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She gapes at me. “A lot? It’s more than a lot, it’s like—this is some Marie Antoinette-level shit. Like pure opulence. Seriously, I’m waiting for a bunch of French peasants to come storming over the gate any minute. Holy wow, are those actual fish?” She walks over to the fountain and laughs. “Those are actual fish. In the floor. Inside the house.”
“The staff feeds them every day. They have names but I haven’t learned them all yet.” I point out a big goldfish lurking toward the bottom. “That’s Sam.”
“Fish in the floor. And they have names.” She sighs and rubs her face like she’s waking up from something. “I didn’t believe you, but now I’ve seen everything.”
“Come on, let’s go out back. It’s nice out for once.” I take her through the living room where she pauses to stare at the paintings on the wall (“Is this a real Monet? Like arealMonet?”) before we sit down by the pool. Alonzo, my new guard-slash-manservant, brings down a bottle of champagne on ice and glasses. He pops the cork, pours, and makes himself scarce, though doesn’t go far.
“Must be nice,” Phel mutters, taking a sip. “Is he always around?”
“Always,” I confirm. “Lately, anyway. He’s a new addition to my very glamorous life.” It’s been a few days since the shooting out front. Alonzo’s been around every second since then, either lurking nearby or standing out in the hall. I don’t know when the poor kid sleeps, or if Evander makes him stay up all night watching me. “It’s not as great as it seems.”
“I can imagine.” Phel leans back and sighs. “Although I could get used to this.”
“For a few days, it was amazing. Any food I wanted, all the luxury I could imagine. But then it got kind of lonely.”
“What about Evander’s family? Are they, I don’t know, nice? Can you describe mafia people asnice?”
“His sister’s really great,” I say and crane my neck. “She should be out shortly. His mother’s complicated, but a decent person. His cousin and his aunt, though…” I trail off, not sure how to explain it without freaking her out.They want to murder me. Like murder me dead.
“Can’t win them all.” She hesitates then glances at me. “You haven’t been back at the diner in a little while. Dad’s starting to think he did something wrong.”
“I know.” Guilt hits me like a stone. “I don’t mean to leave you guys shorthanded—”
She laughs sharply. “Camille, hon, it’s totally fine. I only said that because I was worried, that’s all. You’re not coming in because of what happened. I get it.”
I don’t bother denying it. “There’s other stuff too. Right now, things out there are complicated.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” She sighs, tilting her head back. “Dad’s a wreck about it all. He begged me to let him come along so he could apologize in person.”
“Oh, god, no, Ophelia! Tell your dad not to worry, none of this is his fault at all.”
“I know that, and I think he knows that, but you know how he is.”
“As soon as I can, I’ll stop by to tell him not to worry, okay?”
“That’d mean a lot, but really, I wouldn’t blame you if you never left this place. Can you seriously just walk out back and go out on the lake?”
“We have jet skis.”
“Right, of course you do.”
“The thing is, I don’t want to come back to the diner until I have my life settled.” I clear my throat, sipping the champagne to cover my discomfort. “I don’t want to make more trouble.”
“Trouble? We love having you around.”
“Would you love having me around if I weren’t married to Evander?” I ask quietly, afraid of the answer.
“Screw the Kazans,” she says sharply then laughs at herself. “You know who I mean, not you. It’s just, I don’t give a damn about the mafia. I don’t look up to them like my dad does. As far as I’m concerned, you have a job at the diner whether you’re with Evander or not. We’re friends, for real.”
I nod, not trusting myself to say anything. I hoped that was the case, but I wasn’t sure, and hearing her confirm it makes joy swell up in my heart. I have a friend, a real friend, one that cares aboutmeand not who I’m dating or married to. I haven’t had a friend like that in a long time, not since high school, since before Christopher.
When I was with him, all our acquaintances were mafia people. The guys were dicks and the women were fine, or mostly fine, but I never felt like they gave a damn about each other. It was like we were all in the same hell, dealing with the same problems, and we were forced to cling to each other if we wanted any social life at all.
Now, Phel is offering me a lifeline. It’s a flotation device, the first of its kind. Her friendship means I won’t drown when I’m forced to leave Evander after this is finished.
Which will happen, sooner or later.
That’s part of why I can’t love this house the way Phel thinks I should. It’s comfortable and beautiful—
