Oh God.
I think about my promise to Chris, and I realize that apart from this morning, I’ve done nothing to try and uncover the truth about Marina’s death.
And I feel even worse when I realize I don’t feel guilty about it at all.
“Anton?”
“Hm?”
“I don’t have any clothes here,” I point out. “All my things are back at my apartment.”
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll get you what you’ll need for tonight. And then tomorrow, we’ll sort something out.”
I have no idea what that means, but I decide to just let it go for now. If I’m being honest, it has been a hassle making the commute from my apartment to the mansion, just like he warned it would be and I stubbornly refused to acknowledge. It makes for early days and late nights. It’s just more reasonable for me to stay put, especially because I do feel tired and weak.
“I’ll leave you to rest,” Anton says as he exits the room.
The moment he’s gone, I grab my phone. But I hesitate over the call button under Chris’s name. I don’t want to have to deal with the explanation.
So instead, I send him a vague text. Hey Chris, super tired tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow. I’m good, though. Everything’s fine. Don’t worry.
I second-guess the wording for a full minute before I decide to send it anyway.
Then I respond to Freya’s string of beer, wine glass, and martini emojis with a similar message asking for a rain check. But two seconds after the message sends, she calls me.
Sighing, I pick up even though I’m in no mood for a conversation. “Hey.”
“Where are you?” she asks.
“Cutting right to the chase, I see. Yeah, I’m good, thanks for asking. I’m still at work.”
“Oh, late dinner shift?” she asks.
I feel bad lying, but it’s easier this way. “Something like that.”
“Well, I don’t mind. I’ll wait for you. Could really use a night out with my girlfriend.”
I hesitate, wondering if I should just bite the bullet and tell her. I decide to stop being a coward and just do it.
“Actually, I won’t be coming home tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Well… I was feeling a little off today. Anton asked me to spend the night here.”
“Where are you?” she snaps.
“I just told you.”
“No, I mean, which room?” she asks. “Did he put you in his room or did you get one of the guest rooms?”
I raise my eyebrows, uncomfortable with her suggestive tone. “Um… the guest room,” I say, but I don’t sound the least bit convincing.
“No way. You’re in his room?” The woman is far too astute to let anything past her.
“I didn’t—”
“Oh, cut the shit, Jessa. Maybe I haven’t known you long, but I know you pretty well. You’re totally in his bedroom, aren’t you?”