THANK YOU guys so much for your patience! I'm in 11th grade so it's hard for me to write consistently, so it's been over a month since I updated this fanfic... sorry! Thank you for reading, and for all of your comments (they really encourage me to keep up with this story even when I'm extremely busy).

Thanks again! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

"Done!"

A joyful laugh escaped Brielle as she spun around. Nesta's face was bright and, although she only allowed her lips to smile for a fraction of a second, the smile remained in her eyes.

The boutique had transformed. The shop, once a jumbled mess, now was arranged in an elegant and aesthetic pattern. Function, category and color schemes had been used to determine the new placement of the items in the shop; their positioning rearranged to facilitate access and organization. One's eye could not help but follow the elegantly sorted rows until it rested upon something that caught one's fancy.

The next day, as customers trickled in, slowly at first and then more and more frequently, Nesta hoped her ideas helped really did increase their sales. Although even if they didn't, they'd helped the shop become a wonderful much more pleasant bearable workplace.

If Nesta felt pleased when, while closing up the shop, Brielle announced, "That was the most customers I've had since the first day I opened the boutique!", well, that was nobody's business but her own.

Nesta became in charge of the display, which she decided to change every day or every other day (depending on her mood and how much she liked the arrangement she'd chosen). She also made notes on what customers seemed to enjoy or dislike and made suggestions on how to improve the organization and inventory. Besides that, she sat at the register or helped customers find items they wanted in the boutique.

So a few days passed, and soon it was Saturday afternoon.

"Any plans for tomorrow?" Brielle asked as they closed up the shop.

"I'm not sure yet…" Nesta knew she really had to talk to Cassian but she had not made any progress in imagining how to tell him.

"Are you doing anything tonight?"

"Not really."

"Would you like to grab some drinks?" Brielle asked casually. Her tone was light and her question had truly been just that: a question, to which Nesta was allowed to say yes or no. It was so different from the demanding 'questions' Feyre or Rhysand or even Cassian asked her when they wanted her to attend some important event.

And it was because she could say no that Nesta wanted to say yes. She didn't want Brielle to take it the wrong way and assume Nesta was rejecting her friendship or attempting to limit their interaction to their workplace. Nesta had never been gifted at the art of kind words but she did her best to keep her tone gentle.

"I'm sorry I can't- I- I'm trying to limit my drinking," was what tumbled off her tongue.

Brielle smiled, unaffected. "Would you like to have dinner, then?" Brielle seemed to realize that Nesta may have been trying to politely refuse her company, and added, "Although I do know it's been a long week. If you'd prefer to go home and rest, I'd completely understand."

"No, no… I'd like to have dinner with you if that's no trouble," Nesta replied, her tone once again uncharacteristically polite.

Brielle flashed that unrestrained smile again. "Great! I know just the place."

Over dinner, they discussed everything: tea preferences, customers, hobbies, and so much more. They briefly touched on the topic of family, and to her own surprise, Nesta had shared a few tidbits about her own, though she didn't mention any names or connections to the High Lord and Lady. When Brielle had spoken about her childhood and her parents' deaths, Nesta too had opened up, this time a little more in depth, about the joys and struggles of her own childhood, including the death of her mother. Nesta hadn't insulted Brielle, but she didn't put up a facade: she was her true, fiery, hard, sharp self. Yet, instead of this inadvertently making Brielle feel offended or uncomfortable, Brielle had actually praised her, saying, "Nesta, you're such a strong, intelligent and passionate person! I really admire that about you. I feel like you hide that sometimes to try to pretend to be soft. There are enough soft females in this world; you should be yourself. You're so much more interesting that way."

Nesta had smiled. Had anyone ever complimented her on her personality? She didn't think so. In truth, she hadn't realized how such a comment would make her feel: it wasn't like when people praised her looks of her clothes or her taste in books. It made her feel confident and empowered and perhaps even comfortable in this skin which had never felt it was like hers.

Nesta had even asked Brielle for her age. It was something Nesta's mother had taught her at a young age not to do (Nesta, a fiery child, had been taught not to do many things rather than being taught to do things), but she felt safe with Brielle. Nesta was damaged, yes. She'd been cracked and broken and scarred a thousand different ways. But she was on the road to recovery. With Brielle, she felt as though there was no need to pretend: she didn't have to be broken or whole; she was allowed to be something in between. Nesta didn't talk about the War or the Cauldron or being mortal, but just being so casual and open and friendly was comforting and freeing. To not be judged, to not be pitied or hated or feared; to be with someone who didn't just tolerate her presence but actually enjoyed her company and chose to spend time with her without a sense of duty or obligation was incredibly refreshing and Nesta found herself enjoying the evening far more than she had planned.

Brielle had answered the question about her age with a laugh, not seeming to mind. "I'm 82."

Nesta didn't know if she had expected a higher or a lower number, but she was certainly surprised. It was strange: Cassian being 600 didn't strike her as old because 600 years was a period of time too long for her once-human mind to fully grasp. 82, however, was a number that some mortals could live to. Nesta couldn't reconcile the image of the young, vibrant fae in front of her with the wrinkle-filled visage of what she thought of as an 82 year old. The reminder that she wasn't from this world hit her, but Brielle added, "I'm at that weird stage where I'm not old or young, you know?" and switched fluidly to a different topic.

It was, in truth, one of the best evenings Nesta had spent since she'd turned Fae.

She'd gone home feeling like she'd finally gotten something she'd been searching for since the end of the war, without knowing what it was.

As she lay in bed with her eyes shut, her mind already half-fogged up by the haze of sleep which threatened to take her any second now, a though absently came to her – all those nights she'd spent drinking, having sex, and worse, had all been in vain. What she had needed in order to feel and heal and find some meaning in this new form of existence was a person to listen to her and try to understand her, without looking through the inevitably narrow lens of allegiance to Feyre or Elain. What she needed was someone to talk and care without ulterior motives. What she needed was a friend.

On Sunday, she slept in. Around 10:30 am, she woke up. Noting sadly that she had no macarons, she decided to instead eat some raspberries. Glancing at the calendar, which was starting to feel more and more like a clock that ticks incessantly, she noted sadly that it had already been 2 weeks since the day she'd found out about her pregnancy.

She really needed to tell Cassian. She needed to come up with a plan. Now.

She took a deep breath. Ok. She began a mental list to calm herself.

Write a letter to Cassian, asking him to meet her at a specific place and time.

Meet Cassian and be cordial and NOT awkward or cold or angry.

After pleasantries (note: make them pleasant!), tell Cassian about needing to tell him something extremely important but first he needs to promise not to tell anyone (note: be thorough so he doesn't find a loophole)

Tell Cassian about being pregnant with his child and ask if he wants to be involved

See what he says

Remind him not to tell anyone

Say cordial goodbyes and make CLEAR plans as to when to meet again

Okay. "I guess I should start," Nesta told herself. Silently asking her baby to give her some courage, she took a sheet of letter paper and a pen. She began writing, starting with Cassian's name. As she was writing the first 's' in his name, however, she was hit by an overwhelming wave of nausea. Dropping the pen, she ran to the bathroom, a hand covering her mouth. Clutching the toilet bowl, she dry-heaved into the toilet, making retching sounds despite the lack of vomit. After what felt like 15 minutes, although it may have really been 5 minutes or 30 minutes, Nesta spat and got up. She washed her mouth in the sink and then returned to her desk. She no longer felt like writing the letter. She told herself that she'd write it later, even as an inner voice hissed the word coward at her.

She sighed. She knew she should be doing her laundry, since she would never have enough motivation to do it after a long day at work, but she really wasn't in the mood.

To be honest, she wasn't in the mood to do anything. Not even to read a book. She just wanted to curl up in bed with a cup of tea and stare at the wall, but she didn't feel like going to the kitchen and boiling up water and waiting for the tea leaves to infuse into the water…

She plopped onto the couch in a very undignified manner. She turned her head around, stretching her neck. She recalled all of a sudden that her pregnancy books had recommended that she walk or get some form of moderate exercise each day. When she went to work, she would automatically be getting that exercise from the commute, but on the weekends she would just laze around. Nesta felt that it wasn't truly necessary yet, since she wasn't physically all that different, but she also knew that if she didn't get into the habit of walking on the weekends, she would most definitely not be able to do so when she was bloated, in pain and an emotional wreck. Nesta fought against her desire to stay put. Nesta was nothing if not a strong-willed person, so she soon got up, and put on her shoes and a coat.

Nesta walked around for about an hour before returning home. As she approached her door, she noticed something lying on the floor. She picked it up. It seemed to be a letter. She carried it inside. Sitting down on her sofa, she opened the letter. It said that they were hosting a dinner party next Sunday at the Town House and that she was invited to join them.

Nesta had no idea how the letter had arrived. Had one of the members of the Inner Circle delivered it personally? Did Velaris have a postal service? Or was it some kind of fae magic? The thought that they knew where she lived frightened her. Nesta had moved into this small house and paid the rent herself. She didn't want any of them to show up at her door unannounced, like this letter…

Nesta recognized Feyre's handwriting and felt a familiar pang of guilt. She hadn't known that Feyre had been illiterate until after Feyre had learned to read and write. One of Nesta's greatest passions had always been reading and she couldn't believe she'd deprived Feyre of the same simply because Nesta had been too busy caught up in her own rage and despair to notice.

Despite this, however, Nesta's immediate reaction was that she should discard the note and pretend she'd never seen it. Maybe even write back, making up an excuse for why she couldn't go so that they wouldn't bother her about it.

She paused. Feyre, Elain, and the rest of the Inner Circle (but mainly her sisters) expected to see her at their gatherings at least once every six months. Nesta knew that after her pregnancy became visible, she wouldn't be able to go unless she wanted them all to find out. And after her baby was born, she'd be too busy and exhausted. Besides, she wasn't about to leave her newborn baby all alone.

Cassian could watch the baby, said a stupidly optimistic voice in Nesta's head.

First off, I haven't even TOLD Cassian about the baby and I have no idea how he'll react, the darker (dominant) side of Nesta grumbled.

You have a pretty good guess what he'll say though, prodded her optimistic side.

He'll want to tell everyone. And he can't, announced the pessimistic side gloomily.

The optimistic side replied hesitantly, Well, maybe he won't…

Besides, even if, miraculously, he reacted perfectly, he would obviously be at the dinner or party or whatever, so he wouldn't be able to watch the baby, the dark (and at the moment, logical) side declared. The optimistic side fell silent and Nesta's internal debate terminated.

Given that Nesta was almost 3 months pregnant, there was no way she could wait for the next invite. If she showed up to this dinner, she wouldn't arouse too much suspicion by not going for the next 9 months (during her pregnancy & the first 3 months with her baby). However, if she didn't go, they would almost certainly be suspicious and would come to check on her at the most inopportune time… such as when she'd be in the middle of giving birth.

She would go to this dinner. She'd be civil enough to make sure people wouldn't become interested in 'fixing her life' but cold enough for people not to mistake it as an attempt at friendship. Now could not be the time for one of them to decide to renew their interest in Nesta. She'd be discrete about the baby and make sure to avoid staying any longer than absolutely necessary. She'd go to them dinner and make stupid small talk and avoid wine and fights and attention.

And Cassian would be there…

Well, she thought wryly, at least she didn't have to write that letter to Cassian anymore.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

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