Page 83 of Nine Months to Love
“She took her sister’s name,” Taras infers slowly. “Why would she do that?”
I have a better question. “Where’s the real Mikayla?” I ask, though I already suspect the answer.
Arkady shakes his head. “No one knows. She disappeared. No death certificate, no missing person report, nothing. She just vanished.”
“When?”
The pause before he answers tells me everything. “Around the same time we buried your mother and uncle.”
The pieces click into place with sickening clarity. The woman I’ve trusted for eight years, the woman who’s been by my side through everything, isn’t who she claimed to be. She’s been lying since the day we met.
My hands curl into fists. All this time. All these years. Mikayla—Mila—I don’t even fucking know—has been playing a game I didn’t even know we were in.
“She knew my mother was alive,” I say. “She’s known this whole time.”
“It’s worse than that,” Arkady says. “If she’s been in contact with your mother, if they’ve been planning this together...”
“Theneverythingshe’s done has been part of the plan. From the very fucking start.” I think about all the times Mikayla had access to sensitive information. All the operations she knew about. All the secrets I trusted her with.
“Stef,” Taras says carefully, “we need to be smart about this. If she realizes we know?—”
“She’s in the basement,” I say. “She can’t realize anything. We just need to make her talk.”
“She won’t,” Taras warns. “You’ve tried. I’ve tried. She’s not giving up anything.”
“Then we need to try harder.” I grab my keys and my phone and stand up. “Time to payMilaone more visit.”
27
OLIVIA
I glide my hands down the front of my dress for approximately the billionth time as Camille pulls into the Mass General parking garage. The navy sheath dress she forced on me looks good, but I can’t stop adjusting it.
“You look great,” Camille scolds when she sees me fidgeting. “Stop with the fussing.”
“I’m not fussing.”
“Are too. You keep checking your lipstick like you think your mouth is gonna fall off if you don’t keep an eye on it. Stressing won’t change a thing, Liv, and your mouth ain’t going anywhere.”
“Who says I’m stressing? I’m not stressing. There’s not even anything to stress about. If I were stressed, would I be able to do… this?” I paste on the biggest smile I can, but Cami just rolls her eyes at my obviously stressed-out antics.
“You’re not fooling me. You want to look good for when your mother inevitably judges your appearance. I get it. Believe me, I do.”
She’s… not wrong. If her track record is anything to go by, Dr. Mom is inevitably going to have opinions about everything, especially about how her daughter presents herself.
Too casual means I’m not taking my career seriously. Too formal means I’m trying too hard. There’s no winning, but I keep trying anyway. If I could afford a therapist, she’d probably call this textbook masochism.
Good thing I can’t afford one.
Well, not yet. Maybe after today.
“This is a big day,” I murmur as we wind up to the third level. “Our clinic at Mass Gen. It’s really happening.”
“It is.” Camille grins. “And you deserve every bit of it. My little rockstar.” She parks the car and plants a smooch on my head, then slicks down my flyaways and straightens my dress straps.
We climb out of the car and make our way to the elevators. My stomach churns with a mix of excitement and dread. This should be one of the best days of my professional life. But knowing my mother will be there, ready to make it about herself somehow, dampens the joy.
She’s like the Houdini of ruining special occasions. Just when you think she can’t find a way to do it,presto change-o alakazam,there she goes and does it.
