“Deryn Crowhart, huh? That’s…unexpected.” Elinor dragged out every syllable of the last word.
She was going to have a word with Reem Alami.
“Yes, yes, Reem texted. That is what you get for poaching my favorite chef in the entire world for that little hole-in-the-wall place of yours.”
“Do you know every lesbian on the East Coast?”
Paloma heard the slight uncertainty in her own voice and coughed to disguise it. Not that Elinor would care. Elinor was on a mission.
“Crowhart is a celesbian, every queer woman knows her. Still, I’m surprised at you, nothing more, nothing less. You said never again. And yet here you are, again.”
Paloma relaxed her hold on the phone. She was white-knuckling it, and it was hurting her hand.
“I assume you’re comparing her to Roxanne.”
There was no need to play stupid. Not with Elinor.
“You assume correctly. A playgirl with an audience. A player who plays for the sake of playing. How is she not Roxanne?”
Paloma opened her mouth to refute, to deny, and then closed it. Elinor was right, and there was no need to contradict her. But admitting that she was undertaking the ruse of a fake, public relationship to win an election…was not something she was prepared to do. The humiliation of that was somehow more degrading than whatever it was Elinor was accusing her of. Speaking of which…
“I know what I’m doing, Elinor.”
There was silence on the other end of the line, even though Paloma expected laughter. Elinor was nothing if not honest with her. But Elinor was also gentle, unlike anyone else in her past had ever been. In fact, this entire conversation was so out of the ordinary for them?—
“I don’t want you to get hurt again.” Elinor exhaled loudly, then the pause extended almost painfully. When Elinor spoke again, her voice was quiet. “Nothing has ever been the same since Kristina for you. You can’t blame me for wanting to shield you. Though maybe I’m wrong this time. I don’t think this one could be cruel. Not like Roxanne. I’ve attended a few of the events Crowhart worked. She’s very…kind. Player, yes, but still.Maybe you need someone exactly like her. Charming to the point of dangerous to keep you on your toes, and kind enough to bring you down from standing en pointe for too long. I just hope you know what you’re doing, cariño.”
Well, that explained a lot. And the nicknames, the fact that all those years ago Elinor learned the language just to please her… And the way her friend spoke of Deryn made Paloma’s throat close, a lump forming, her breathing suddenly more labored. Belatedly, she realized the backs of her eyes were stinging. She couldn’t explain why. It dawned on her that she had wanted her best friend to like Deryn. Why? She had no clue, since this was such a bad goddamn plan to begin with, even setting aside the fake relationship situation.
Earlier today she had told herself she was safe. Deryn was the safest person in the world for her, since she’d never want another experience like the ones she’d lived through before.
So why was she reacting like this? Deryn Crowhart—as a real girlfriend—was the worst idea in the world, so why did Elinor’s words make her tearful? Why did the confirmation of what Paloma had suspected all along—that Deryn, despite her charm and playing ways, was kind and decent—make her want to cry? Was it the pain in those sad sad Crowhart eyes that both hid and revealed so much about the swaggering pastry chef?
No. Paloma closed her own eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her watch jingled on her wrist, distracting her. She blamed perimenopausal hormones.
Paloma gentled her voice and answered the careful warning in her friend’s earlier words.
“I do know what I’m doing, dearest. You worry too much. Haveyou been that bored since I left New York?”
Elinor huffed out a breath.
“I am. I might fly to L.A. for a few days, but otherwise, my days are a bare wasteland since you left. I am pining and yearning for your company.”
“And flying to L.A. Right…” Paloma ensured her voice held as much sarcasm as possible. “Is that woman in L.A. still married?”
The exhalation was a touch louder this time.
“Can we not? I know what I’m doing—” Elinor stopped abruptly, and then there was laughter. A short bark of it that made Paloma smile before Elinor conceded. “Touché.”
They remained quiet for a bit, the lack of words both comforting and tenuous.
“If you feel that your pull to L.A. is too strong and that you won’t be able to withstand the violet-eyed temptation, come to Dragons. I’m sure I can find some hut around here to house you.”
Elinor laughed at the tease, and Paloma’s heart lightened.
“I might just do that. Hut? My ass! My best friend is the owner of this magnificent luxury resort that has been the talk of the East Coast. She’ll fix me up.” Elinor’s voice was all sass. “Oh, and I might stop by just to peek at this new girlfriend of hers. Nice or not, she did leave a mountain of broken hearts down here in New York. So I have to give her the speech. Break a kneecap or two. Or fingers. After all, hers are in great demand, from what I hear.”
“Elinor!”
