I can’t help gasping, my head snapping to gape at him over my shoulder.
He raises his eyebrows, inviting me to tell him he’s wrong.
I don’t waste my time. I try to freeze him where he stands using the power of my death glare. When that fails, I storm into the bathroom to get the hell away from him.
By the time I emerge from the bathroom, I have convinced myself Rafe, not Mateo, is the devil incarnate. The very worst of the Morellis—and that’s saying something; they’re not exactly the Brady Bunch.
Then I step outside to see him chatting up the official worst of the Morellis—Dante Morelli. Colette stands by his side in a tight blue mini-dress that matches his suit, clutching her tiny purse in front of her and passively observing while Dante and Rafe talk. She looks my way; Dante and Rafe follow suit.
“I should probably get the prisoner back to the warden,” Rafe says, lightly.
Nodding benignly, hands shoved into his pockets, Dante surprises me by asking, “How are you holding up?”
I open my mouth to answer but Rafe does instead. “She’d probably be doing a lot better if she’d stop looking out for her own ass and fall in line.”
Dante flicks a glance at Rafe, then back at me.
I consider telling Rafe I can speak for myself, but Dante is even more traditional (read: sexist) than Mateo, so that probably wouldn’t earn me any points. Instead, I silently glare at Rafe so hard he should wither, but he doesn’t. Damn the man.
“I don’t know,” Dante remarks, faintly shrugging. “There’s a time and place for self-interest. Maybe this is it.”
“There’s a time and place for loyalty, too, and she flew right past that one,” Rafe states.
Dante regards me for a moment. I don’t speak. I don’t know what I could say at this point, anyway. Finally, losing interest in me, Dante places a hand at the small of Colette’s back and nudges her toward the bathroom.
“Go ahead so we can get out of here.”
Colette offers a cutesy little smile at Rafe. “I’ll be right back.” Cutting her gaze to me, she raises her eyebrows. “Come with me?”
I blink. “To pee?”
Chuckling, she says, “Just freshening up. You know how ladies are about going to the bathroom alone.”
That’s a bit odd, but I’m not in a position to turn down socialization, whatever form it comes in. With a shrug, I follow Colette into the bathroom and close the door behind me.
Thankfully, she doesn’t go to the toilet. She stops at the sink, glancing down at her bag as she opens it up and draws out her lipstick. It’s odd she has to freshen up her lipstick just to drive home with her own husband. Dante is a dick to everyone else, but I figured he must be nicer to Colette since she hasn’t stabbed him in his sleep yet.
Regarding me in the mirror, she says, “I guess now that I’ve seen where the road leads, I’m glad I didn’t end up with Mateo.”
I laugh shortly. Here I am judging her for freshening up her lipstick to keep her husband happy, and the man I procreated with would win by a landslide in the category of Most Likely to Want Me Dead. “Oh, yeah, you dodged a bullet there.”
She nods, her gaze falling to my swollen abdomen. “I’m sorry he’s being such a dick. I’m not surprised, but I am sorry.”
“Thanks.” I’m not really sure what else to say—it’s awkward to talk about your own impending death sentence.
Colette finishes touching up her lipstick, drops it back in her bag, and pops a breath mint in her mouth. She turns back to me with her hand outstretched. Initially I think she’s going to hand me a breath mint, too—I’m ready to hold up my hand and do a smell test.
Only she’s not holding out a breath mint.
She’s holding a cell phone.
I don’t even take it right away; I just stare at her, completely bewildered.
“Don’t waste the battery,” she says. “We weren’t really planning this, so it doesn’t have a full charge and I won’t see you again until next week.”
“What is this? Why are you giving me a cell phone?”
She shrugs, watching me. “He won’t even give you a baby monitor in case you go into labor and you’re due in two weeks.”
“In case of emergency?” I question.
She meets my gaze again as she brushes past me and moves toward the door. “Sure. Or in case we need to reach you for any reason. Just don’t waste the battery and it should last you a few days.” She stops with her hand on the knob and looks back at me. “Don’t do anything stupid. Wait until you hear from us. Only use that if you go into labor, and only then to call one of us. You try to call cops or anyone on the outside, Dante will kill you himself—and he won’t wait two weeks.”