Might as well address the five-carat elephant in the room.
I expect some smug look of satisfaction or a gaze, narrowed with the warning that I should take the hint that it’s over between Francis and me. If she needs me to reassure her, I’m more than happy to drive the point home—with a brown-sugar and pecan-crusted, finely sharpened blade.
Instead, she seems to relax into something approaching resignation. I stare warily as I wait for her to speak.
“This doesn’t have to be hostile, you know. We can both get what we want out of this.”
I blink in surprise, wondering what she’s getting at.
“Francis was obviously hesitant to reveal all of this,” she lifts her right hand to casually gesture toward the ring on her left, “before Valentine’s Day.”
That’s no surprise.
“I was the one to insist on talking to you first. I didn’t want him confusing the issue with any phone calls or texts.”
That explains it…mostly.
The fact that he’d let this woman control him that much is the surprise.
He’s even weaker than I remember.
“Are you his fiancée or his mother?”
Her mouth twists with annoyance.
“As I stated, this doesn’t have to be hostile…Honey.” She is decidedly less magnanimous now, raising one eyebrow in judgement as she utters my name.
“It doesn’t have to be anything…Muffy,” I reply, matching hers with an arched eyebrow of my own.
I’m surprised yet again when she laughs softly, relaxing into her chair. She pauses to take a sip of tea and linger over it as she scrutinizes me.
“I can see why Francis adores you. He’s the kind of man who flourishes under the influence of a woman with a backbone.” There isn’t a hint of jealousy or resentment in her voice as she says this, casually taking another sip of her tea.
“I suppose you’ll have to be the one carrying the load from now on,” I say, lifting my cup to take a first sip. After swallowing, I add, “Speaking of which, perhaps you can get to the meat of the matter. Why exactly am I here? If he was so…spineless that he couldn’t confront me, he could have just broken up with me over text message. Despite your ban on communication.”
Muffy gives me a patronizing smile. “Ah but that’s why you’re here, Honey. He hasn’t broken up with you, not in any way that it might really matter. This engagement, and of course the wedding—”
The sip of tea in my mouth goes down hard at that, even though I should have expected this “ruse” of theirs to go just that far.
“It’s all still for show. A relationship strictly of convenience. So long as you and Francis are discreet, there’s no reason that you couldn’t pick up right where you left off.”
“Excuse me?” I set my cup down.
“It’s very common, Honey. Especially among a certain class.” Now, the subtle rays of condescension are peeking through the curtain of indifference. “We marry the type of person that’s expected of us, while…still entertaining the type of person we’d prefer to be with. One that doesn’t quite meet the approval of our family and peers.”
I cough out a laugh. “I see. And I suppose I’m the dirty little secret that dares not sully the—ahem—integrity of your image.”
“Correct,” she says, her lips pursed with self-satisfied superiority. “I myself have a…special friend as well.”
“Perhaps that says something about the quality of men you choose to be with. I, however, am not that type of woman.”
I see the flicker of surprise hit her eyes before they narrow with contempt. “Of course you aren’t,” she says in a sarcastic voice.
“Don’t let the pink fool you, sweetheart. That’s just the sugar coating the hard nut underneath. This rose has thorns, and I’m not about to be overshadowed by any type of ‘arrangement’ that leaves me sharing the spotlight with another woman.”
Now Muffy really has a bee in her bonnet. She leans in closer, those dark eyes ablaze. “You silly woman, I’m giving you a chance to maintain the status quo. You can keep the apartment, the dresses, the gifts, and even that ridiculous career of yours; I seriously doubt you could maintain your current lifestyle on whatever that pays. It’s an opportunity to have your cake and eat it too. Most women in your position would jump at the opportunity.”
Rather than match her wrath, I calmly assess her.
“Have you ever had a slice of real butter cake? My Aunt Pidge—don’t ask me how she got that nickname, that’s just what everyone calls her—anyway, she makes the absolute best, to-die-for butter cake. Not the fake stuff with margarine and Splenda or whatever, I mean the real thing, made with pure butter and sugar and honest to goodness chocolate frosting on top. The kind where you can taste the butter melting in your mouth with every bite.” My eyes casually wander across her pronounced collarbone and, more to the point, the mouth pinched with perpetual displeasure. “I’m guessing from the looks of it, you haven’t ever had a taste.”
“Perhaps you can explain whatever deep-fried, southern-cooked nonsense you’re getting at?”
I simply smile, completely unfazed.
“My point is, why would I settle for less than, when the real thing is still out there waiting for me to take a bite? I’m guessing people of a—how did you put it? Certain class?—they have a more refined palate that us lowly deep-fried, southern cooked peasants couldn’t appreciate. Perhaps that explains why y’all are so bitter and willing to compromise when it comes to quality.” I look around at the grand apartment and lovely view before returning my attention to her. “At least in the areas where it matters. I’ll take my version any day.”
“That’s awfully big talk coming from a woman who had to know nothing could ever come of a relationship with the man she’s been with for the past two years. I mean really, Honey, did you honestly expect Francis to marry you?”
That one stings. The sharp pain quickly ebbs when I realize it came from a place of resentment. “And what exactly do you have, Muffy? I can call you that, no? Seeing as how we share something so intimate—or at least used to.”
“I have more than you could ever hope to dream of,” she says, slyly shifting her gaze toward the window just in case I needed clarification.
“Do you?”
She looks taken aback by that. No sharp retort at the ready to lob right back at me.
I decide to do her the favor of ending this. Frankly, for both our sakes. I stand up and give her a smile that I work hard at showing not too much pity.
I suddenly do feel bad for her.
No woman should marry a man she doesn’t love.
“Give Francis my regards. He doesn’t need to contact me to officially break up.” My eyes drop to the ring on her finger. “I’ve taken the hint. I’m already out of the apartment if he wants to sublet it. If there’s anything he wants returned to him, he should let me know. Otherwise, I’ll be getting rid of it all.”
She openly gapes at me.
“Thank you for the lovely tea…Maude,” I say, making it perfectly clear that I am no longer in the same universe as she is, let alone among her close circle of friends.
I turn and walk out, feeling her eyes burn a hole in my back as I go. It fuels the engine of satisfaction inside of me, telling me I’m doing the right thing.
More to the point, it finally opens my eyes.
Francis was the plastic-wrapped, store-bought, artificially flavored treat that I now know would never satisfy my happiness. His sugar rush was a fake high that I’m weaning myself from with surprising ease.
There’s a man out there who’s real, made with authentic ingredients.
Someone real.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Honey
It’s finally Saturday night.
Giuseppe and I have of course texted and called all week, but it’s not the same as actually seeing each other in person. I even miss those brief exchanges before all of this started when we switched places in the e
levator in the mornings.
At least he’s stuck to his word about not looking me up online. I’m sure I would have experienced some kind of reaction on his part if he had.
I put that thought aside to focus on the excitement of the upcoming evening.
This is the second Saturday I’ve had to cancel a performance for work, which is saying something. Especially for a gal who needs to start saving every penny.
But Giuseppe is worth it.
Unfortunately it means I’m left on my own to get ready for his firm’s gala since all my friends are getting on with the show in my absence. I’ve never wanted my girls—or even Jerome—by my side more than I do now.
Yes, I drove Esmerelda, Rose, and even sweet Annabelle crazy all week going back and forth between which dress to wear tonight.
“Just be yourself, Honey,” Rose said.
“He’s with you because you’re you,” Annabelle reassured me.
“Don’t you dare change for a man!” Esmerelda practically threatened.
But tonight is a performance.
So I’m wearing white.
It’s a long, simple, elegant strapless number that contrasts almost as well with my skin as my trademark pink does. I’ve pinned my bob up into a French twist and added cubic zirconia studs.
No more diamonds for Honey Dewberry.
I’ve been pacing in my strappy heels, only stopping when I threatened to work up a nice sheen of sweat. I’m usually not so nervous, especially when having to interact with people, even strangers. Especially strangers. I love surprising people with my talents and charm and wit.
That thought is almost enough to lift my spirits.
I come back down to Earth when I remember how important tonight is. For Giuseppe and me both.
I know he’s no longer trying to get Emily back, but it’s still an event for the firm he works at.
The one he himself is putting on a performance for.
I sigh and roll my eyes.
Performing is supposed to be fun for heaven’s sake! Why am I so worked up with anxiety?
I laugh to myself and force my body to relax.
It goes perfectly taut again when I hear the intercom.
“Giuseppe?” I say, breathless after rushing over to answer.
“Honey?” He responds in the same questioning manner but with a hint of humor.
I breathe out a laugh. “I’ll be right down.”
I grab my clutch and dash out.
When I open the front door of the building, he gets his first glimpse of me and I see the hesitation in his eyes.
“You’re not wearing pink.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed. I thought I would shake it up a bit tonight,” I say with a confident smile, even though my heart stutters with uncertainty for a few beats.
“No, no,” he says shaking his head. “You look stunning of course. Shall we?”
“We shall,” I say, taking his arm as he leads me down to the waiting Town Car.
Once settled inside, I twist to face him with a smile.
He looks so handsome in his tuxedo, complete with a bowtie. Dressed down or dressed up, the man is damn fine.
“It’s so strange going a week without passing you in the morning,” he says, staring at me.
“Yeah,” I say, happy that he’s had the same thoughts I have.
Of course I could have wiggled out a time to meet with him at some point this week. Maybe for lunch since my current barista job has flexible hours.
But that would have opened the Pandora’s box of him asking about my “acting career.”
I still feel guilty about circling the issue instead of bringing it out in the open as Rose suggested.
“Next week, we’ll have to do something together. A new routine for us.”
“Yeah, but will you be in that robe with the feathers?”
I laugh. “Only if you want to be perfectly scandalous.”
“I use to think it was so ridiculous, you know. Those tiny pink feathers floating down the hallway. That scent of you lingering….” He looks away in thought. “You really don’t appreciate something until it’s gone.”
His gaze comes back to me, those eyes practically boring a hole through his glasses. “He was a damn fool.”
A small smile touches my face as I consider the difference between the two men in my life and their reactions to my absence.
“He was, wasn’t he?” I say with a tilt to my chin.
We both laugh.
It’s almost enough to relax me.
I got this.
* * *
The gala is being held at The Plaza Hotel, which makes this all the more amazing. I’ve been in the lobby of course. What little girl hasn’t read about Eloise’s adventure here? I had to see it for myself when I first came to the city.
The string of people we follow into the ballroom is a far more fascinating experience. Especially with this man on my arm.
I sense Jesse’s muscles go taut underneath my hand as soon as we enter.
The thought of “socializing” is probably akin to one of the nine gates of hell for him.
Fortunately, he has me by his side.
The man seriously needs to relax.
But first, I seriously need to use the ladies’ room.
“Why don’t you get us both a drink while I go freshen up?”
He nods, then offers me a grin. “Champagne, I suppose?”
I curl up against him with an endearing smile. “You know me too well. I’ll be back in two shakes.”
In the bathroom, I take a moment to stare at myself before heading back out to find Giuseppe.
The white does look good.
But pink would have been better. I should have paid heed to The Girls.
All the more reason to let the real Honey shine through.
The live band is playing an instrumental version of “Your Love is My Drug” by Ke$ha and I smile and dance a little as I make my way toward the bar.
“Did I just see you walk in with Giuseppe?”
A broad smile comes to my face and I turn around to greet the man attached to that question.
There are three of them, as it turns out, each around Giuseppe’s age but definitely with that eau-de-frat-boy scent to them.
“Or does he go by Jesse with you?” The one front and center with the lightest hair asks.
I tilt my head to assess him, already picking up on the douchebag vibe.
“It’s Giuseppe,” I say.
He utters a low chuckle. “I guess he just saves Jesse for the office.”
“But you’re obviously in the know,” I say with a smile and a wink.
There’s nothing that throws off someone intent on making trouble like a gracious manner. In my case, maybe a little fake flirting.
His smirk turns into a crooked smile filled with encouragement. His eyes scan me up and down and that mischievous look comes to his gaze.
“Who knew our boy Giuseppe had such…exotic tastes.”
“Exotic?” I repeat, innocently raising my brow in a questioning way
“Oh, I’m sorry, too non-PC for you?” He says with a fake wince.
The other two chuckle.
So that’s his game. No wonder Giuseppe feels he needs to put up a front if he works with jerks like this.
“No, I just don’t think it’s very apt. Unless of course the only flavor you’re used to is,” I allow my eyes to wander across the three of them with a politely sympathetic look. “Bland.”
None of them are happy about that slap back.
“I guess we’re supposed to be more ‘woke’ these days,” he retorts, complete with air quotes.
Okay, long-sleeved satin evening gloves are off now.
“But it seems like you already are,” I say, eyeing the one in the middle first before darting my gaze to his two minions. “I mean, yes, it is the twenty-first century and homosexuality is pretty well accepted these days. But polyamory? And to bring both of your partners
to a work event? I for one am glad to see Giuseppe works for a firm that is so accepting of all lifestyles.”
The one with dark hair gets it almost immediately, shooting a cynical but resentful smirk my way. The other two take a bit longer to catch on, the last being the one standing in front of me.
“What the…?” He frowns in annoyance. “These two aren’t my—”
“She’s bullshitting you, Todd,” the one with dark hair says in a bored tone.
I place a hand on my chest in mock dismay. “Oh, my bad! Did I misinterpret this little trio of yours? Too ‘woke’ for you?”
“Listen, sweetheart—”
“Sweetheart?” I interrupt, ready to give him even more gloveless words.
“Sorry, is that one offensive too? You just seemed like the type who could handle it.”
I give him a cool smile.
Time for the total knockout.
“Well, that all depends on the mouth that’s saying it, and of course context. I’m a performer so I can definitely tell you the way in which something is said makes a difference.”
I pause as though considering it.
“For example, I’ll use a phrase that I’m sure each of you is familiar with,” I say, blessing each man in the small semi-circle around me with his own smile.
“Complete and total dick.”
I wait for their brows to furrow in consternation and resentment. But they hang on, waiting to see where I’m going with this.
I live for dramatic pauses.
“I could say it one way to give it a…particular meaning.”
I cast a quick look to his crotch before I focus on the one named Todd for my performance:
Eyelids lowered just so.
Bottom lip nibbled.
A deep inhale through my nose, causing my nostrils to flare slightly and my chest to expand in an enticing manner.
Eyes completely closed now as I inhale even more, absolutely simulating that point just on the cusp of an orgasm.
“Complete…and toootal” I practically moan this word “…dick.” I punctuate it with a heavy sigh and slowly reopen my eyes.
The audience reaction is as expected, wide eyes, hard swallows, even a few red faces.
Tease Page 15
