After all, it was begging her not to let Vivian get away, which was the least sensible solution possible.

What did Jules want?

And when she figured it out, what if it was something she didn’t need? Something that could wreck her in the end? People didn’t always want what was best for them. So far, Jules’s desires and goals had played well together. She’d always known what she wanted, and it had worked beautifully for her until now. And now…

Jules dropped her phone on the side table, rested her head back against the armchair, and stared up at the ceiling. It was a nice ceiling. Crown molding and everything.

List making only went so far. So did listening to her gut. This decision couldn’t be a one-woman show. She needed more information. I’ve got to talk to her.

Her phone pinged. Jules’s breath caught. Was it Vivian?

Charlotte.

do u know where Keisha is

Jules groaned and covered her face with her hands. It was four thirty a.m. back home. In either time zone, it was too early to start drinking.

Chapter 40

Chapter 40

When Vivian returned home, as much as Jules wanted to, she didn’t bombard her with questions right away. Instead, she silently helped her out of her coat and led her back to the living room, where two hot cups of chamomile tea awaited them.

Good thing too. Vivian’s face was drawn and her steps were slow. It was nearly eight o’clock at night, and she should now be changing for a brief appearance at a big Fashion Week after-party. Instead, she’d canceled, citing exhaustion.

“Everyone believed me,” she told Jules as they headed into the living room. “I’ve gotten the whole range of responses on this pregnancy, from congratulations to people asking me if I’m out of my mind.” She grimaced. “That second group’s usually pretty plastered, of course.”

“Of course.”

Vivian sat down on the sofa with a grunt and looked up at her.

Jules automatically glanced at the armchair, took a deep breath, and sat next to her on the sofa without an invitation.

Vivian gave her a small smile in return.

“I’m glad they believed you,” Jules said, “but that’s not really why you returned home.”

“With that acumen, why aren’t you a detective?”

Jules refused to be offended. If Vivian wanted to retreat behind a shield of sarcasm, that was her prerogative. “I made chamomile tea.”

Vivian looked at the steaming china cups with surprise. “Thanks. I see you got dressed up too.”

“Don’t knock leggings,” Jules said evenly. “And the hoodie’s Blanc Noir.”

A pensive look crossed Vivian’s face. “Too many people were surprised when women began wearing Lululemon outside the yoga studio. But I always thought—”

“Vivian, please. Can we talk?”

Vivian reached for her teacup and saucer. “Not much for civilized conversation tonight?”