"Yes."
"And you love him."
"Yes."
She stared at me like she was seeing a stranger. Maybe she was. The Gaby she'd known—the anxious, insecure womanwho'd let her father diminish her, who'd crumbled under Mr. Brown's criticism, who'd never believed she deserved more than crumbs—that woman wouldn't have been capable of this.
But I wasn't her anymore.
"I need another drink," Lisa said, and poured herself more wine.
We talked for two hours.
I told her what I could—the broad strokes of my captivity, the island, the marriage. I told her about the danger that had brought us together, though I left out names and specifics that could be traced. I told her about the attack, about being taken, about Vasily tearing through an army to bring me home.
Through it all, Lisa listened. Her expressions cycled through shock, horror, disbelief, and something that might have been grudging fascination. She asked questions I couldn't always answer, pushed against the walls I'd erected around the most dangerous truths.
But she didn't leave. Didn't call the police. Didn't storm out in righteous fury.
She stayed, and she listened, and slowly—so slowly—I saw understanding begin to dawn.
"You're happy," she said finally, her voice wondering. "That's what I keep coming back to. You're actually happy."
"I am."
"Happier than you ever were before."
"Yes." I smiled despite myself. "Is that so hard to believe?"
"Kind of, yeah." She shook her head, a disbelieving laugh escaping her. "You were always so anxious. So worried aboutwhat everyone thought, whether you were good enough, whether you were doing everything wrong. And now you're sitting here telling me you married a—a what? A mobster? A crime lord?"
"Something like that."
"And you're pregnant with his baby."
"Yes."
"And you're happy."
"Deliriously."
Lisa sat back in the booth, studying me with new eyes. "You've changed. I mean, I knew that from the phone call, but seeing you in person—you're different. Calmer. More... solid, somehow."
"He sees me," I said simply. "Not the version of me I was trying to be for everyone else. The real me. And he loves what he sees."
"Even the messy parts?"
"Especially those." I thought of Vasily—of the way he'd held me through nightmares, the way he'd watched me cry and never flinched. "He's seen me at my worst. At my most terrified, my most broken. And he never looked away."
Lisa was quiet for a long moment. Then she reached across the table and took my hand again.
"I don't understand this," she said. "I'm not sure I ever will. But you're my best friend, Gaby. You have been since the sophomore year. If you tell me this is real—if you tell me you're safe and happy and choosing this—then I believe you."
The tears came again, sliding down my cheeks. "Really?"
"Really." She squeezed my hand. "But I want to meet him. This mysterious husband. I want to look him in the eye andmake sure he knows that if he ever hurts you, I'll find a way to destroy him."
I laughed through my tears. "He'd probably respect that."
