I shove another granola ball into my mouth.

I almost ignored Ana’s phone call this morning. After getting seventeen minutes of sleep, taking three trains to Brooklyn was the last thing I wanted to do.

But despite Asher’s vodka-tonic confession and my whirlwind feelings, we have bigger issues to deal with.

Ana knows about Levi.

She’s known.

She destroyed Mason Stueck, Willa’s slimy ex-boyfriend who plastered her naked pictures all over the internet, so why is she protecting this monster? Why is he so special? Because he’s worth millions? Because he’s powerful? Because the world’s collective heart would break if America’s sweetheart turned out to be a special kind of demon?

It doesn’t make sense.

There are too many missing pieces.

“There’s a lot you don’t know, Olivia.”

Well maybe someone should start informing me.

“Are you ignoring me?”

My ears perk at the sound of an unmistakably Scottish voice coming from the phone Willa abandoned in favor of ladling waffle batter into an iron.

“I’m trying to,” Willa says. “But you didn’t get the memo when I left the country.”

“Did I also not get the memo last night when you were telling me all the vulgar things—”

Willa drops the ladle into the bowl, batter splashing onto the countertop as she dives to hang up the call with Ollie. Her cheeks burn red when Ana looks over at her from the kitchen table, a spoonful of mashed banana teasing Lily’s lips.

“He got dropped on his head a couple times when he was a child,” Willa says.

“Mhm,” Ana says. “Let’s hope those vulgar things include condoms and—”

“Mom.”

“It’s my job to make things uncomfortable.”

“Well, it’s not your job to make things uncomfortable for Olivia.”

“It’s my job to instill professional wisdom in Olivia,” Ana says. “That being said: safe sex is great sex and don’t keep your read receipts on.”

“How profound,” Willa says as the waffle iron beeps.

“I’m full of wisdom,” Ana says. “Now, please take Lily and your waffle into the other room because Olivia and I have business to tend to.”

Willa grumbles under her breath, spooning strawberry compote onto her waffle before rescuing Lily from mashed-banana hell. They disappear into the living room, leaving Ana and me alone.

Ana walks over to where I’m sitting at the breakfast bar, taking control of the waffle iron. There’s a plop and a fizzle and she closes the top. She looks calm and cool and collected, which I find bizarre for a woman who is four months pregnant and the mother of a seven-month-old. Not to mention she’s protecting a sleazy actor who takes advantage of women. That must be exhausting.