“Ah, there she is,” Tempie said loudly as I got close. “Our budding duchess.”
Prue giggled.
Christian sent me a bewildered smile.
Chassie hid hers behind her hand.
Hamish hid his looking at his shoes.
And yeah.
Chelsea was in earshot.
And from the sour look on her face, Tempie’s shot landed in her ears.
“Be good,” I snipped at her quietly when I got to them.
“For heaven’s sake, why?” she asked, sounding genuinely perplexed as to why I’d snip that warning at her.
She also didn’t wait for an answer.
She turned to Hamish and requested, “Will you fetch Vivi some champagne, darling?”
He angled in to kiss her jaw then took off to find a roaming server.
“Battle’s on edge,” I said. “He’s pissed at the potshot Chelsea took at Prue and Chassie?—”
“Wait up, what did she say to you?” Christian interrupted me to ask Chassie tetchily.
Oh yeah.
I liked him.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” she replied.
He looked right at Tempie (the boy was a fast learner). “Was it a big deal?”
She took a sip from her champagne flute, swung her hand out to the side, and drawled, “What can I say? The woman is a cunt.”
Christian was going to say something, but thought better of it and muttered to Chassie, “We’ll talk about it later.”
Chassie shot Prue big eyes from over the rim of her own champagne flute.
“As I was saying,” I started up again, “he’s on edge and we, none of us, should do anything to push him over the edge.”
“You know I’ll be good,” Prue said.
“Of course, I wouldn’t do anything,” Chassie said.
Hamish returned with my champagne, I thanked him, then aimed a hard stare at Tempie.
She put her hand to her throat, “Are you asking me not to be me?”
“Just…tone it down so Battle doesn’t make another speech ripping her to shreds in front of Rally and Courtney’s four hundred guests,” I suggested.
“I’ll do my best,” Tempie replied.
I didn’t believe her.
