“It’s lovely to meet you,” I say to Celia.
Celia is beautiful but without all the surgical intervention like Marquita has.Her smile seems genuine and warm, which puts me a little bit at ease.
“Sit.Sit,” another woman says and pulls out the chair next to her.“We’ve all known each other for years and are excited to have someone new at our table for a change.”
“Thank you.”I slide onto the chair as ladylike as I can in a dress this tight.My usual drop and plop probably wouldn’t be a big hit with this crowd.
“I’m Marilou, and this big lug is my husband.”She bumps the man next to her, and I immediately know who he is from the years of sitting with my dad and brothers on Sunday afternoon.
“I’m Maurice,” he says, giving me a killer smile.
My belly’s flipping because I’ve watched these men for years, and they’re celebrities in my family.
“It’s wonderful to meet you all,” I say.
And it is, except for Marquita.Her face is so pinched, she looks like she just ate something sour.Maybe she just doesn’t like me or the fact that Vinnie and I are getting all the attention from the table and not her.
Vinnie sits next to me, moving his chair so our hips are touching.I’m momentarily breathless when his hand slides across my thigh before resting there.
“Champagne?”Marquita asks without moving her face because she’s had so much plastic surgery.I’m pretty sure itcan’tmove, no matter how hard she tries.
“Please.”I nod.
“So, what do you do, Bianca?”Celia asks as she rests her chin in her palm.“Are you a kept woman now that Vinnie’s signed his first contract?”
Clarence laughs.“Celia, I told you the boy doesn’t play for the money.He was already rolling in dough.”
I glance over at Vinnie, trying to hide my shock but failing.I figured he had some money.No one can buy a unit above the eighth floor in our building without a substantial bank account.
“It’s rude to talk money, especially other people’s money,” Marquita tells Celia as she pushes the champagne bottle across the table.
Celia rolls her eyes, and I can tell they aren’t the best of friends.I’m pretty sure no one at this table counts Marquita on their BFF list.
Vinnie’s unusually quiet, and I turn to him, wondering what’s running through his mind.He shrugs, giving me a halfhearted smile.“Tell them what you do, baby.”
He doesn’t even know what I do.We’ve spent so little time talking about our lives, the topic never even came up.Hell, I didn’t even know what he did until we arrived at the event tonight.
I grab the champagne bottle, keeping my eyes trained on the bubbly, filling my glass so I don’t have to see their faces.“I’m a writer.”
“Like a journalist?”Clarence asks.
Journalist is always everyone’s first thought when I say I’m a writer.I’ll never understand it.I think so many people believe no one can really make a living by writing novels, especially romance novels, but I do it.
I’m one of the lucky few.
I’m successful.
I shake my head and grab Vinnie’s glass and fill it too.“I write novels.”I glance upward, seeing the surprise on Vinnie’s face.
“I love a good thriller.Maybe I’ve read your work.What’s your last name?”Marquita asks, but I’m pretty sure she’s just asking so she can belittle me again.
“I don’t think you’ve read my work.”
There’s always this awkward moment.They’re so interested and full of questions, but as soon as they hear what I write, they’ll have nothing but judgment and disdain.
Vinnie’s hand tightens on my thigh.He’s so damn close to the promised land, I could explode if his hand moved up any higher.
Maurice lifts his glass, watching me over the rim.“You’re talking to a bunch of jocks and housewives, sweetheart.We barely write, let alone read.”
