“You know I’ve always got you two, though,” Teddy adds, crouching to brush a lock of my hair. “You’re my girls.”

And then an intern walks by, and we hear an electronic shutter click as he snaps a not-so-surreptitious photo.

I silently shriek like a banshee in my head, wiping under my lashline, and Teddy sighs, before rising and offering us both hands.

“Time to blow this pop stand, my loves,” he says.

NONI

We spend the rest of the afternoon cooped up inside the Limatra apartment, draining iced coffees and poring over White Fox for clues we’ve missed.

“I’m convinced Mama’s demons weren’t just internal, but external, too,” I admit, tapping at another line with this lavender-scented pencil that reminds me of her. The sky’s gone as dark as crushed mulberries, and ever since last night, after I saw how thrilled Mama was to return to us on that final day—after I savored the afterglow of that pop of ecstasy—I’ve felt shadows drawing closer. I’ve heard Dad’s voice in my head, a staticky buzz: She discovered something dark in Viloxin, perhaps at my own company, that she would not reveal to me.

Those men at Hero Pharm today—his betrayers and maybe hers—their fingers itched to box us up and shunt us off.

“Well I’m convinced I’m ravenous,” Tai replies, draping herself over me in an indigo silk robe.

I set down the script. “Early dinner?”

She nods, burrowing into my pajama-covered shoulder. My heart beats slow underneath her. We haven’t been this close and tender with each other in … years. Maybe it’s because we’ve both been wounded—and behaved with such gentleness—today, so her presence doesn’t register as that singular, old bruise that won’t go away.

“We can order roast lamb soup from the corner on my phone and watch a movie,” I offer, warming to the idea of a night in with her, cuddled up.

Her head makes a slow ninety-degree turn, her expression one of utter disdain. “Hell no,” she says, jumping to her feet. “After the morning we had? Fuck that. I’m not wearing my going-out robe for fun, Nons. We’re going out, bitch. Lady’s Limatra awaits.”

“Nooooo, Tai,” I say, as she pulls me up. And even though I’m cursing in my head, I can’t help but crack a smile.

Tai slicks some red lipstick on my lips (painted-trout-style), ties my hair into a neat bun, funnels me into one of her slinky black satin sleeveless dresses that blow off if you sneeze the wrong way, slaps one of her fancy gifted clutches in my hands, gives me an appraising look (deciding she’s happy with her handiwork), feeds me a shot of some god-awful mulberry liquor that Dad had in the dusty cabinet while shouting chípí, and … pulls two matching cropped candy-colored wigs from her suitcase.