"And that's why I love you,” I say, burping and giving the rest of the cracker to Dexter, who’s standing beside the couch, staring at me with hopeful eyes.
“Do you really think she and Blake are in love?”
“Doubt it.”
This is a conversation neither Nikki nor I ever grow tired of. Brooke moved at lightning speed from trying to snag Arthur out from under me to marrying Blake Cunningham, who for many years was considered the second most eligible bachelor in the kingdom (right behind Arthur, of course).
“Can you believe she’s going to give birth live on television? Talk about overconfident. There are about a million ways that could go wrong.”
“That’s for sure,” Nikki says. “And isn’t it a bit of a private moment to share with the world? I mean, her hoity-toity parents must be horrified.”
“Ooh! I didn’t even think of that. I bet Arabella will find out all the gossip.”
“Girls’ night coming on?”
“Definitely. Except maybe a girls’ day because I seriously can’t stay awake after nine p.m. these days.”
I watch the screen. Brooke and Veronica are now behind the counter in the studio’s kitchen, putting a whole lot of green things into a blender.
“Oh God, did she just put an entire leek in there?”
“I think so. Wow, gross. I wouldn’t drink that if you offered me a million dollars.”
“Me neither.”
“Actually, I would. I’m a little short on cash this month,” Nikki says with a laugh.
My gut twinges with guilt. This is one of the hard bits about being insanely rich (well, married to someone insanely rich) and having a regular-type best friend.
“Do you need anything?”
“God, no! I’d never take money from you. Eww! Gross! They’re drinking it!”
“That makes me feel nauseous just watching it,” I say, pushing the box of crackers away from me. “But seriously, if you ever need money, I want you to let me know, okay? Arthur has his own funds.”
“I’m not taking your charity.”
“It would be a gift,” I say.
“Same thing.”
We’re both quiet long enough to hear Brooke say,“...there’s a positive side effect of eating this way—I’ve had virtually no morning sickness at all.”
“Really? None?” Veronica asks.
“Not even a hint of nausea.”
“Wow. Impressive. You’re obviously a perfect example of an optimal pregnancy."
"Yes, I am." Brooke gives Veronica a dazzling smile.
“Well, that’s rich,” I say. “She’s actually saying women cause their own morning sickness. Ask me how much junk food—or regular food, for that matter—I’ve eaten in the last two weeks. None. That’s how much, and yet I’m in a very real, constant state of nausea.”
“You should turn the volume off. It’s not good for your rage.”
I do as Nikki suggested but still find myself simmering.
“Oh, they’re moving over to the yoga mats now. This ought to be good.”
