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There’s a poised moment of silence. “This is a lot more complicated than I realize, isn’t it?”
I barely resist snorting. Everything is complicated. “I’m so sorry, Sy. I can’t tell you everything. I wish I could, I just… can’t.”
“Tell me this: are you in danger?”
I shake my head, even though she obviously can’t see. “I’m safe. Dmitri’s protecting me.”
“So it’s true. Like, the rumors, I mean. About him being involved with shady people.”
Ah, how to explain to your best friend that Dmitri is the literal king of the shady people? “I trust him. That’s all you need to know right now.”
I can almost see her: an arched eyebrow, probably chewing her bottom lip to ribbons. “And… what’s going on between the two of you?”
Rip off the Band-Aid, Wren. Only way to do it. “Okay, so, I’m gonna tell you something, but you have to promise not to freak out.”
“Oh, my—you’re a regular soap star right now, girl.”
Miserable laughter bubbles through my nose. “Trust me; I’m aware. What I’m about to tell you will definitely cement that title.”
“Go on then. Let’s hear it.”
“There was a mix-up at the fertility clinic. When they inseminated me, it wasn’t with Rose and Jared’s sample.”
A long pause follows. I just wait for her brain to process. “Uh, so what you’re saying is, you’re not carrying Rose and Jared’s baby?”
“No. The baby’s mine.”
“And the father?”
“I’ll give you one guess.”
She’s gonna get it in three, two, one… “Fuuuck!”
I smile tiredly. “Bingo.”
“Fuuuck me!”
“Actually, I was the one who was fucked,” I mumble with another crazed-sounding laugh.
“Forgive me for continuing to pry, but do you by chance happen to mean that literally?”
I cringe yet again because it’s true. I have only myself to blame for getting cornered into the second half of the story before we’ve even finished wading through the first. “Well…”
“Oh my God, so the tabloids have it right?” Syrah shrieks. “You are with Dmitri?”
“Tabloids?” I gawk into the phone. “What are you—” I break off to do some too-little, too-late processing of my own: those photographers at Lamaze the other day weren’t just there for decoration. They served some purpose in the game that Dmitri is playing. “Is that how you found out about Bee?”
“It’s a mess out there,” Syrah rushes to explain. “Everyone’s saying different things. Some say that Beatrice Zanetti called off the wedding and fled the country to escape her ‘arranged marriage’ with Dmitri. Others are claiming that she got killed in some sort of family dispute. There’s even one that says Dmitri killed her himself in a fit of rage. Is…” She takes a breath to steady herself. “Is any of that true?”
“Beatrice is dead,” I croak. “And technically, her marriage to Dmitri was arranged.” When Sy starts to balk again, I jump in to add, “I know it’s weird. But Bee agreed to the marriage. She and Dmitri are…” I swallow hard. “They were best friends. It was meant to be a marriage of convenience.”
“But why?”
“Because her father expected them to marry. Because then Dmitri and Bee would have inherited her family’s fortune and influence. But mostly, because Dmitri would have let Bee live her truth, which her father would never have allowed.”
“What does that mean, ‘live her truth’? What truth?”
I look around my room, wondering if the walls have ears. I’m not sure I should be telling Syrah so much. But weirdly, it helps to share the fragmented, convoluted story gushing around in my head. Even if it’s not the whole story. “She was gay, Sy.”
