CANDI
I’mup early the next morning, sipping tea down in the dining room by myself. The sun isn’t quite up yet, but the horizon is just starting to turn golden orange and the sky is lightening to a soft blue. Even though I’ve managed to escape the kind of brutal, unrelenting nausea that Frankie talked about experiencing during her first trimester, I still wake up at the crack of dawn most days with my stomach in knots. A combination of baby hormones and stress, no doubt.
My emotions are in overdrive to boot, and the guilt is eating me alive. I’ve given it some more thought, and I’ve decided to go see Juliana and try to clear the air between us. Maybe if I bring her a peace offering—in the form of an impeccable cup of espresso and one of Chef Alain’s signature breakfasts—she’ll warm up enough to listen to what I have to say. I’m not expecting miracles, but I’m hoping we can at least come to a mutual understanding, if not a truce. I hate fighting with her.
It doesn’t take much sweet talking to get Alain and his assistant Becca to agree to help me with Juliana’s breakfast picnic. Despite the early hour, they’re already hard at work preparing for the day’s meals. Becca is busy washing and slicing organic produce from the local farmers’ market while Alain kneads dough for bread. Alain has Becca assemble a citrus-heavy fruit salad while he finishes forming the loaves, and then he asks me what I’d like him to cook. Remembering the last time I had brunch with Juliana, I request the best avocado eggs benedict he can manage, which he levels up by switching out the English muffins for flaky puff pastries.
After packing a sturdy wicker basket with glass dishes full of fruit salad, the benedicts, and a separate container for the hollandaise, I fill a thermos with freshly brewed espresso. The coffee is my pièce de resistance. Jules is a total coffee snob, and she drinks pricy Italian espresso every day, so I know she won’t be able to resist. Much like Juliana herself, the Bellantis do not fuck around when it comes to coffee beans. Maybe it’s an Italian thing.
Donovan brings my car around for me and makes sure my picnic is secured (he even buckles the seat belt around the basket in the passenger seat), and then I’m off to the Abbott property. I park in front of the house this time, waving at the guards outside before unlocking the door with the key Frankie loaned me.
As I tiptoe through the house, I hear no sign of Juliana. It’s so quiet you could literally hear a pin drop. She’s usually an early riser, but maybe her captivity has her sleeping in. I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I should just leave the coffee and the basket in the kitchen for her to find later, but then I start to get anxious. What if she managed to climb out a window last night and escape, and the guards don’t even know she’s gone? I wouldn’t put it past her.
As I make my way up the stairs I call her name, my heart pounding, but her grumpy response comes from the far end of the first floor. Thank God she’s still here, safe and sound.
I locate her in the light-filled sunroom, sitting in a chair that faces the windows. This room used to be a dark, wood-paneled den, but it was completely redone at Charlie’s insistence. Now it has a soaring cathedral ceiling with exposed beams, a rough-hewn stone fireplace, and an entire wall of picture windows overlooking the hilly green vineyard.
“Good morning,” I say softly.
She barely gives me a glance over her shoulder as I walk in. It’s obvious I’m not welcome, but too bad. She can hate me all she wants, but I need her to know that I’m here for her. Especially right now, when she’s cornered and vulnerable and her future is so uncertain.
“Are you hungry? I brought you breakfast. Thought we could use some girl time.”
I keep my voice light and cheery and even give the thermos a little wiggle, but Juliana doesn’t acknowledge me. After setting the basket on a side table, I drop into the chair next to hers and crack the top of the thermos so the aroma fills the air. She doesn’t even blink.
“I’ll go get us some mugs from the kitchen. If you’re not hungry yet, maybe we can watch a couple shows to pass the time? Catch up a little?”
She finally whips me a cold look. “Are you serious right now? You think I want to have girl time with you? Get out of here, Candi.”
I don’t take offense. In fact, I feel even worse for her. She’s still in the same clothes she was wearing yesterday, and judging by how wrinkly they are, she slept in them. The bags under her eyes tell me she didn’t have a very restful night, either. Her face is impeccable, however, because if there’s one thing Jules never leaves home without, it’s her fancy Chanel toiletry bag.
Ignoring the venom in her voice, I unpack the basket and set everything on the coffee table. Then I make a quick trip to the kitchen for silverware, napkins, and coffee cups. Luckily, since Mrs. Abbott and Livvie have been staying here, everything I need is at hand.
Juliana continues to ignore me as I fill a plate for her. She doesn’t even pick up the espresso. I’m not giving up yet, though. I start to eat, waiting for her to thaw. The Juliana that I know won’t be able to keep her mouth shut forever. Especially not when I’ve pissed her off so badly. She’ll want to get two more cents in before I leave.
It’s hard to eat when I’m battling both morning sickness and the disdain of my BFF, but I force myself to take small bites. As I watch the birds out the windows, a memory comes to mind.
“Hey, remember that time in college when we went to the dining hall on a Sunday, totally hungover, and stole the entire tray of bacon off the warmer while the cook wasn’t looking?”
We’d reheated that bacon for all our meals for three solid days until it got so hard and chewy that we couldn’t eat it anymore. The food services staff never did find out who the thieves were, though amongst our friends, Juliana and I were legends.
She blinks but doesn’t respond.
“I couldn’t touch bacon for months after that,” I go on. “Even the smell was enough to turn my stomach, we overdid it so bad. No regrets, though. Right?”
She huffs in annoyance.
Swallowing hard, it strikes me that if I can’t fix this, my best friend will never know my baby. Juliana doesn’t even know I’m pregnant yet. I want to tell her, but the timing is crap. I can’t drop that kind of bombshell on her when she won’t even look at me.
Pushing my plate aside, I pour myself some espresso and then glance over at her again.
“You should try the espresso. It’s the good stuff. I think you’re really going to—”
“Jesus, Candi, would you just stop it!” She swivels in her chair to glare at me. “Seriously. Just, stop. Bringing me food and all this cheery bullshit isn’t going to fix what you did to me.”
I stop mid-pour and set the thermos down.
“I was trying to keep you safe. You have to know that.”
