Page 153 of Diego

“We are.”

“And someone has to bring lunch?”

Julia picks up a strawberry. “Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

I look between them, then toward the employee waiting patiently for my answer. “No restrictions.”

“Nothing you've been avoiding lately?”

“Oh, chicken,” I say immediately.

Donna snorts into her tea while the employee makes a note. “Anything else?”

“Coffee smells terrible right now.”

“We’ll keep it out of the room.”

She disappears before I can tell her that really is not necessary, and I stare after her for a moment.

Is this what it is like to be connected to the Contis?

I am accustomed to being on the other side of this kind of attention. I am the one who remembers what clients drink before a showing, arranges private access, coordinates schedules, makes sure cars are brought around, and knows which properties have the right wine in the cellar and which sellers need to disappear before a buyer arrives.

I am the person who notices when someone powerful wants something before they have to ask for it.

Now I am sitting beside two Conti women while people rearrange the afternoon around us, and it is strange enough that I am not sure what to do with myself. I take a sip of tea and decide that being on this side of things is not exactly the worst experience in the world.

I am definitely not going to get used to it, though.

No way. Definitely not.

Donna finishes half a pastry and looks toward the nearest rack. “All right. I need trousers, sweaters, at least two dresses, and something I can wear to dinner without feeling like I’ve wrapped myself in upholstery.”

Julia points toward a long knit dress. “That.”

Donna squints at it. “Too clingy.”

“You are eight months pregnant. Everything is going to feel clingy.”

“That sounds like a failure of design.”

I laugh before I mean to, and Donna looks pleased with herself. “There,” she says. “That’s twice today.”

“You're keeping count?”

“Well, it's an accomplishment.”

Julia gets up and starts pulling pieces from the racks. “Blair needs things too.”

“I really don’t.”

Both of them look at me, and I immediately know I am outnumbered.

“I’m barely nine weeks.”

“And before you know it, you'll be more than nine weeks,” Donna says. “Some women show early. Some don’t. Some just get really bloated.”

“I can still button everything.”