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The ghost of last night’s nausea stirred.

“I’m good, thanks.”

Today was becoming a day of lies. And today was just the beginning.

“How are you?” I said, because that’s what you’re supposed to say.

She ignored the question. “I always reach out to my women after the first retreat, because the integration is the hardest part. I wanted to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

The phone felt too close to my ear, her voice too clear in my head.

“Oh, that’s kind of you,” I said, one hundred percent sure she heard the flatness in my voice.

There was the slightest pause.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been seeing the strangest chatter online,” she said, and I took a step back, until my back was against the counter. “A former retreat guest seems to be airing grievances online, and there’s been a comment or two on my Instagram from a name I don’t recognize. The internet is so loud, isn’t it? I just wanted to be sure none of it was upsetting you. Marlowe, you would tell me, wouldn’t you, if you were having any doubts? I love nothing more than walking a woman through her doubts.”

“Oh, that’s strange,” I said, scanning the kitchen island, like the best deflection might be buried under lily stems and cellophane. “Nothing is upsetting me, but thank you.” Another pause, this one to tell me that my reply wasn’t quite sufficient, so I continued.

“Everything is wonderful. Thank you. I’m so sorry, but I have to go. Work is super busy right now.”

I hung up and paced for five minutes, reliving the conversation, convinced I’d sounded transparently vulnerable, like I’d handed her the exact shape of the last forty-eight hours.

I busied myself with cleaning off the island, because I had to keep my hands busy.

Sofia paused her wipe down of the counter. I saw the question pass across her face, but she only frowned, briefly, then continued her sweep across the marble.

Vivienne was suddenly in the doorway. Her bare feet made her as stealthy as an octopus. But she was still wearing a pleased smile from being flattered and kneaded in all the right places. Her phone was in her hand.

“Was that Aurora? She just texted me. She said you sounded a little overwhelmed and she wanted me to keep an eye on you. Isn’t that incredible? That woman is a saint.”

Sofia paused her wipe down again. Apparently, my dread was breathing loudly through its pores.

“That is kind,” I said, my voice dry.

Vivienne’s attention on me sharpened. “Marlowe, you look exhausted and pale. Do you need to detox?”

A memory of vomiting bile and being smacked with a falling towel rack intruded on my train of thought.

“Detox? Yes, maybe. But I’m okay.”

“Take the afternoon off. Go home. Rest. You can always work on the pool party from home if you need to. Just remember to book the organic sommelier. What’s her name?”

“Solange.”

“Yes, Solange.”

I hesitated. Vivienne didn’t randomly offer acts of kindness. But she was gullible and suggestible, and Aurora had just compelled her to perform sweetness almost convincingly.

“Thanks,” I said. I wanted to be alone, but I also didn’t.

I helped Sofia place the flowers around the house, setting the sacred geometry arrangement atop a curated pile of enormous coffee table books, then left.

I drove home, swinging by the grocery store because there was nothing but leftover macaroni and half a jug of milk in my fridge.

I bolted the front door behind me, unpacked groceries, and glanced at the little conspiracy wall I’d been building. It suddenly looked too visible. I pulled the papers and sticky notes off the wall and relegated them to a folder in a drawer.

I made an iced coffee and opened Instagram. I needed to delete that post.