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“I’m warning you, Basile, I’ll be going home broke.”

“Niels, it’s not like you were exactly rolling in dough before we got here.”

I laugh as I watch them teasing each other over breakfast. For the past three days, our lively, little group has been staying in the finest suites at Caesars Palace, the sprawling resort on the legendary Strip. Together, we’re taking advantage of this unexpected break to recharge our batteries. Clémentine is joking around again. Felix is treating my sister well. Vadim has never smiled so much, and it even looks like he’s growing closer to my brother, after they’ve been sworn enemies for so many years.

“Sorry, boys, but we’re having a girls’ day today!” Lily announces, biting into a chocolate-covered strawberry.

“Yep. I have put together one hell of a program for us!”

Yesterday, Clémentine decided that being pregnant entitled her to do pretty much whatever she wanted. Knowing what she’s going through—and aware that even the slightest irritation could provoke a minor disaster—Lily and I immediately agreed to everything without objection.

Our trio explores every corner of the shopping complex, designed to resemble the Forum of Ancient Rome. Then, after a hearty lunch, we head out to enjoy the sunshine around the stunning pool, which is modeled on the baths of Pompeii. Clémentine forces us to try out the various massages and treatments offered at the spa. While enduring a particularly vigorous massage, I bring up Vadim’s marriage proposal—which wasn’t actually a proposal—and my two partners in crime once again eye the ring on my right hand. Lily holds back tears as she reveals her suspicions that Felix has been unfaithful, and I silently curse him. Clem tells us about the nightmare she has every night where she gives birth to triplets. One white baby, one Black baby… and a baby wearing Niels’s garden-gnome sweater. Lily and I press our lips together, doing our best not to laugh.

“Oh, go ahead, don’t hold back on my account. Laugh away at my misery.”

Even Clémentine can’t help giggling—then almost starts crying again.

Lily sighs. “Our lives are such a mess.”

“Maybe, but a simple, predictable life would be boring, wouldn’t it?” I say.

“LISTEN TO ME UP THERE! I WANT TO BE BORED. UNDERSTOOD?”

Yes, Clémentine D’Aragon even yells at the sky.

***

In the days that follow, we continue to live the high life in a setting as sumptuous as it is artificial. Every evening, our chaotic and boisterous little group tries out somewhere different: a trendy restaurant, a fun bar, or a packed venue. And our crew attracts attention wherever we go. We laugh, we dance, we drink, we sing, we kiss… We discover and rediscover each other, living as if there were no tomorrow.

Only Yann remains quiet and reserved whenever he joins us. I’m afraid he suspects something. Clem is too, even though she tries not to let it show. I know her. I can read her distant looks and sense her unspoken fears, so I try to be there for her, to support her without making a big fuss.

Late at night, when the party is over, each couple heads back to their suite. And Vadim and I are left alone to recreate the magic formula: You + Me. Together, we chat, put the world to rights, whisper, breathe each other in, lose ourselves, then find each other again. Each night, Vadim asks, “Are you game, Alma?” and I prove to him that I am, then fall asleep nestled against his body.

I will never tire of his skin, his scent, his tenderness.

On the sixth day, everyone else turns up at our suite—some earlier than others and some worse for wear after the excesses of the night before—for a lavish brunch. Clémentine is the first to arrive in the dining room, with its marble columns and Roman statues. Barely noticing the impressive décor, she immediately attacks the mountain of bagels, just as Basile and Niels make their entrance, bleary-eyed but glowing.

Yann shows up next, without a trace of a smile on his face. Lost in thought, he sips a cup of tea, swallows half a plate of scrambled eggs, then leaves after wishing us a good day. The suite door slams behind him. The discomfort around the table is palpable, and I know Clem would like nothing more than to disappear. Niels comes to her rescue by launching into a discussion about sweaters with wacky motifs, and I take the opportunity to drag Clem into the bedroom.

“Clem, what’s going on? Did you tell Yann everything?”

She shakes her head. Her melancholy eyes avoid mine.

“He can tell I’m hiding something from him,” she groans, on the verge of tears. “He keeps trying to get me to talk, but I just can’t. It’s driving him crazy. He slept in the other room last night.”

I try to find the words to console her, but nothing comes to me. So, I take her in my arms and gently stroke her hair.

“And the worst is yet to come,” she sobs. “But I’m going to do it. I’m going to tell him, Alma. He has the right to know. And in any case, when the baby is born it will be obvious. He’ll clearly see that he or she is mixed-race.”

“We’re here, Clem. We’re all here for you. You won’t have to face this alone, I promise you. And this baby will be perfect. We’re going to love it like crazy. We already love it.”

She cries even harder, one hand resting on her bump. “I’m going to confess everything to him. Soon. But not here.”

We stay like that for a long, miserable moment, until her tears finally dry. Then, a tiny, barely perceptible glimmer returns to Clem’s eyes.

“That’s enough of all that. I’ve got a stack of pancakes to finish, I’ll have you know. Don’t forget that I’m eating for two.”

“After you, Mama Bear.”