“He probably has an app on your phone and a tracker in your bag or….”
My eyes widen. “What?”
She shrugs. “He’s an ex-spy, what do you expect? You can take the spy out of the field, but you can’t take the tradecraft out of the spy. I produced a spy series last summer, I should know.”
I don’t respond right away. I’m not ready to.
Daisy stands and smooths her skirt. “Close your eyes, take a nap. I’ll keep him occupied. God knows he needs supervision.”
She pauses at the door, glancing back. “Whatever you decide, Enya—you’re already family to Forest and me.”
17
NOT GOING BACK
DOMINIC
Daisy doesn’t slum. So, when she says take me out to dinner, she’s saying find white tablecloths, Michelin-star chefs, the works. My sister was always high maintenance, and getting married to Forest has made it worse. The man dotes on her. Anything she wants, he gets for her. Some obscure chocolate she’s in love with that they only make in one shop in some small town in Belgium, oh yeah, it’ll be stocked in their house.
I never understood that kind of crazy love—I do now, because I’d do it for Enya.
To feed both my sister, who likes the fancy, and Enya, who likes discreet, I booked Fiola. It’s quiet, and the staff and customers are excellent at pretending important people are just regular people having dinner. It’s the perfect spot for a former intelligence officer sharing a meal with a florist whose father was in a high-profile scandal, and a Hollywood producer who is married to a famous judge.
It sounds like the start of a joke….
“I got her to sleep,” my sister tells me like she won an award. “You owe me, Dom.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I nod at the sommelier, who is happy to bring forth a 2010 Dom Pérignon, Brut, Épernay.
Fucking four figures for a bottle of wine!
Did I mention my sister has expensive taste?
Good thing my sister invested the money my parents set aside for me, because I wouldn’t be able to afford Fiola on my paltry government salary. Though the private sector is more profitable, or rather will be once I start working, after the baby.
“I’m sorry you can’t drink that,” Daisy says wistfully to Enya. “But once you have the baby and you’re done being a cow, we’ll go out and paint the town red.”
Enya has taken to my sister. It’s no surprise. Everyone loves Daisy. She charms people, no matter who they are and where they come from. But the fact that my sister adores Enya tells me several things—first and foremost, she knows I love her; she knows Enya loves me; and she likes Enya because she’s a good person.
Daisy does not suffer assholes or fools. She’s circumspect about who she allows into her life and inner circle. The list is small, even though she’s an extrovert who is the life of a party.
“Honestly, I didn’t think I had a choice but to take a nap,” Enya says cheerfully.
Her cheeks are flushed and she’s putting on weight in all the right places. She looks like Earth mother with that belly that I keep touching—and she keeps smacking my hand for doing so.
“How come you seem to have way too many choices when I insist you rest?” I ask, as I watch the sommelier make his way to our table, chilled champagne in hand.
“Your sister terrifies me,” Enya declares in a mock whisper.
Daisy laughs. “That’s what I like to hear.”
The sommelier pours a taste for Daisy, and once she approves, he fills her and my glass.
Daisy animatedly launches into a story about how she drank some absolutely terrible champagne in Greece while working with a director she hates with a passion usually reserved for ex-lovers.
Enya hangs on to every word.
I watch her as I drink my sparkling wine.
