Viv spends most of the next couple of days sulking in the apartment. She and Victor haven’t spent enough time in the city to have many acquaintances here, and anyway, she doesn’t want to see anyone. Certainly not her family. Her mother’s siblings, and her cousins, still live in New York, and Viv takes care not to go near Gramercy Park, where the Petrov dynasty has its stronghold. She wonders if someone has told Mother that she’s here. Even from her Florida retirement residence, Ann would start interfering if she knew what Viv has planned.

Victor seems to have given up on trying to contact her for now, unless the calls from Stef and a couple of other LA numbers that Viv has ignored were made on his behalf. She’s irritable and bored, snapping at the housekeeper—the only human being, apart from the man at the bodega on the corner, that she’s seen in days—for attempting to tidy away the baby things still littering the living room. After the woman leaves in high dudgeon on Tuesday, Viv feels almost bad. She resolves to try and be nicer. Having to find a new housekeeper right now, on top of everything else, would kill her.

On Thursday, the funk is starting to get on her nerves. She collects her available energy and calls her favorite spa to see if they have an emergency appointment for an all-inclusive pamper package. When she leaves the house half an hour later for a half-day beauty and wellness session, she’s finally starting to feel a bit like herself again.

To Viv’s surprise, she wakes up to a new photo on Damien’s Instagram account on Friday. Still lying in bed, she squints at the phone screen. The picture is from inside a photo studio, and there are several people in the picture with him. ‘Back at it!’ the caption reads, but there are no tags, neither of the location nor of the people in the photo.

Nevertheless, Viv realizes she not only knows who these people are, but also where they work. The young hipsters grinning into the camera are Orlando’s Meatpacking District studio assistants. And Viv recognizes the wallpaper and drapes in the background, because the one time she visited that selfsame studio she noticed how much they clashed.

This is perfect! If she manages to run into Damien in the street after his photo shoot it will look natural to ask him to go for a drink or a bite to eat without it looking awkward. And then, finally, she’ll be able to tell him their news.

Viv gets ready at top speed, and climbs out of the cab opposite the studio three quarters of an hour later. There’s a Starbucks right across the street, and Viv settles down with a decaf fat-free latte at a table overlooking the cobbled street and the pretty houses on the opposite side. She has to wait an hour for Damien to appear. When she spots his unmistakable mop of dark curls emerge from the doorway, she drains the rest of her coffee and gathers her bag and coat.

But when she hurries out through the glass door, she sees that Damien isn’t alone. Viv again recognizes Orlando’s assistants. And as she watches, the door to the studio opens once more and Orlando herself steps out. She links arms with Damien, laughing, and together they lead the group down the sidewalk.

Viv follows on the other side of the road. She can’t decide what to do. She knows them both, maybe she should just join them. But her news isn’t yet meant for other ears. Before she can make up her mind, Orlando, Damien, and their entourage file into a small Italian restaurant, and Viv is left looking at the closed door. She balls her fists. She doesn’t want to spend another afternoon in a café somewhere, hoping Damien will leave the restaurant early, and alone. So, reluctantly, she hails a yellow cab and sets off for home.

Viv doesn’t make it out of bed at all the next day. She feels too depressed. She lies on her back for several hours, watching the weak, watery sunshine creep along the ceiling. Today, not even the thought of the baby growing inside her can cheer her up. She feels nothing when she touches her belly, other than a vast emptiness. She’s once again not the least bit hungry and doesn’t touch a bite all day.

Maybe, she thinks, this is pregnancy depression. She thinks she’s read about that somewhere.