"Jen." Her voice has dropped into that register, the one that means she's decided not to yell and I should appreciate that. "You asked me for the recipes. I thought it was for a job."
"It is. Was. It's just that at the time when I found out, I couldn't tell you what was going on."
I pick at a loose thread on the duvet and focus on it like it's the most interesting thing in the room, which it isn't, but it doesn't require eye contact. "I felt ashamed," I say.
"You have nothing to be ashamed of."
"Try telling my brain that." I pull the thread loose. "I just felt like a walking disaster. I have a bad track record with men. Onesteals my taco truck and a weekend of passion leaves me with an envelope on the nightstand." I exhale.
"I would have wanted you to drop it on me," Anna says. "That is literally what I am here for."
"I know."
"Is it pride?"
"Partially," I admit.
"Mm." The sound she makes is one I have heard my entire life. It means I see you and I love you anyway and also you are being a little bit of an idiot.
"So, I'm working as a chef on an island."
"Jen—"
"Anna, let me finish, or I may back out. Carmen, the island manager, offered me the job, and the pay is a full year's airline salary. If I need to lean on you, at least I won't come empty-handed."
"I see. But being stressed and pregnant isn't a good thing. My alphas wouldn't mind. They're dying to meet you and so are your niece and nephew."
Now, I really do feel guilty. I've been thinking about myself, but I didn't think about how Anna would feel about me shutting her out like this.
"You're pregnant, you're by yourself," Anna says. "Did I do something to make you want to stay away from me?"
I imagine this is how she feels, but it is far from the truth.
"It's not about you, it's me and my bad choices. Besides, I haven't told you the worst part."
"Oh God, I need to sit down for this, if there's more."
I don't wait for her to confirm she's sitting.
"Anna," I say. "The island belongs to them."
A pause. "Belongs to who?”
I close my eyes. "Vegas. The three alphas from Vegas."
"What the fingers?" Anna blurts out. Probably a word she invented to stop herself from cursing. In the craziness of all of this, it makes me laugh.
"I'm here. In their kitchen. Cooking their food. Sleeping forty meters from their house." I press my hand flat on the duvet because it is solid and real and currently the most stable thing in my life. "And one of them came down to my kitchen this morning and made me correct his knife grip."
A very long pause.
"Was that a euphemism?"
"No," I say. "I mean a literal knife. He held it wrong. I fixed it. It took four seconds and my omega has been unbearable about it ever since."
"Oh, Jennifer."
"I know, Anna. I know."