6. Brooklyn
brOOKLYN
“Girls’ night!”
Tori’s singsong voice on the other end of my cell phone isn’t what I was expecting when I answered the call, but it’s got me a little hopeful.
Hopeful that I can peel myself off this uncomfortable pull-out sleeper sofa long enough to put down the family size bag of Cheetos I’ve been stuffing my face with for the past half hour and change into something other than two-day-old pajamas.
My fingertips are orange, my eyes glazed over from the hours I’ve spent binge-watching Tiger King. It’s not a good look.
As Tori starts rambling about logistics, I trudge into the kitchen to put my snacks away.
“So what do you think?” Tori says.
“I think Carol Baskin is guilty as hell,” I say confidently.
Tori pauses. “Sorry, what?”
“From Tiger King,” I explain, as if everyone on the planet should know who she is. “You know, the lady who killed her husband and fed him to her pet tigers? I mean, not that I blame her. He was kind of an asshole. How have you not seen the show?”
There’s another pause. “Is this your way of saying you want to kill Luka? Because we don’t have any pet tigers and the zoo is too far away to transport a body without getting caught.”
I laugh along with her. Bumping off my husband? Nah. Sure, I’ve had the impulse to strangle him more times than I can count, but that’s as deep as my violent streak goes.
It’s been a few days since we slept together, and ever since I left the penthouse I haven’t been able to stop replaying that night in my head—each delectable moment—while also battling regret over offering myself up to him like that with no strings attached.
Because what happens now? Are we going to talk things out? Will we never speak of that night again? What’s our status? Are we still fighting?
The thing is, as much as I wish I had all the answers, the bigger part of me doesn’t regret a thing. I miss Luka, and sharing a few intimate moments with him only served to remind me of the fact that despite everything we’ve been through, we have a true and unbreakable connection.
At least, I think we do.
Shaking my thoughts away, I ask, “So what exactly am I agreeing to tonight?”
“Just dinner. Drinks for you and Emzee. Dancing…for you and Emzee.”
I make a soothing sound. “Awww, you might not be able to drink while pregnant, but there aren’t any rules against dancing, Tor.” I think about that a second. “Wait, are there? I guess I wouldn’t really know.”
She laughs. “No, no rules against it. I’m just more of the slow-waltzing type than the shaking-my-booty type. Anyway, Top Lounge at seven?”
The Top is a fancy club in downtown Chicago that usually takes months to get people in for a reservation. Unless you’re a Zoric, of course. I’ve never been there, though, and I’ve been dying to go. How can I pass it up? It’s not like I have anything else to do.
“Sounds perfect,” I agree. “I’ll meet you two there.”
After I hang up, it hits me: How much does Luka’s family know about what’s going on between me and him?
I know they noticed my late arrival to the trial two days ago.
I also know that sometimes Luka confides in Stefan—or, more accurately, Stefan coerces confidences out of his younger brother.
But if the Zorics know I’ve left Luka, they haven’t called me out on it yet.
The more I think about it, the more wary I become.
Perhaps this girls’ night is really just an information-mining endeavor.
But even if it is, I need to know what they’re all thinking and saying about me and Luka, if they’re aware of the trouble between us at all.
I guess girls’ night will be a chance for all of us to dig for intel.
Plus, I love my sisters-in-law. I can’t begrudge them for their curiosity and concern.
Flopping back onto the sofa, I stare at the ceiling. Mr. Kibbles whines at me from his place on the floor. I know that whine. It’s one of the few reasons I leave the apartment anymore.
As we take a long walk around the neighborhood, I ponder what to wear tonight, and what kind of legitimate-sounding excuse I can give Tori and Emzee if I get mopey and want to leave early.
Since nobody knows that I don’t have any jobs booked right now—I’d kept my schedule wide open this month in anticipation of being busy with the Maxilene gig—I figure I can just pretend I have a shoot in the morning.
I still can’t decide if my open calendar is a curse or a blessing.
On the one hand, I’m glad I can just veg out and mourn the ruination of my marriage, but on the other hand it would be a welcome distraction to have a paid gig right now.
And it doesn’t seem likely that any new jobs are going to come in without Luka pitching me…
so I can only imagine what will happen to my career if I go through with the divorce.
Once we get back, I put Mr. Kibbles in his crate with some toys and a treat-stuffed Kong and start digging through my luggage for the outfit I have in mind.
I find it and leave it hanging in the bathroom while I shower to let any wrinkles fall out.
It’s a shimmery black dress with a lace overlay, the back scooped low to my mid-back.
It might be too fancy for a girls’ night out, but after all this time slouching around Shay’s apartment, I’m excited for any excuse to dress up.
I quickly dry off and apply a touch of makeup, hoping to be out of here before my roommate gets back. Shay’s nice and all, but sharing six hundred square feet of space with her is starting to wear me down and I’m not in the mood to get caught up with unnecessary chatting.
I’d love to move out already. The problem is that I don’t have much in my savings, and it’s going to be almost impossible to get approved for an apartment when I don’t have proof of income or any sense of how many jobs I’ll actually be able to book over the next few months.
And deep down, I’m still na?vely holding out hope that Luka and I can work things out.
I shake off the thoughts as I finish getting ready.
By the time I arrive at the Top, I’m feeling a little better.
Girls’ night is just what I need. A hostess shows me to a private room in the back, but I’m so busy taking in the fun 1920s decor that it takes me a moment to realize that the table she’s leading me toward has more bodies around it than just Tori and Emzee.
Luka is sitting there. Stefan, too.
I pull up short, the lightness in my heart turning to instant anxiety. It must show on my face, because Tori’s smile falls as she stands to greet me.
This whole night was a trap.
“Sorry,” Tori whispers as I take a seat between her and Luka. “It was Stefan’s idea.”
I turn toward Luka, but he avoids my gaze when I try to catch his eyes.
“Hello, boys,” I say with a tight smile. “So nice you could join us for girls’ night.”
Emzee snorts and looks away, studying her manicure. Her nails are a shimmery midnight blue, speckled with tiny gold stars. “I love your nails,” I tell her, and she rewards me with a grin.
“I get them done at this tiny shop in Near North Side. I’ll invite you next time.”
Before I can respond, Stefan clears his throat pointedly. “The reason we’re all here is—”
“Can I get you all started with some drinks?” a waiter asks, appearing out of nowhere.
With a humorless smile, I grab the little menu on the table and ask for the most alcoholic-sounding thing I can find. “Make it a double,” I add, noticing Emzee flash me a little thumbs-up.
Once we’re all done ordering, Stefan crosses his arms on the table and takes a breath.
“Look. I just need to know if whatever—” he pauses to gesture between me and Luka “—this is, will negatively impact all the hard work we’ve done to boost DRM’s image, or if the two of you are going to work it out on your own before it gets to that point.
Because for weeks I’ve heard nothing but nonstop gossip about your marriage, and frankly, I’m over it. ”
“I hardly think I can be held accountable for malicious rumors—” I start, but then Stefan reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a few photos, slapping them down on the table. They’re of me and Mateo at a club in LA.
My stomach sinks. Beside me, Luka says nothing.
Stefan scrubs his hands over his face and then addresses me and Luka both. “How bad is this? Luka, is your drinking becoming an issue again?”
“No,” he says firmly. “Well, maybe a little. But not like it was before.”
“That’s really not it,” I say, backing him up.
“Are either of you having an affair?” Stefan prods.
“It’s not my place to speak about Brooklyn’s extracurricular activities,” Luka says sourly.
“I’m not,” I say. “Mateo’s a friend. Just a friend.” For some reason, knowing my husband is suspicious of me and Mateo doesn’t make me feel any better. But who knows what Luka’s been up to since I moved out. “Are you having one?” I ask Luka, in front of the entire family.
“How could you think that?” he says incredulously, finally facing me. Shaking his head, he moves his chair farther away. We’re getting nowhere here.
“O…kay,” Stefan says, sighing. “So what is it, then? Are you two together? Not together? For the sake of DRM and our family, I need to stay on top of this. Whatever it is.”
“I…don’t know,” I say.
Just then the waiter comes back with our drinks, and we all take a few healthy swallows. Except for Tori, who ordered a cranberry juice. She just stirs hers around with the straw, avoiding everyone’s eyes.
The silence continues as we nurse our drinks. It’s the uncomfortable kind.
“So?” Stefan says impatiently, setting his whiskey tumbler down with a heavy clunk. “Speak! Somebody. Anybody. Is this about Maxilene?”
My cheeks go hot, and I feel embarrassed that Stefan thinks I threw my entire marriage under the bus over a single lost contract. In reality, it was simply the final straw.
“Luka and I are…having some issues,” I finally volunteer, once I realize that Luka plans to say nothing. “But I know that if I want a career, I’m stuck. This is what I signed on for, right?”
I hear Luka scoff beside me, and Emzee shoots me a sympathetic look.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Stefan says. “You have a job at DRM no matter what. But if we don’t come to some kind of arrangement, everything will be ruined. And if the agency collapses because our image is destroyed, none of us will have jobs.”
I glance over at my husband, wondering if he’s on board with what Stefan is saying. But it’s impossible to read his expression. He won’t even look my way.
Clearing my throat, I grind out the words, “I can stay through the term of my contract.”
Stefan’s shoulders slump with relief. “Great. That’s great news. Luka?”
Luka looks over at me, and then adds, “I can behave, too. But there’s one thing I want.”
I know what it is. I don’t even need to ask. “Yes, Luka. I will move back in with Mr. Kibbles. He misses you, too.”
“He needs both his parents, Brooklyn,” Luka says sincerely. “It’s important. He’s already had such a hard life.”
We share a smile and for a brief second, I feel like things might eventually be okay again. There’s a glimmer of hope unfurling in my heart. I want to feel happy about it. But as I look away from my husband and take a drink, I temper it.
I’ve been down this road before—and I learned my lesson. So I’ll need to do everything in my power not to get burned.
I’m not holding out any hope.