Daisy giggles, pressing her fingers delicately over her mouth, the little lady she is. Sadly, I end up wearing a globule of hollandaise with my first forkful.
“I only eat one kind of flower,” he says in that tone again. “Lavender, you know that.”
“Raif?” His face hardens very slightly at the sound of his name. Or maybe it’s the voice he objects to. “I thought it was you.”
Heels clack against the tile, and Raif frowns, clearing his throat as he politely stands. Or maybe he stands to try to prevent the proprietary hand that grasps his shoulder. Elegant fingers andlong, pink-painted nails that belong to a glamazonian in a pink dress that I recognize as a Zimmerman.
She’s certainly dressed for the place—or maybe for the ’gram. Her dress flares outward like an old-fashioned toddler’s gown. The kind that would be worn with knickerbockers. She could probably do with a pair herself as the hemline skirts the very top of her tan thighs, and the neckline drops almost level with her belly button, where it ends in a cutesy bow. But she can carry it off—from her pink candy-striped stilettos and mini Lady Dior purse to her sleek, blond ponytail and flawless makeup. This woman is gorgeous.
“Hello, Celine.”
Fuck. He went out with this beauty queen?
She presses her body close and her lips to his cheek.
“It’s so good to see you.” She sounds like she means it, and she can’t stop staring at him even as he peels her hands away and holds them in front of him.
Holds her hands or restrains them?
Daisy makes a sound, and I glance her way, noting her frown. I’m not alone in my feelings, then. Even the seven-year-old can see this is awkward. Actually, what it is is fucking inappropriate.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, plucking at a piece of nothing from my husband’s sweater.
I clear my throat and quirk a brow so hard it hurts. I think I might’ve strained it.
“Sorry,” she says, her gaze barely grazing me. “Hey, Daisy. So nice of you to take the new nanny to brunch.”
Raif opens his mouth, but I beat him to it. Honestly, his responses—his reaction—are not quick enough to satisfy me.
“Try new wife,” I utter, sounding as pissed off as I feel.
“What?” Cue an awkward double take. And eyes on stalks. “You got married?” she accuses, as her head swings back his way. “Already?”
“Yes.” Raif’s mouth twitches. “This is Lavender, my wife. Sweetheart, this is Celine.”
“The expensive one,” Daisy whisper-hisses.
“Thank you, Daisy. I think I can see that.” I lean a little closer across the table. “Please don’t take a leaf out of my book, okay?” The little girl nods, though she doesn’t know why. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you,” I say, turning to the vision in pink, “but as rule, I try not to tell lies.”
“Lying is wrong,” Daisy says approvingly. “Except telling white lies so you don’t hurt anyone’s feelings.” Her blue eyes slide sideways. “Hello, Celine. It’s nice to see you.”
I try not to laugh. This girl cracks me up. But back to the matter at hand.
“I’d appreciate it if you would stop pawing my husband. Unless you want to end up in that window of cakes over there.” In case she’s a little slow on the uptake, I point my fork in that direction. Polly would not be impressed with my table manners, though I think she’d approve of the sentiment.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard,” I murmur, using it then to stick a little more egg into my mouth.
She is gorgeous—the kind of gorgeous I will never be. Not without surgery. A nip here, a tuck there, and lots of implants.A Brazilian butt-lift and breast augmentation at the very least.I’d probably also need my legs broken, then drilled with holes and fitted with metal pins. Even then, I’m not sure I’d get all those inches.
But I’m not her, and this is not a competition. Or if it is, I’ve already won, no matter how insecure I allow myself to feel. After all, Raif married me. He not only married me but he also asked me to stay. For real.
“I guess I pipped you at the post.” Because something tells me this is probably his ex-fiancée.Wow. Well done, Raif.
“She seems delightful.”
I don’t think she means that, do you, Raify?”
