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He blows out a breath and shakes his head, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. "I never hated you. Not once. I was pissed at you when I thought you betrayed us, but now… I'm not so sure about that." He looks away as if he said more than he intended to. There’s a weight in his voice, as if those words have been waiting a long time to be spoken.
"I am not kidding, Renata. I don’t like dogs. I got it for you so he could protect you.” He rolls his eyes. “After he’s trained and grows up. I got him as a puppy so we could train him right away. But listen to me. The dog’s not sleeping in our bed," he says, trying to sound firm, but there’s a slight crack in his voice. "You can bond with him or whatever, just not here. Got it?"
"Where are you going to put him?" I say in a little voice. "He’s just a wittle baby."
"He’s not ababy. He’s a dog. A cur. An animal," he says. "Jesus, this was a fucking bad idea."
"Don't you want me to like you? We're going to be married, after all. It wouldn’t hurt if we didn’t feel like strangers forever. It might be nice if I don't short-sheet the bed or try to stab you in your sleep." I shrug innocently, then look away from him, realizing those threats are on wildly different planets. One suitable for a summer camp, and the other suitable for women like me.
But I’m not the one who kills people. That's his job.
I think briefly of Carlos and swallow hard.
"I don't give a shit if you like me," he says, but when he looks away, my intuition snaps into place. I stifle a smile. Unfortunately for him, I know a lie when I hear one, and he just lied to me.
"Why do you have that self-satisfied smug look on your face?" he says, shaking his head. Wouldn’t he like to know?
"Oh, it's nothing," I say, scratching the little baby's ears.
"Jesus," he mutters under his breath and stomps off to the bathroom, mumbling a stream of grumpy Russian.
The puppy turns to me and nestles his sweet head into my arm. He sighs contentedly as if he wants to fall asleep. This little one has two modes—on and off. I nuzzle him and swallow hard, my eyes blurry. I love him already.
I want to tell somebody. A sister, a friend. But I have neither. My heart hurts.
The puppy whimpers at me and laps at my face, but this time, he’s licking away tears. I bury my face in his fur and allow myself this momentary pleasure. I have someone to love. Someone to love me.
Why did he get me a dog?
I remember telling him last night… I liked farmers’ markets, puppies, ocean views, and sex.
He comes out of the bathroom, already dressed, his hair slicked back and put together. "We have a wedding to plan. Someone's gonna watch this dog. And we're gonna get shit done. Got it?"
“Well, that’s easy for you to say. I have nothing to wear."
There's another knock at the door.
This time, he doesn't look surprised.
"That's Isabella. She got in last night, and she's brought clothes for you." My heart stops in my chest. I am naked in Ollie's bed, and I do not want to see my ex-best friend. Plus, I'm pissed at her. To think that she actually believed I would betray her…
I clutch the puppy in a blanket to my chest while Ollie opens the door. It's not just Isabella, but Isabella and, shocker, her husband Lev beside her. They step into the room.
She gives me a long, withering glance. There was a time when she would've winked at me or done some type of conspiratorial whisper so that I would know she knew I had spent the night with Ollie. Now, I feel like she's judging me like I'm some kind of a whore, and it makes me feel sick to my stomach.
"You got her a dog?" Isabella says with a frown to Ollie. I want to shake her. This is the girl I grew up with, who shared secretsand hopes, who taught me how to skip rocks and pick a lock. This was my best friend, closer to me than any sister, the woman I looked to when the chips were down, who came tomewhen she needed help. I was the one who taught her how to read her brother and know he was lying, how to make herself small and hold her breath when she needed to hide.
I’ve lived two lives; my first was glued to Isabella’s side… and now she’s acting as if she doesn’t even know me.
I don’t speak and let her talk to Ollie. It doesn’t matter. How could it? I’m nothing to her.
“It’s a guard dog,” Ollie retorts.
“A guard dog? I can fit in my handbag!” Isabella snaps at him.
Ollie growls, and Lev steps into the room, holding his hands up to her.
"If he wants to get her a guard dog, he can get her a guard dog. Leave it."
