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“Is it really?” Wren asked, leaning closer, eager for any gossip.

Dark irises peered over the mirror, assessing them both, a glint of humor cutting through her lawyer’s poise. “No,” she admitted, shoulders shaking slightly with laughter. “But it’d be far more entertaining than the simple breaking and entering.”

Ali’s phone buzzed aggressively against the coffee table. Natasha craned her neck toward the sound.

Ali just groaned and dropped her forehead onto Wren’s shoulder, limp with despair.

“There, there,” Wren soothed, giving her back a few sympathetic pats. “It’ll be all over and done with tomorrow.”

Another groan and a soft thump of her head against Wren’s shoulder. No amount of coffee could cure her exhaustion. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Ali wished for one of Charlotte’s hugs. The ones capable of shutting out the rest of the world and made Ali feel lighter, more steady.

Across from them, Natasha flicked her wrist, dragging her eyeliner into a bold wing. Cap snapped back on, she tossed it into the depths of her makeup bag.

“I’ll handle it,” Natasha stated in a tone that left little room for negotiation.

Before Ali could protest, Natasha crossed to the coffee table, plucked up the still-vibrating phone, and glanced at the caller ID. Her deep brown eyes sparked.

“Natasha, wait⁠—”

Too late. An extravagantly manicured thumb tapped the screen, one to answer, another to put it on speaker.

The usual silken tone Victoria wielded like a weapon was nowhere to be found in the voice that burst into the room. Already mid-rant the sharp and grating tone skipped any greetings or pleasantries, straight to her current tirade on the color scheme Ali should have consulted her on.

Natasha listened, logging every insult and degrading comment Victoria made, expression cool, lips barely curving. The tiny crease forming at one corner of her mouth traveled to the other before she finally cut in.

“Hi, Aunt Tori.”

Dead silence followed from the other end. Wren clapped a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking with the effort not to laugh.

“Natasha, sweetie, is that you?”

Wren made a dramatic gagging noise. Ali didn’t bother to hide her scowl. Thirty-six more hours. Then Victoria wouldn’t be in her vicinity for at least two months. Totally achievable. And she would do it for Charlotte.

“It is, auntie,” Natasha confirmed, her tone taking on a more formal approach. “I’m with Ali, finalizing the last of the details.”

She set the phone on top of the pastry display and pulled out a tube of mascara, untwisting the top.

“Oh, is she with you?”

“She’s making us some coffee.”

Ali spun on her heel, marching toward the espresso machine before Natasha could become a liar.

“Don’t you think the color scheme Lizzie requested is lovely?” Natasha asked, brush gliding through thick lashes.

There was a slight hesitation, a beat of calculation, before Victoria drizzled them in syrupy praise for how well everything had come together.

“It was mostly Charlotte,” Natasha cut across, adjusting her grip on the wand and drawing the brush over her other set of long lashes. “Ali and I were simply foot soldiers.”

A sharp edge slid across Victoria’s tone. “Well, we all know how Charlotte likes to be in control.”

“I think she’s mellowed since she got with Ali, actually.” The smirk that tugged at Natasha’s lips was clearly baiting.

Heat crept up her neck, singeing the rims of her ears. Natasha stood there, all calm confidence and hard edges, every word she spoke deliberate. Honesty came easy to her, too easy sometimes, and it made lying about whatever she and Charlotte were feel like swallowing glass.

Situationship? Friendship? Benefitship? Hell, she didn’t even know anymore.

“I’m sure Charlotte will get tired of her soon enough. She was wearing neon yellow eyeliner in the shape of a lightning bolt the last time I saw her. As if Charlotte Davenport would put up with such lack of taste.”