“You’ve refolded that three times,” Lillian observed as she finished re-tying her signature braid. “Something on your mind?”
It was laundry night: Lillian had her neat stack of socks, Bea was wrangling towels and linens. The fitted sheet, though, was a sentient spiral of disrespect.
“I learned today that Rafael’s final promotion isn’t tohusband. It’s toowner.” Her hands went numb as she said it. He’d always been possessive, and she liked that more than she’d ever admit. But it was different when it was state-sanctioned.
Lillian’s hands stilled on a pair of pantyhose. “Like Tier Four?”
Bea sat on the couch. “Yeah, but with a software upgrade I didn’t ask for: more coverage and fewer permissions.” Her knee bounced once, then twice, then threatened to start a rhythm section. “And here’s the part that makes me crazy. I should have known. Icould have known.”
Lils watched her with those too-knowing brown eyes. “Because of last time.”
Ancient history, when she’d tipped into Tier Four of the Social Proximity Law by accidentally spending one too manynights over. She’d found herself staring at a sterile government notice informing her she now had a ‘linked party’ and saw that this country didn’t treat intimacy as casual.
Bea glanced down. Her socks were covered in strawberries. Adorable, oblivious strawberries that she resented for being so naive. “I didn’t investigate. I acted like I wasn’t living in the UR and fell in love with a boy and accepted this stupid, stunning ring.”
Her hand drifted down. She twisted at it, enough to break the seal of warmth, then slid it off and set it on the coffee table between them. The blue diamond and its white wings caught the light.
Lillian’s gaze dropped briefly to the jewelry. “Do you think hewouldn’tmarry you if you said no to the law?”
Bea dropped her face into her hands. “I don’t know.”
“Should we call Georgie?”
Georgina Ashcroft. Legacy darling. Former housemate.Traitor.
Bea’s head whipped up. “She didn’t tell me.”
“And you’re allowed to be mad about that.”
Bea’s eyes narrowed. “Isabel and Naomi, too.”
The realization came as she said it. Outnumbered. Not by men, but by women who were supposed to be on her side. They’d known what it would cost her, and they had decided, through their silence, she would pay that price.
Lillian didn’t rush to defend them. “Why don’t we call and let them try to explain?”
The idea was both comforting and terrifying. Comforting because Georgina could make anything sound manageable. Terrifying because Georgina could make anything sound manageable.
Lillian tapped her screen, then angled it toward Bea. “Video?”
Bea blew her hair off her face. “Fine.”
The screen rang twice before Georgina appeared, lying against her tufted velvet headboard, blonde hair still immaculately styled.
“Ladies.” Georgina’s face lit up. She shifted the phone, and Isabel appeared beside her, half reclined, lifting two fingers in salute.
“Sleepover?” Lillian asked. Georgie and Isabel were now Southgate residents, the creative enclave of stages and studios, an hour from the corporate bustle of Northgate.
“Dante and Hunter are working, so we met to gossip,” Isabel said, lifting a single chip between two freshly manicured fingers.
“Bey,” Georgie said, peering at the screen, “why do you look like you just learned about withholding tax?”
“Wait,” Lillian interrupted. “I’m going to add Naomi. One sec.”
A beat later Naomi appeared, hair damp like she’d just showered. Her cheerful greeting faded when she took in Bea. “What’s wrong?”
“Rafael explained the marriage law to me today.” Bea waited for horror, or at least a little embarrassment. There was none.
Isabel gathered her hair onto one shoulder. “Ah.”
