Page 53 of Happily Ever After

Paige gave a small, tight smile. “The woman who raised this issue strikes me as someone who’d be just fine with that.”

“You mean Darcy Lane? I know who she is. My wife has a knitting group, and she’s only just caught wind of this herself.” Jerry returned the smile, just as restrained. “I don’t know Ms. Lane well enough to say what she’d be fine with.”

“What advice did you give your wife, if I might ask?”

“I told her this will probably all blow over.”

Paige didn’t believe for one second that Darcy was going to let this go. “I appreciate your time.”

He gestured toward the front office. “Danielle can give you copies of the by-laws, if you need them. Best of luck.”

“Thank you.” As Paige walked out of the office, the quick resolution she’d hoped for now seemed out of reach.

Impossible as it was to believe, Darcy hadn’t been bluffing.

Paige exhaled. There was no way this was going to be the end of the Queen Bees. She’d think of something.

She hoped.

Chapter Twenty-Two

By the time the photographer was getting ready to call for a break, Blaise had almost lost count of how many outfits she’d worn.

There had been several silk gowns, an array of linen separates, then the sculptural pieces that zipped in places she wouldn’t have expected. And the shoes. So many different pairs. Her calves burned faintly from being in the heels, the good kind of ache that told her she was definitely earning her money.

Each change came with a new look. Her hair had been smoothed, curled, and teased, while her makeup had been dramatic, then softened, then sharpened again. The room buzzed with movement and a high level of proficiency, people stepping in and out of her space with practiced ease.

“Chin up just a touch,” someone said.

Blaise lifted her face.

“Perfect.”

Lights shifted. A fan kicked on, moving the edges of fabric just enough to give it life. Blaise held still when she was told to, and shifted into new poses on command, her body remembering something it hadn’t done in a long time and apparently hadn’t forgotten.

That was a good feeling. In fact, she felt energized. Awake in every sense of the word.

Marco Alvarez stood just off to the side, arms loosely crossed, watching with an expression Blaise had learned to read over the course of the day. Satisfaction, yes—but also validation. This was working for him. He was happy.

That was important to her, too. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she’d been a bad choice. At this stage of her life, she wasn’t interested in proving herself, but she still wanted to be worth the risk.

“Beautiful,” he said after the last shutter click, his accent smoothing the word. “Exactly what I imagined.”

Blaise smiled, feeling it all the way down to her toes. “I’m so glad.”

They paused while the crew shifted the backdrop, rolling a new one carefully into place, the sound of metal stands adjusting and fabric unfurling filling the studio.

Blaise stepped toward the table where her phone rested, lifting the water bottle someone had put out for her and taking a long drink. Staying hydrated was important. The lights were hot and she did not want to faint on set. She’d done that once in the very early days of her career and thinking about that made her wonder if she should add that story to the book.

She decided to make a note of it so she wouldn’t forget. Her phone buzzed as she reached for it. She glanced at the screen, expecting a text. Instead, she saw a notification about an email. She opened her inbox, read the subject line and went still.

Checking availability. It was from one of the publishers she’d queried. One she’d honestly written off because she hadn’t heard from them. She’d thought they must have decided her story wasn’t for them.

Blaise’s pulse ticked up. She opened the email.

It was brief and to the point, but they were interested in her memoir. They wanted to know if it was still available. And then they asked when she might be free to talk.

Blaise let out a slow breath and leaned back against the wall, the cool surface bringing her back to reality. Around her, the setup for the next shoot continued, people talking, adjusting lights, doing what they’d been doing all day. The scent of hairspray lingered in the air, mixed now with coffee.