“He’s moved here from Hamilton,” I say, trawling through my memory for any relevant titbits. “Laurence? Larry? Something like that. When it looked like he’d start a leadership scuffle with Brigmont, he rerouted him down here to avoid losing a good earner.” I drop my voice to a whisper. “He’s under Johnson’s wing but doesn’t know it. Thinks he’s in charge of his own crew.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “And he probably will be if he keeps on the current path. With the slack from—”
But I’m talking to thin air. Marigold has disengaged and gone in pursuit, never one to seek advice if it might put her off her target.
I’m not the only one who’s noticed her recent interest. Marigold’s mother moves beside me, her tread so light I didn’t hear her approach. Her lips are twisted as she considers the pair, already deep in conversation.
“That’s not a bad match,” she muses, then turns her attention to me. “You look fantastic as always. I wish I could get my hair to curl like that.”
She pats her straight, dark blonde hair that I’d kill for, her lips pursing in a moue of disgust.
“We should swap,” I tell her, briefly taken by the fantasy. “I’ve always wanted to have a gorgeous blonde mane sweeping halfway down my back. I’d trade in a second.”
She laughs and tries to stay engaged in chit-chat but is soon distracted as a server passes by with nothing in their hand.
“You don’t leave the kitchen without bringing something,” she immediately scolds, dragging them away. “And you don’t return without your hands full, either. Honestly, it’s like you purposely ignore everything I talk about in training.”
I smile as the door slams shut behind them, grateful that my boss is so easy-going that it would never occur to her to shout at me. Especially not in front of a customer.
Micah soon joins me upstairs and a half-hour after that, we finally take our seats. Not that we’re in danger of being fed soon but my feet are grateful for the respite. I’ve got on the most absurdly high heels and I’m not even sure why. It’s not like they go much way towards closing the gap between me and my husband. Bringing the difference from eighteen inches down to fifteen doesn’t impress anyone.
Greta slips into a chair opposite and Azalea comes over a few minutes later. The two women size each other up, then appear to commit to having a lovely evening instead of airing dirty laundry.
A good thing. Otherwise, we’d be here all night.
“So, tell me,” Azalea says when there’s a lull in the pleasantries. “When do you plan on making me a step-grandmother?”
My body turns rigid even as I shake my head and force a light laugh. Micah grips my thigh under the table, hard enough to leave bruises but he’s probably not even aware he’s doing it.
“When it happens, you’ll be the first to know,” I assure her, the false note in my voice evident to me but passing muster with everyone else.
I count out two minutes, then excuse myself and leave the table, heading for the bathroom and hoping no one else is inside. Unfortunately, I’m not alone. Two women are chatting by the sink, and another is in a cubicle. I splash some water on my face and smile at their reflections in the mirror before exiting.
Micah is outside. If I hadn’t been so hyperaware of my surroundings, I might have bumped straight into him.
“Come here,” he says, grabbing hold of my wrist and tugging. I let him, grateful for the direction, happy to let him take charge because I know he’ll make everything better.
He pulls me into the sick room, closing the door so we’re in the dark. His hands cup my face, his forehead leaning against mine, and I fall into pace with his breathing, struggling to hold back the tears.
“It’s okay,” he says and moves a hand to rub my back. “We can take all the time we like. The party will go on, regardless.”
“My makeup will be ruined.”
“Honey, it looks like you just splashed water all over your face. It’s already ruined.”
The dry tone makes me laugh. No wonder those women were staring at me in the mirror.
“Hey,” he says in a lighter tone. “There’s a bed in here, right? We should make use of that.”
“If you think you’re seducing me in the sick room of a restaurant…”
He presses a kiss behind my ear, and I have to clutch at him to remain standing. Damn the man for knowing all my weak spots. Or G spots. Whatever you want to call them.
Micah manoeuvres us both back to the bed, then helps me up and lays me flat before joining me a moment later. One hand returns to stroke my back while the other cups my cheek.
I had been pregnant at our wedding, but the thrill of expecting didn’t last long. The day after our first visit to the obstetrician, I’d experienced cramping and by nighttime, my baby was gone.
