Chapter 2

"The medicinal broth here is great for restoring your health. You've been too thin lately, you need to eat more."

At noon Freda booked the most secluded private room, saying it was to celebrate that I had finally come out of my depression.

This private restaurant is out in the suburbs, runs on a strict membership system, and has excellent security.

Freda pushed a small tureen of squab soup, stewed until tender, in front of me.

I picked up a spoon and stirred the clear broth.

"Thanks."

Freda smiled, picked up her chopsticks, and carefully picked the bones out of the fish for me.

"There's no need for thanks between us."

She set the deboned fish into my bowl.

"The chef here learned his craft from a descendant of the royal kitchen. It's especially good for pregnant women—it steadies the pregnancy and builds up their strength."

She said it offhandedly, then seemed to suddenly realize something, and her hand paused.

"What I mean is, it's also very good for a depleted body like yours."

I picked up the piece of fish, put it in my mouth, and chewed it slowly.

"It really does taste good."

A satisfied smile flickered in Freda's eyes.

Halfway through the meal, her phone screen lit up.

She glanced at it and frowned slightly.

"There's an urgent video conference at the company, with the overseas branch."

She stood up and straightened her clothes.

"The signal's bad in here. I'll go take the call in the empty room next door. Take your time eating."

"Okay, go ahead."

Freda pushed the door open and went out.

I set down my chopsticks and took a tissue to wipe my mouth.

Five minutes later, I stood up and walked out of the room.

The corridor was covered in thick carpet, and I followed the sound to the door of the room next door.

The door wasn't shut all the way, leaving a thin crack.

Soft laughter and chatter drifted out from inside.

"This soup is too bland, I want something sour."

It was Freda's voice, carrying a little coy petulance she got away with because of the pregnancy.

"Sour cravings mean a boy, spicy means a girl—this one's definitely a boy."

Then the mother's voice came right after, full of tenderness.

"You picky little thing," she chided with a smile. "This is a pregnancy meal Basil went out of his way to have ordered for you. Eat at least a little."

I stood outside the door, looking at the warm yellow light spilling through the crack.

My younger brother Basil's gentle voice came through.

"Freda wants something sour? I'll have someone go buy some dried plum candy in a bit."

"That's more like it." Freda gave a soft snort. "Have you settled on the color for the nursery? I don't like that tacky pink."

"We settled on the Morandi palette, and I've already had the wallpaper air-shipped from Italy," Basil coaxed patiently.

"Oh, and add an order of chestnut Mont Blanc," Freda suddenly said to the waiter beside her.

The room went quiet for a moment.

Basil grumbled, displeased, "I don't like chestnuts, you know that."

Freda froze for a beat.

"I misremembered, that was—" She paused, then smoothly corrected herself. "That was something a client ordered a few days ago when I had dinner with him."

I listened quietly outside the door.

Chestnut Mont Blanc is my favorite dessert.

I took out my phone, opened the camera, and turned off the shutter sound and the flash.

Through that crack in the door, I took a blurry photo of them together.

In the photo, Basil is leaning down to wipe the soup from the corner of Freda's mouth, while the mother sits beside them, grinning from ear to ear.

After taking the photo, I put my phone away, turned around, and walked back to my own room.

The fish on the table had gone cold.

I picked my chopsticks back up and ate every last bite of the fish Freda had deboned with her own hands.

Ten minutes or so later, Freda pushed the door open and came in.

She had an apologetic look on her face.

"The meeting dragged on a bit. Did you get tired of waiting?"

"No." I looked up at her.

"Did you get enough to eat? Want to order some dessert?" She sat back down in her chair.

"No, I couldn't eat any more."

Freda paid the bill and, quite naturally, took my arm as we walked out.

"I'll have the driver take you home first. There's still some wrapping up to do at the company, so I need to head back."

"Okay."

After I got home, I pulled open a drawer and quietly began sorting through my personal belongings.

I closed my frequently used private bank accounts one by one, and cleared out every last bit of the scattered funds in my name.

The expensive watches and cufflinks Freda had bought me in the closet, I swept into a trash bag, boxes and all.

I opened the chat with my instructor at the deep-dive club.

Moving the trip up to tomorrow night. I'm ready.