And she didn’t have her period. That was actually a lie.

The train stopped, and he began to wheel off his bike. She followed him as he lifted it up the stairs into the heavy, humid night. He was already talking about something else—something that had happened to him at work that morning. But she wasn’t listening. There was a low pounding in her head, like a pump gone haywire.

She had to tell him. No matter what Eric said. It would be fine. He wouldn’t care. It would change nothing.

Her phone beeped, registering a message that had come in when they were underground. Her hand shook a little as she flipped it open. It was from Eric.

You’ve made a country boy very happy, city girl, it read.

“Who was that?” he asked. “Mrs. Amberson?”

She flipped the phone shut and shoved it into her pocket.

“Yeah,” she said, amazed at how quickly another lie flew from her mouth. “You know what she’s like.”

She would have cracked—started laughing uncontrollably, started screaming. It was unclear. But fate dealt her one other kind hand. As they approached the hotel, they noticed the black Mercedes lolling in front of it with the hazards on. The driver was out of the car and up the street a bit, talking on his phone.

“What’s going on here?” Spencer said, jumping on his bike. “I think we need to go and have a look.”

He rode off ahead. Scarlett walked slowly, trying to catch her breath. She’d made him happy. That was the kind of message you sent if there was a thing—a real thing. She was barely paying attention as Spencer circled the car like a shark, tapping on all the windows to torment the occupants. They didn’t respond to his efforts. The doors and windows remained closed when Scarlett approached.

“What do you think they’re doing in there?” Spencer asked, jumping off his bike and wheeling it to the curb. “If you were going to pick a place to have sex in a car, would it be in front of your own house, blocking traffic?”

“Probably not,” Scarlett said.

She suddenly felt a weird affection for Lola and Chip and their cozy little life.

The door flew open, and Lola got out. She was wearing the Dior dress. Chip looked like he was about to get out after her, but then he caught sight of Scarlett and Spencer standing there. His face was a mess—red, wet. Lola looked comparatively composed, though her eyes were clearly a bit on the runny side and her mascara was smudged a little under the eyes.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, as she approached them.

“I’m fine,” she said, brushing back some hair that had stuck to her damp cheeks. “Can you just ask him to go? And be nice to him, Spence. Okay?”

She said it so quietly and with such obvious discomfort that there was no way that Spencer was going to say a word in reply.