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“Changing the subject.”
I huffed out a laugh. “It’s a skill I developed early. What do you want to know?”
“Two things. The first, absolutely everything about your baby. The second, is answers to a select few questions about her mother.”
I rested my forearms against the side of the table and met her anxious gaze. “What do you want first?”
“I’ve always believed in eating my vegetables first, so let’s talk about her mother.”
I opened my mouth to speak but she held up a hand stopping me.
“I am not usually a jealous woman, but I have a feeling with you I might be different. Please just answer the few questions I have.”
I lay my knife and fork across my plate and sat back in my seat. “Go ahead.”
“Do I know her or know of her?”
“Yes.”
She twisted her lips back and forth, her eyes following suit. “Hmm. Do I really want to know this?”
“You should,” I advised, and her head whipped around to face me.
“Why?” she demanded.
“Because most everyone in the business knows, and I would not want you to hear it from someone else.”
The crazy woman covered her face with her hands and mumbled. “Go ahead. Who is it?”
“Julianna Silva.”
She froze for half a second, then the strangest noises began to filter through her fingers. After a moment of alarm, I realized she was laughing.
“Why are you laughing?”
This only elicited more laughter and a wild snorting sound. After a moment, she rubbed her face and looked at me. Leaning over the table, she whispered harshly, “Julianna Silva? For fuck’s sake, Ares! Could you not have picked someone who doesn’t even require the use of their last name in this business?” She threw up her hands. “We’re complete opposites! How can I even begin to compete?”
Immediately, my eyebrows drew into a deep V. I interrupted her sharply, “Hope.”
“What?” she asked, completely exasperated.
“There is only one of you.”
She quietly studied me, then asked stiffly, “Are you still friends?”
I smiled for the first time. “Not at all. And we never were. Just a way to pass some time and relieve an itch.”
She held up her hand as a violent shudder worked its way through her. “Okay, okay. Stop!”
She twisted away from me to look out the window. I was tempted to ask her if this was the type of resistance she encountered with men, but she swiftly turned back around.
“My Lord,” she breathed. “Your baby must be beautiful! Do you have pictures?”
I opened my cell and gave it to her to scroll through. Watching the soft, joyful expressions filter across her face filled me with pride for my child, and a strange, aching tenderness for Hope.
Suddenly, her eyebrows shot up.
I reached for my phone, but she sat back in her chair and continued scrolling, giggling and snorting with laughter.
