“I’m huge, Harl. I can’t see my feet anymore.” She angles her phone. “How many toes do I have?” She wiggles her coral painted toes.
“Twenty-six.”
“The more my tummy grows, the more toes I collect.” She brings her phone to her face. “It’s no wonder I can’t walk with ease anymore.” She juts out her bottom lip.
I laugh. “You have three buns in the oven, Ci. Give yourself some grace. And no matter your size, your adoring husband still loves you.”
Her features soften. “I still can’t get over the fact he’s rearranged his whole schedule so he can remain in Copenhagen and work from home so he’s close by whenever I need him. He’s cancelled all international trips. No matter how many times Iblame him for knocking me up with three babies instead of going the normal route of one at a time, I’ll never give him up.”
“Nor should you. Your man is a keeper.”
“I hooked a good one.”
Please God, throw one of those my way.
Kaz’s gorgeous face flashes in front of my eyes.
Silly Harley.
“Enough about me and my growing belly, I want to hear all about what you’ve been up to. I can’t shake off the feeling you’re avoiding me.”
Spot on, sister.That’s why I’ve been using your difficult pregnancy to keep it to text messages.“Nonsense.”
“You’re sure?”
“Ciara, you have enough things on your plate. Stop worrying about me. We’re talking now, aren’t we?”
“Okay. I feel better,” she says. “Now that you’ve put my mind at ease, tell me about tonight’s gala. Who’s your date? Where did you meet? Is it hot and heavy?”
“Well…” I brush my hair behind my ear. “Tonight’s?—”
“Sorry for interrupting you, but when are you going to go back to your pixie cut?”
Not anytime soon. I can’t afford to maintain a cut which requires visiting the salon every three weeks.“Change is good.”
“Let’s see how long it is,” she says.
I lower my phone.
“Wait.” She lifts a hand up. “Is that a real Bvlgari Serpenti Viper slim necklace? Because there’s no way in hell a knockoff would look that good.” She squints. “Under the neon light, the diamonds are blinding me.”
Shit.
Kaz doesn’t believe in half measures.
Along with the couture, the designer shoes, and the whole enchilada, my roommate decided I needed diamond jewelry.
I bring my hand to the necklace. “Err…”
“The last time we spoke, you told me that after you and your former business partners parted ways, one of your clients had given you a job to manage floral arrangements for all of his restaurants and his hotel. Is your client… your sugar daddy?”
God, I keep piling up the lies, but I can’t tell her the truth.
It takes everything in me to school my expression. “There’s nothing happening between me and my client. He’s a married man.” I add another layer to my fictitious client turned boss. “In any case, he had to downsize, so I had to find a new job. It’s rough out there so, I ended up… taking a job as a waitress until something better came along.”
“So you met your new man at your new job, and he’s already buying you expensive jewelry and you’re going to the gala with him tonight.” She sits a little straighter in her bed. “Tell me everything.”
The wheels in my head spin at a frantic pace, as I attempt to weave a story. “I met him?—”
