“What can I do to help?” Beau breaks the silence.
“Kill the right man next time?” I turn a smile onto her, and she rolls her eyes. “I’m kidding.”
“No, you’re not.”
She’s right, I’m not. Beau was like a walking example of serenity in the few short weeks we all thought it was over. I want that for her again. I want that for us all. I look at her, wondering if she’s faking that serenity now, because she’s still so fucking calm and it’s making me feel a bit inferior to be honest. Is she a swan, graceful and together to the world, but paddling like crazy beneath the surface? “How are you?” I ask, and she tilts her head, amused. Maybe I should try that meditation she talked about.
“Would it make you feel better if I said I was terrible?”
“Yes.”
“Terrible.”
I nudge her, and she laughs. Is this us now? The wives of mafia men. Hard-faced, resilient, and scared to death but unable to show it? At least, not to the outside world. My state of mind is obvious to the people I’m closest to. But not to Daniel. Never to Daniel. For that boy, I am the best actress you could find. “Why won’t you marry him?” I ask, reaching for the ring on her right hand. It just doesn’t make any sense to me. James loves her fiercely, and Beau him.
“I already told you.”
There’s more to it, there has to be. “Does Lawrence know about Dexter?”
“Jesus, no. He’s at peace with the fact Dexter’s left him. If he knew James had killed him . . .”
I get it. I look over my shoulder and see the table lacking all men and Goldie. They’ve been summoned. To plot and scheme and prepare to rain holy hell on Miami.
“It’ll be okay,” Beau says.
“It has to be.” Because who am I if I’m not Danny’s Rose? I wince, my hand automatically resting on my tummy, my mind giving me the perfect image of Daniel’s face. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m our children’s before I’m anyone else’s, including Danny’s. He wouldn’t have it any other way. But, and it’s a painful fact, I’m only who I am now because of Danny, and I’m not sure I can keep that up without him. “Are you going back to Miami with them?” I ask Beau, maybe for the sake of it, because I’m not sure we’ll get a choice. Although, admittedly, I’m uncertain which option the men will decide on. Leave us here, away from their watch but also away from the threats. Or take us with them where we’re close to their watch but in the thick of the danger.
“I’m going back,” Beau says.
“You sound like that decision is yours to make.” I laugh, and she tilts her head, eyebrows high, lips pursed.
“Oh, it’s mine,” she says surely. “You know, Rose, I remember following you into Hiatus one time. Do you remember? When they let us go to the beach that day?”
“Yeah, I remember.” I didn’t know Beau as well as I do now. I remember watching her standing on the shore looking up at the sun, eyes closed, and wondering if I’d ever seen such a broken woman.
“And I looked at you and thought to myself how together you were. How strong. A force of a woman to be reckoned with.”
My smile is ironic. “I’m thinking the same about you now.”
“We’re both like fucking yo-yos. Strong, weak, determined, defeated. I suppose it’s to be expected in a world where our men are who they are and we’re dealing with what we’re dealing with.” Her arm falls around my shoulders, hugging me to her. “But we have each other.”
I smile. It’s unstoppable. We have each other, and I don’t know what I’d do without her. “Love you, Beau.”
“You too. And if I’m going back to Miami, so are you.”
“Okay,” I agree, because amid all this uncertainty, I know one thing beyond doubt. I can’t survive this world without my friend available to hug me, comfort me, and pull my head out of my ass when I need it. I just need to convince Danny. Something tells me it’ll be a challenge.
Beau starts to stand, encouraging me up. “Come on, we need to check everyone is still alive after eating your curry.”
“My curry was amazing. What’s wrong with you people?”
“Rose, that thing”—she points at the pot as we walk to the table—“could be classed a lethal weapon.”
I lower next to Esther, feeling her eyes lower with me. “Is my son still alive?” she asks, turning her wine glass by the stem.
“Is Otto?” I retort, reminding my mother-in-law that I’m not the only one around here who has pissed off her son. I turn my smile onto her. “Are you ever going to tell me what’s going on with you two?”
“No.” Esther suddenly isn’t interested in me anymore. “Zinnea, are you performing tomorrow night?”
“Yes, darling, I most certainly am. Should I reserve you a table?”
“Why are we talking like we’ll be here tomorrow night?” I ask. “Unless you’re planning on staying?” I look at Esther, making sure she knows I’m talking to her. There’s not a cat in hell’s chance she’ll remain in St. Lucia if Danny’s in Miami. Unless, of course, he demands it.
“I’m not staying,” she blurts without thought.
“Oh good, neither am I,” I reply.
“You have that choice?”
“I do.” I smile brightly. “Do you?”
“Oh, I could slap your face sometimes.”
My nose wrinkles, and I lean in and kiss her cheek. “Love you too, Mom,” I say, and she rolls her eyes as I pull back. I know I exasperate her. I know she really would like to slap my face sometimes. But I also know that she appreciates my apprehension because she feels it too.
“Well,” Zinnea coos, pouring more wine, “in case anyone is interested, I will not be returning to Miami.”
Beau’s face is a picture of shock as she swings her gaze onto her aunt. “What?” I see panic rising in her. I also see her vehemently trying to force it back. “Who will I meditate with?”
“You don’t need me, my darling,” Zinnea says, her hand finding Beau’s on the table. “You have a lovely, gorgeous psychopath to take care of you these days.”
A little burst of laughter escapes me and Esther, but Beau’s eyes narrow, unimpressed. “James—”
“Not James. I’m talking about Rose,” Zinnea quips, and I gape at her while Esther laughs harder and Beau smiles. “Oh don’t look so indignant, darling.”
Me? “I’ll—”
“What? Torture me with more of your cooking?”
Esther’s now falling apart, Beau’s hardly holding on to her laughter, and I am outraged. “That curry is award worthy,” I argue, irritated.
“Oh stop it.” Zinnea rolls her eyes in the most overdramatic fashion that only a drag queen would pull off. “Even the devil complained it was too hot.”
Tears. There are tears, and even me, insulted as I am, can feel the laughter creeping up on me. And then there are moments like these when I wouldn’t change my life for the world. I give in to my desire and fall apart with them, my eyes watering, my tummy aching as Esther squeezes my hand hard. And that’s all of us for the next five minutes, laughing uncontrollably, bodies jerking, gasping for air, until I hear movement behind us.