"He is, and he's looking for models. Oh, how precious would it be - you, Thomas, and Saoirse all in suits. Finery for the whole family," she says, sweeping her arms like she's reading it on a billboard or something. Nina flashes a smile and bumps her hip against Greta's as they walk. "Perfect advertising."

Nina hiccups a bit and looks down at her belly almost reproachfully, then smooths her hand over it. "I swear this child sleeps but two hours a day and spends the rest of it kicking me in the liver. Or lodging its saints-beloved head under my lungs."