I findout that Juliana has a private table reserved in the courtyard for us when I arrive at the Plaza. The hostess leads me outside to a table that’s tucked away in a corner, surrounded by potted palms, with a thatched umbrella shading it. The ambient sounds of a string quartet and the other diners chatting lend a classy but relaxed vibe to the space.
My BFF is sipping a mimosa and scrolling on her phone as I approach, huge designer sunglasses adding extra glam to her sleek black outfit. She looks great. Also intimidating.
As for me, I picked out a maxi-length sundress and a linen blazer to wear, but seeing Juliana makes me somehow feel both underdressed and overdressed all at the same time. My stomach flips, my nerves spiking. Though I’d lain awake long into the night trying to figure out what to tell her, I hadn’t come to any clear decisions.
But the second I see her look up at me and wave, I realize exactly what I need to do. I need to take advantage of the tidbit Armani gave me about the Russians, about how the Bellantis are struggling to secure the protection of their allies when it comes to the Bratva-Bruno union. It’s the only actual “secret” I have that I can spin—and giving it up seems like my only possibility of staying in the Brunos’ good graces. If I’m lucky, I might even be able to gathermoreinfo about the alliance from Juliana.
“Oh my God, Candi! Look at you! And they say redheads don’t tan!”
She bursts from her chair to hug me. I hug her back, surprised at how happy I am to see her.
“I thought you’d been abducted by aliens or something!” she adds. “I was about to call the FBI.”
I laugh and then get myself settled across from her. “Abducted yes, aliens no. Ha. Like I said, Armani planned the whole trip behind my back…we went shopping in Nob Hill and then all of a sudden, instead of going home, we were getting dropped off at the airport. It was a total surprise.”
Her head tilts, her eyeline shifting to the huge diamond ring on my finger that’s greedily gobbling up all the sunlight. Whipping off her sunglasses, her face shines with excitement.
“There it is. You brilliant little slut!” she crows. “Let me see it! How big is the stone?”
“Um, I have no idea,” I say.
I really don’t. Furthermore, I had no part in selecting it. Armani had given me the “engagement” ring in the most unromantic way possible. Since we had never actually been engaged, and since Armani had never actually proposed to me before we were married, he had waited until the night of our wedding reception at the Bellanti estate to unceremoniously drop the ring into my palm and tell me that I had to wear it “for the optics.” I hadn’t worn it since. Well, at least not until I was getting ready for my brunch with Jules this morning. I knew she’d want to fawn all over it. She loves jewelry.
Taking my hand, she turns my ring this way and that, cooing at the diamond’s sparkle.
“It’s three carats, easy. Maybe three and a half, even. And an oval cut stone, look how nicely it elongates your finger. Gorgeous.” She glances up at me and grins. “See? Told you there’d be perks to shacking up with the guy. How the hell did you get him to the altar so fast?”
This is the part where I don’t mentionat allthat I was drugged by Armani, nor that I woke up in a hotel room in Vegas with a gold band on my finger and a marriage certificate that I had zero recollection of signing. As far as Juliana knows, I plotted the whole thing myself, in an attempt to get even closer to the Bellantis—so I could be an even better Bruno mole.
“Oh, you know…just took advantage of the whole Vegas vibe,” I say. “Plus, the combination of alcohol, adrenaline, and hot tub sex.”
She throws her head back and laughs, delighted at my ingenuity. Of course, it’s all lies.
“Sorry I couldn’t invite you to the reception,” I say. “I know we couldn’t risk blowing my cover to the Bellantis and everything, but I really wish you could have been there.”
“Psh, it’s fine,” she says. “You got our message at the cake cutting, so that’s all that matters.”
“Right.” I nod vigorously, even though I had no idea Juliana was involved. “The cake cutting.”
“We just wanted you to know that we’re always looking out for you—protecting you,” she adds. “But don’t worry. It’ll all be over soon enough.”
My heart skips a beat. Over? Meaning…the Bruno-Bellanti feud will be over? Meaning…the Bellantis will be dead, or run out of town for good? Over how? But before I can fish for more information, the waiter comes up to our table to pour me a glass of water and refill Juliana’s mimosa.
“Can I get you something else to drink?” he asks.
“Coffee, please. And can we get a couple menus?”
“Oh, I took care of ordering for us already,” Juliana cuts in. “It gets so freaking busy here for brunch, I figured I’d just get one of everything so we could eat right away. All their food is amazing, I promise. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
The waiter disappears, but he’s back right away, carrying a huge tray loaded up with plates. One by one, he sets the dishes before us. Crisp bacon, smoked salmon, steaming croissants, pancakes topped with caramelized bananas, yogurt and granola, eggs, the works. There’s no way we’ll eat all this.
“You weren’t kidding,” I say, shaking my head. “Dibs on the pancakes.”
“Nice choice,” Juliana says.
She smiles, watching me as she saws a bite out of her avocado eggs benedict. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I think she’s giving me a suspicious once-over.
