“Fine,” he sighs, the very picture of martyred nobility. “I concede. For the nourishment of my future niece.”
Cori takes an obscenely large bite. “It could be your nephew.”
“It’s a girl.”
“For now, it’s a bean. A genderless, wonderful bean.”
“A girl bean,” Marcus insists, pointing a stern finger. “With excellent taste and a deep appreciation for her uncle.”
Cori has refused to find out the gender, claiming the surprise during labor will be “exhilarating,” which is a word I usually reserve for roller coasters, not tearing your body apart. I have my money on a boy. Marcus is so convinced it’s a girl he’s already started a “Diaper Debt” ledger for the loser of the bet.
“Speaking of parents,” Cori says, licking guacamole from her thumb. Her eyes, suddenly too-perceptive, land on me. “Yours. Yours have been calling.A lot.Like, ‘is the FBI involved?’ a lot. When are you going to call them back, Annie?”
I lean my head back against the couch cushions, watching the ceiling fan spin. “I’m busy. I have a very demanding job involving goldfish crackers and sidewalk chalk.”
“I heard a voicemail from your mom this morning,” Marcus adds, picking a piece of stray cilantro off his shirt. “She threatened to get on a private jet and drag you back home herself. Which, frankly? Iconic behavior. Very dynasty-like of her.”
“She’s not joking,” I mutter, a cold spike of dread hitting my stomach.
“So call her back. End the silent treatment once and for all.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
I pick at the edge of my thumbnail, staring at the frayed carpet instead of their faces. If I could tell Leo the truth and he still looked at me the same way, maybe I can do this too.
“Alright, so my dad is Graham Collier and I basically pulled aRunaway Brideat my own wedding because I realized I was marrying a human mannequin, and now I’ve brought shame upon a family name that is apparently more fragile than fine china. They want to drag me back to California to marry someone who can restore our reputation, but I finally feel like a person here and I have a hot boss who I could possibly be in love with and I havebangs!”
I run out of oxygen. I wait for the gasps. I wait for the sound of them realizing they’ve been living with a socialite fugitive.
Cori and Marcus stare at me.
Then they burst out laughing—deep, full-bellied, shoulder-shaking laughter.
I blink, my heart still hammering against my ribs. “What? Why are you laughing? This is my tragedy!”
“Annie,” Marcus gasps, wiping his eyes. “None of this is news. We know.”
My entire world tilts. “You…what? There’s no way you knew! How did you know?”
“Honey, come on,” Cori says gently.
“How?There’s no way. I was so careful!”
Marcus gives me a look that is purely patronizing. “You think I don’t run background checks before I let someone move in here? I’m a gay man in the nineties, Annie. I have survival instincts. I’m not about to house a felon or a cult leader or some shit. We found out, like, three days after you got here.”
“Your face was also on the cover of half the newspapers for weeks,” Cori adds gently.
“I got a new wardrobe! I cut my hair!” I screech, grabbing a fistful of my now-shorn locks. “I gotbangs!”
“Yeah, about that,” Marcus says, composing himself with theatrical effort. “Bangs aren’t exactly a foolproof disguise, sweetie. It’shair.It’s not like you’re in the fucking witness protection program.”
They both start howling with laughter again.
I can’t help it. I start to laugh with them. “I thought I looked completely different!”
“It was a haircut,” Cori says, her lips still twitching with laughter. “You still look like you, just with bangs.”
