Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a petite woman with her back turned to him whose hair color almost exactly matches Gina’s. The cut is different, but the hue is almost the same. A perfect burnt red, that’s how Nick has always thought of Gina’s hair. He still remembers what it had felt like, running his fingers through those locks.
Nick wonders if Gina is happy, or if she still has lingering doubts about Bobby. Nick thinks back to the day when she asked him if Bobby had been involved with Eva Stone. For one-tenth of a second, Nick had thought about saying yes. Would she divorce him? Would Nick finally get a chance to win her over?
But no, he couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that.
As far as his brother is concerned, the Eva Stone problem will be over soon. It’s all Alice talks about, about how Alma Boots has taken a hit because of the scandal, about how sales are already down 4%, with even drearier projections for the next quarter. Bobby is stressed about the numbers, of course, but ever since he and Gina got back together, he seems mostly fine. Confident, even. He doesn’t seem to care all that much about the #BoycottAlmaBoots movement or that half the country thinks he’s a predator.
All Bobby cares about is Gina. And Gina has taken him back.
Bobby has no idea Eva really is pregnant, let alone pregnant with twins.
But Nick knows better.
Which is why he has to get ahead of the situation. Nick steps outside the cathedral’s bronze doors, fishing his cell phone from his jacket pocket. He dials Eva’s number—he’s memorized it, not wanting it saved in his contacts.
He can tell Eva is confused, by the way she says hello.
“We need to talk,” he says. “Can you meet me in twenty minutes?”
Forty-One
Malaika
Friday, November 1st
Malaika and Calan are on a train heading to New York City.
It’s a quarter to four in the afternoon, which means they were able to secure two seats next to each other, far away from other riders. A good thing, since Malaika has just told Calan about escorting. Calan is now gaping at her in horror, cheeks flushed, like she’s confessed to murdering puppies.
Malaika feels her stomach sink. It’s possible this was a mistake.
“It’s legit,” Malaika says, borrowing Andy’s word. “Some men need a date to a party or a dinner and pay me to go. Nothing happens.” She slices her hand through the air. “Not even a kiss. The most I do is hold hands and stuff. And I don’t use my real name. It is very safe.” She doesn’t add that Andy has offered her jobs that would definitely involve sex, that he keeps upping the pay for this one client who really likes her look. She doesn’t even like to think of it.
Calan swallows. She can see his mind turning, processing this unexpected development. Finally, he speaks. “What name do you use?” His voice is an octave higher. It’s not the question she expected, though maybe it should have been. Calan is preternaturally curious. It makes sense that he’d fish for details.
“My mom’s. Verena.”
“Does she know?” His tone is still quiet, but less… horrified.
“No one does.” Anxiety twists in her throat at the idea of telling Verena. Her mom wouldn’t judge her, but she’d likely be… disappointed. The realization lights a fuse in Malaika’s abdomen. Why should she feel ashamed? She isn’t hurting anyone.
“Except for me.” A wisp of a smile sneaks up the corners of his mouth.
“Except for you,” Malaika echoes. “I wanted you to know because I trust you. We are friends.” The words stir something in Malaika, something warm and fuzzy. It’s true: Calan is her friend. A kind, loyal, and honest friend. A good listener and a talented artist. “I want you to keep an eye on me. Do you know how you’ve been keeping track of your dad through the Find My Friends app? I want you to do that with me.”
A pause. “If it’s safe, why are you worried?” His words are lined with something. Not irritation, not exactly. Defiance, maybe. Disapproval, probably.
Malaika doesn’t blame him. Calan is one of the most intelligent and creative people she has ever met—but he is also sheltered beyond belief. All that stands between him and his aspirations is time. Malaika would love to be on the same boat, but she’s not. The reality—her reality—is that she will need to overcome countless obstacles in order to achieve her dream. Money is just one of them. One that she can actually control, at least to a degree.
“Because it is a big city and it never hurts to be extra safe.” Malaika feels a tightness in her throat. She wants Calan to understand why she’s doing this. “This is important to me. It pays well. Four-hundred dollars per date.”
His mouth forms an O. He’s impressed. “And you really don’t have to… do anything?”
“Nothing,” she says. And then, she adds, softly, “Think about what this money could do for my career.”
He nods and looks up. After a beat, he asks, “How many times have you done it?”
“Twice. The first time we went to a high school reunion and the guy asked me to pretend I was his girlfriend.” Malaika recalls the elegant setting of the party she had attended with Simon. “The second guy took me to a business dinner.” Malaika doesn’t add that it was fun, but it had been. She isn’t sure she likes what it says about her, but she had felt perfectly comfortable with Alex who, like Simon, hadn’t tried anything untoward. “This is a means to an end. And it’s temporary. You understand, yes?”
“I don’t like it,” Calan says. “How do you know these guys will respect your boundaries?”
Malaika smiles. Andy had used that same word—boundaries. Everyone in America does, as if a person’s body can be fenced
