Jules kept her silence until they reached Federico’s and took a table, but she had to admit she was a little uneasy. She’d gotten to know Simon pretty damn well while working for him, and he had a telling gleam in his eyes.

So when the waiter delivered the two neon-orange-colored cocktails Simon had ordered, she said, “Okay. Now: what are we celebrating?”

“Cheers,” he said.

Jules sighed, dutifully raising her glass, clinking it with his. She’d just raised it to her lips and taken a sip when Simon spoke.

“Vivian’s pregnancy, of course. New life is so exciting, isn’t it?”

Jules’s mouthful of orange cocktail went everywhere.

He dabbed at his cashmere sweater with a napkin. “I’ve always wondered if people actually did that spitting thing. Now I know.”

“Wh-what are you talking about?” Jules croaked, fumbling for her own napkin and trying to ignore the stares she was getting from the other patrons. “Vivian’s what?”

“Don’t even try it.” He sounded stern. “You’ve already shown me everything I need to know.”

Jules whimpered and closed her eyes. She was dead. Worse than dead.

“True, it was a long shot,” he mused. “I mean, at her age… Well, it is Vivian. I guess it makes sense that her ovaries would still be kicking ass after everybody else’s have thrown in the towel.”

“She’ll kill me,” she moaned. “Simon, I didn’t tell you. I didn’t—”

“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently.

She opened her eyes to see him regarding her intently.

“And you’ve been holding her hand the whole way, haven’t you?” he asked. “That doctor’s visit was about this, wasn’t it? And she took you along.”

Jules nodded mutely.

“And the lawyer too. You were there for that.”

Another nod.

“My God,” he chuckled. “Were you even there when Robert got the big news?”

She bit her lip and nodded one more time.

Simon’s eyes widened. “I was kidding. Really?”

“It was awful,” she whispered. This seemed like betraying Vivian’s trust. She wouldn’t, she couldn’t, give Simon any more details, but at the same time, it was so nice not to be the only one who was in on this.

“What does this mean for the divorce?” he asked. “Will he—”

“I can’t talk about that. Simon, please don’t ask me to talk about it. She’d kill me.”

“Is she going to have an abortion?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think so.” Jules looked helplessly at the door. This was weird. She’d often found herself longing to flee Du Jour and head straight for a bar. She’d never expected it to work the other way around. “Simon, she’ll tell everybody when she’s ready.”