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“Except you didn’t.”
“Because I can’t in good conscience wear anything that costs an entire month’s salary!” I protest, feeling like more and more of a lunatic with every passing second. “That’s just craziness.”
Bee looks between the two of us with amusement. “Hate to break it to you, Wren, but we’re kinda crazy here.”
Dmitri slaps the pastry into a bowl and pushes it towards Bee. “Take care of that. I’ve got work to do.”
She looks at him aghast, as if he’d handed her a scalpel and told her to finish up the open-heart surgery he was just doing. “What do you want me to do?”
“Blind bake it, add the filling and the upper casing, and then bake it again for ten minutes or so.”
“But you usually do that.” I’ve never seen panic on her face in a non-Vittorio-related situation, but this is as close as it gets.
Dmitri gives Bee a look that makes her wither where she stands. Even I take a step back and I’m not anywhere near the line of fire. Then, without another word, he brushes past me on his way out of the kitchen. He smells like flour, mint, and cedar.
“Do you know how to cook?” Bee asks desperately once we’re alone again. “Because I will one hundred thousand percent mess it up.”
I join her at the kitchen counter and offer a brave smile. “Have no fear; Wren is here.”
She hands it over with relief. “Oh, thank God. I thought I was gonna have to go hungry tonight. Phew.” She grabs a butter knife and stabs one of the apple slices she’s just cut. “Want some?”
“Bee?”
“Hm?”
“Be honest: am I wearing one of Dmitri’s shirts?”
She very pointedly does not look at me. In fact, she seems engrossed in the apple she’s eating. “Uh… I think one or two might have belonged to him. But he doesn’t really wear them anymore.”
“Bee!”
“What?” she protests innocently. “I’m supposed to memorize the chain of custody for every garment in this household?”
“I can’t be walking around your apartment wearing your husband’s shirts! It’s bad enough I’m carrying his baby.”
She rolls her eyes. “Please. I already told you: I don’t care about that stuff. I’m not a jealous person.”
“There’s such a thing as being too chill.”
“No, as a matter of fact, there is not.” She takes a big bite of apple and crunches noisily at me. “I had hoped this shopping trip would chill you out. No dice, it seems.”
I pop the pastry into the oven and slam it shut. “And that’s another thing! I didn’t need a shopping spree.”
“Uh, have you seen your wardrobe? You most definitely needed a shopping spree.”
“Ouch. You’re a snob.”
She beams in a way that makes it impossible to stay mad at her, much to my irritation. “Why, yes I am, thanks for noticing. Listen, I know these things are expensive in your world, but to Dmitri, they’re literally nothing. In any case, he likes taking care of his family. It’s in his nature to provide. So… let him provide.”
“It blurs the lines, Bee!” I insist. “It makes things… messy. Messier.”
“I don’t see how.”
“How about your father? Shall we start there?”
“I told you,” she says dismissively, “you don’t have to worry about Papa. I’ll handle him. He’s just got some very… traditional views on how a family needs to be created and some very offensive views on what a family needs to look like. I’ll?—”
“I ran into him today.”
