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Outside the courtroom, their party stood in awkward silence, like actors waiting for someone to call action on the set of Law you I’ll push into traffic.

“It’s good to see a young woman of color get the recognition she deserves.

I really mean that. I just want you to know, outside of all this, I appreciate what you’re doing for the industry.

” Opal put her hands on her hips. “But I’m going to be really clear about something.

Sullivan hates social media, and you’re not going to take one picture of her. ”

A lot of people hated social media until they found their thing: French bulldogs, DIY videos on caulking. But Sullivan probably wouldn’t find a thing.

“She told me, and I checked. She doesn’t have social media.” Kia offered the trust me smile that charmed everyone from security guards to CEOs. “I can’t believe she doesn’t have her own hot chef channel.”

“And don’t tag Mirepoix. It’s important to her.”

“Is she okay?” Kia asked.

Social media was a lottery. The more people saw you, the bigger your chances of success and the higher the chances there’d be a fan you didn’t want.

Sullivan had been careful. Of course, Kia had looked for her.

She didn’t even have a forgotten Tumblr account, not a trace of fanfic on Wattpad.

The thought struck Kia like a cold wave.

“Is there someone… looking for her?”

“She just doesn’t like it. That’s all you need to know.”

Opal turned to go. Kia caught her arm. “You have to tell me.”

Opal pulled her arm away.

“Her life is none of your business. Do what you’re going to do.

Knocking out Mega Eats is a boss move. Respect.

Like I said. If it weren’t Sullivan, I’d be breaking ground with you if you’d let me.

But it is Sullivan, and she doesn’t deserve any of this, and she doesn’t need her face all over Kia Gourmazing. ”

“If someone is stalking her, I need to know. I do this for a living. I can protect her.”

“I doubt that.”

“This marriage just put her name in the public record. If she’s hiding…” Sullivan’s information was now part of the Bureau of Vital Records. “We can go back to the court and see if they can hide her name. I can find someone to monitor who’s looking for her.”

Had something in Opal’s face softened just a little bit?

“It’s not that,” Opal said. “She’s just had some shitty experiences. Don’t make it worse.”

Relief left Kia momentarily speechless. Thank god Sullivan didn’t have to worry about a bad person catching up with her.

“Thanks for looking out for her,” Kia said.

Sullivan must be having the worst day. She’d always seemed invincible. But no one was invincible. Maybe if she’d asked Sullivan about her childhood. Maybe when Chef Guillaume called Sullivan’s Toulouse-style cassoulet a misunderstanding of flavor Kia should have offered Sullivan a hug, not a grin.

She’d wanted to ease the tension in Sullivan’s shoulders.

She’d wanted to rub Sullivan’s temples when she obviously had a headache.

She’d wanted to break Sullivan’s unflappable confidence—not by cooking a better white bean, pork, and duck dish, but with tenderness.

Maybe if she’d done that, she’d be playing the role of supportive friend.

Or something more. Instead, she’d put Sullivan on a pedestal and then thrown her whole soul into building a taller pedestal.

And she’d succeeded by point six percent as though maybe that would make Sullivan see her as more than a talented kid.

Sullivan probably didn’t think she was a talented kid anymore, but she definitely didn’t think Kia was a sexy, talented businesswoman either.

Opal hurried back to where Nina and Sullivan waited around the corner in front of another courtroom.

The doors opened, issuing a never-ending stream of anxious and dejected-looking people, fidgeting with crumpled papers.

Opal put her arms around Sullivan in a big mom-coach hug, like Sullivan had lost the game and gotten kicked in the process… which was basically the case.

“Let’s get a hot chocolate,” Opal said, giving Sullivan one more squeeze.

“Oh my god, Opal. This is not a time for hot chocolate,” Nina said. “We’ll go down to Makers Bar and get you a martini the size of your head.”

Sullivan didn’t have the energy to complain that she didn’t drink martinis, and it was before noon.

Nina’s driver was waiting in the fire lane by the time they got downstairs, ready to drive them the (only) four blocks to Makers Bar.

“I’m wearing Louboutins,” Nina said as she settled into the third row of seats in her black SUV.

A Shanghai tunnel under the city would’ve fit Sullivan’s mood.

Unfortunately, the owner had transformed the massive drainpipe into a cozy hideaway, the walls covered in hammered bronze plates, sconces flickering with artificial candlelight.

Nina pointed to a circular booth at the back and headed to the bar to order.

She returned a moment later with coffees for herself and Opal and a glass of cold gin and olives for Sullivan.

The martini had never made sense to Sullivan.

“Don’t worry,” Nina said. “Your prenup is so tight the NSA can’t get in.”

“I don’t think that’s what the NSA does.

” Sullivan took a sip of slightly salty gin.

Nina was correct; it was the right drink for the day.

“Not exactly how I thought I’d celebrate my first marriage.

I always thought I’d be a one-and-done. Mate for life.

Be old women sitting on the porch spying on the neighbors.

Die within minutes of each other and get composted for soil. ”

“Oh, honey,” Opal said.

“You are not dying.” Nina put her hands on her hips, which had the same scolding effect sitting down as it did when she was standing up in her Louboutins. “And Opal and I are glad it’s Kia and not Aubrey.”

“Nina,” Opal protested.

“Tell me you’d pick Sullivan marrying Aubrey over a simple business deal with Kia Jackson?” Nina said.

Opal’s freckles scrunched together apologetically as she winced.

“Yeah… sorry. I’d pick Kia. She’s pretty impressive.”

Great. Her friends liked Kia because Kia was ruthless and impressive.

“I told her you didn’t want any social media,” Opal added.

Nina leaned in. “How’d it go? Do I need to add another clause to the contract?”

“She said she’d keep you out of her socials.” Opal folded her arms on the table. “She was pretty cool about it. She was worried that someone was stalking you. Like genuinely worried, like she cared about you. You kissed her in front of your whole graduating class. That must have meant something.”

“It was like when two straight women kiss onstage at the Oscars to support gay rights.”