woman muttered some choice swear words under her breath, then turned back to me with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, gosh, that was rude of me. I’m Brenda Greer. I’ve heard so much about you, Billie, I need to remind myself that rumor is not truth. Come, sit.”
Still confused and weirded out, I made my way over to the couch where Angelo sat with the baby. Why was he holding the baby like that? It was messing me up inside.
