Chapter 29
AMARA
“You know, I’m really starting to enjoy this whole yoga thing,” Electra says as we head from the studio towards Juiced, a local smoothie bar right across the street, rolled up yoga mats in tow.
“Really?” I ask. “Which poses are you enjoying?”
“The poses? God no, I hate them all. Especially the downward dog? Ugh. And that one where we lay with our butts against the wall, feet up and knees apart? Like, what is that even good for?” she asks as we get in line to order.
“It’s prenatal yoga,” I tell her. “It’s a hip opening pose for women who are stretching to give birth.”
“Right. I keep forgetting you’re pregnant,” she grumbles before we walk up to the counter.
The juice bar girl’s eyes run skeptically over my belly, as if to say, How could you forget, she’s huge?
To which I offer a smile before ordering the Citrus Celebration. Electra orders the Berry Blast and makes a joke that they should offer a vodka spiked version of it.
The girl isn’t amused.
“I’m just happy to be able to see you again,” I say as we walk over to a picnic area and sit down in front of a fountain.
“Me too. No offense, but the time you were in Idaho or wherever the fuck you were was excruciating.”
I can hear the emotion in her voice, which sparks tears in the back of my own eyes. Damn these pregnancy hormones, I swear to God.
“I felt it too. Believe me. As much as it was good to get away from everything that happened…” I trail off. “I missed home so much. I missed us.”
“I did too,” she says. “You know, I don’t think you ever really told me. What exactly happened before you left, other than Gianni running with some bad people and Ransome and you having some turbulence?”
I swallow a sip of my smoothie, doing my best to pretend carrots and tangerines sprinkled with cinnamon and turmeric and blended to the consistency of cold baby food actually sounds better than a chocolate malt right now.
And now I’ve said that, any more of this orange monstrosity is going to make me gag. Again, pregnancy is great.
“That’s about the extent of it,” I tell her, because I can’t tell her more. Because I have to lie to everyone I love. To protect them.
“Okay, but like…” she starts, but I cut her off.
“I want to know more about your boyfriend. Sean. For real, when do I get to meet him? You’ve literally never shown me a photo. Doesn’t he have social media?”
Electra shakes her head. “No. He’s kind of a ghost in that way. I don’t know why. He’s really hot. I guess he just likes to keep to himself. But I don’t mind. He’s always sending me things,” she says with a sparkling smile.
“Sending you things?” I echo, and her smile broadens.
Electra makes a show of pulling a thin silver chain out from under her shirt. On the end is a diamond that sparkles with all the confidence and show of a Tiffany. “Yes. Gifts. Little things, you know?”
I laugh and shake my head. “Little things? Girl.” I pause to take sunglasses from my bag and slip them on, and Electra laughs. “It’s blinding. Jesus. How much money does he make?”
“A lot,” she says.
“What does he do?”
She shrugs. “I don’t really know. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”
I study here and she doesn’t make eye contact.
Like she’s racking her brain trying to think of things about him that she knows so she can share them with me.
Her eyes light up and she points at me, swallowing a sip of smoothie.
“Oh! He likes cars. Loves cars. Fancy ones if I had to guess. I’m pretty sure he has a Lambo. ”
“Damn.” I nod. “So he really does have deep pockets.”
“Yep. And it’s not the only impressive thing he’s got.”
“Oh, so the bedroom is good?” I jiggle my eyebrows.
She bites her lip and nods. “Definitely. I mean, he works a lot, but when he does come around it’s pretty good.”
I think about that. He’s more mysterious than I’d prefer. To the point of being a red flag, I feel.
But I also know New York City men well enough to know that they can be a lot. And strange. Northeastern people have a reputation for being distant.
Still…
On the way home, I check my texts and messages. There’s one from Eliza and I pull up the stream.
ELIZA: Hey. I was wondering if you could check in on Bella.
AMARA: Of course. Is everything okay?
ELIZA: She’s being extra lately.
AMARA: Extra teenagery? Extra spicey? Extra Bella?
ELIZA: All of the above.
A pang of guilt nestles into the pit of my stomach.
I know she’s struggling, more so than the other two.
Eliza and Gianni are old enough to somewhat be able to rationalize the B-rated action movie that has become our life.
Bella, on the other hand, is still a kid.
And all of this must seem like pointless drama to her. Not to mention traumatic.
I have about twenty minutes before we get back to the estate, and even though I’m not alone, I really don’t care if Ivan can hear my phone conversations. As odd as it is, with everything he’s been around for, I can pretty much call him family now.
Bella answers on the third ring. One more and it would have gone to voicemail. In today’s avoidant day and age, I consider myself lucky.
“Hey,” she says with little to no expression or enthusiasm in her voice. Although that’s not really new.
“Hey!” I say with too much of both, and I’m sure I’ve earned myself a cringe.
“What’s up?” she asks. Meanwhile, I can hear music in the background, Nineties grunge from the sounds of it.
“I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing,” I say.
“You mean, you want to know why Eliza and Gianni think I’m crashing out?”
Teenage slang, I swear. Translation: she’s acting a little crazy.
“Yeah. I’m worried about you.”
“I don’t see why it matters. No one listens when I say what’s going on anyways,” she says, and I frown.
“Well, I’m asking because I care. Now what’s going on?”
“What can you do from over there?”
I have to shield myself from a lot of spikes. I knew this going in. This whole conversation is booby-trapped, but I’m ready for it.
“I can love you. And if it comes down to it, I can help. I have resources.”
“Your rich and powerful mobster boyfriend. Right.”
“Don’t call him that,” I warn her, though the longer this conversation carries on, the more I realize there’s not a lot I can do from here after all.
“Your rich and powerful mobster baby daddy. Right.”
I bite back any argument I have left in me.
If there is anything I have learned about Bella, it’s that she has the horsepower to go around in circles forever if I argue with her.
If there’s anything else I’ve learned, it’s that if I stop arguing she will eventually soften up and tell me what’s on her mind.
So I wait.
And sure enough, I hear the sigh.
“I’m having bad dreams,” she admits. “Of people watching us. Lurking around every corner and in all the shadows. Visions, I guess you could call them.”
“Nightmares suck,” I say empathetically. “Believe me, I get it.”
“It’s not just nightmares, Amara,” she says. “It’s when I’m awake too.”
“You’re seeing people during the day? Watching you?” I ask, sitting up straighter in my seat.
“Yeah,” she says.
“Have you told the other two?” I ask.
“More than once,” she mutters. “They think I’m just being paranoid. Or that I’m not sleeping enough.”
“Are you?”
“Am I which one? Sleeping enough or paranoid?” she shoots back, and I’m thankful for the snark. It tells me there’s a little of her left in there.
“Sleeping enough,” I say.
“I would be if I wasn’t seeing shadows everywhere. So I guess that answers the second question too, doesn’t it. Are we done yet?” she whines.
“No. Because I don’t like that you’re scared.”
“I didn’t say I was scared. I said people are watching us, Amara. Ever since you left. Look, you can call me crazy too, but I think whatever we were running from before followed us here too. And probably followed you back to New York.”
I let out a sigh, because I feel so helpless from here. Ivan is parked in front of the house now, so I grab my things and hop out, waving to him before he drives off.
“Listen. I know it’s scary. Just be careful, okay? And I’ll figure out how to see you soon.”
“I think we all need to be careful.”
Something about the way she says it gives me a chill up my spine. Like she knows some kind of storm is brewing.
But I’m miles away from the storm door, too.