Page 136 of Marrying the Savage

She answers before the first ring finishes. “Tell me you are alone.”

“I am alone.”

“Are you actually alone or murder-house alone?”

I glance at the door. “Murder-house alone.”

“So not alone.”

“Probably not.”

“God. Fine. Speak like we’re discussing shoes.”

“I hate the shoes here.”

“Excellent. Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Oh my God, I was so scared you were like dead or something,” she says. “Where were you so for the past few weeks?”

I see flashes of Damir and me having sex.

I clear my throat. “Just caught up.”

“Are you lying?”

“Not about that.”

“Sofia.”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine is what women say right before they dissolve into mist.”

“I’m not dissolving. I’m plotting.”

A pause.

Then, very quietly, “Good.”

I close my eyes. Just hearing that helps. Not because Anya can fix everything. She probably can’t. But because she has known me longer than this nightmare has had me, and there’s a part of me that only feels real when someone from before says my name.

“I need out,” I say.

“I know.”

“Not forever. Maybe. I don’t know.” I press a hand to my forehead. “I need space. I need to think somewhere that doesn’t contain his dead wife’s dresses.”

“His what?”

I close my eyes harder. “Long story.”

“I hate long stories when they involve dead wives.”

“Same.”

“Okay.” Her voice sharpens, becoming practical. “My cousin can help.”