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“That’s Darcy,” Kenya said, indicating me. “Darcy, this is my husband, Doug.”
“Hi,” Doug said, nodding at me. “Nice to meet you. Are you staying for dinner? Is dinner happening… anytime soon?”
“I’m working on it!” Priya cried from the stove. “I have to cook for all these people, you know, and then two more show up…”
“It’s really okay.” I took a breath, about to explain that I wouldn’t be staying, or eating any more of her very spicy vodka sauce, so she didn’t have to include me in her count.
“Don’t pressure my girlfriend,” Montana called from the table.
“I’m just hungry,” Doug grumbled as he walked over to Kenya and kissed the top of her head. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect dinner before eleven at night.”
“Pretend we’re in Spain,” Chloe said with a smile.
“So we’ll continue to monitor this,” Bronwyn said to Wylie, her voice a little softer now. “But I don’t think you need to be concerned. We’ve got the situation well in hand.”
I suddenly realized that I had just been guilty of an egregious lapse in manners. But in my defense, nobody had ever used their celebrity status to get me out of a jam before. I knew I needed to thank Wylie Sanders—it should have been the first thing I’d done—but should I also offer to reimburse him for the helicopter ride? For the legal counsel?
“Um, Mr. Sanders,” I said. “I just wanted to thank you. For… uh… helping out.” Russell glanced over at me, and his mouth twisted in a frown. “I’m so sorry that we put you in that position. I never usually… I mean…” I didn’t know why it was important to me that this rock star I’d never see again knew that I wasn’t the kind of person who went around breaking into hotel pools, but for whatever reason, it seemed to be. “I’m really sorry. And really grateful.”
He gave me a smile. “You’re welcome, Darcy. I was happy to help.”
Chloe snorted, got up from the table, and walked into the kitchen with her wineglass. “Babes,” she said to Wylie, rolling her eyes. “You were livid. You were not ‘happy to help.’ ”
“I wouldn’t say livid, Chloe,” Wylie Sanders demurred.
She snorted again. “Sure. Is there more of the sauv blanc?”
“Mumma?” I looked over to see a small blond child in Spider-Man pajamas standing in the kitchen.
“Artie,” she said with a sigh. “What are you doing out of bed?”
Russell had mentioned an Artie—but he’d told me that was his cool older cousin. Not a three-year-old—which meant this was one more lie Russell had told me. I glanced over at him, but he was laughing with Wallace about something. Probably about me picking Steve Guttenberg.
Chloe scooped Artie up and rested him on her hip, and I was jarred by it all over again—how young she looked. Too young to have been married, divorced, and the mother of a kid old enough to have superhero preferences.
“Artie, help us out,” Wallace called across the room to him. “Name a celebrity.”
“The Rock,” Artie said immediately.
“Thanks, bud,” Wallace said. He shot me a brief look, one that clearly said Was that so hard?
“Did you wake your sister up?” Chloe asked him.
“I didn’t,” he protested, trying to wriggle down. “I’m just hungry.”
“Ooh, try my sauce!” Priya said. She turned around with a spoon, just as Artie spotted Russell across the room.
“Russell!” he yelled, and launched himself in his direction.
Russell grinned when he saw him coming, a real smile, one that opened up his whole face. He got out of his chair, picked up his little brother, and swung him around.
“Where were you?” Artie asked, even as he laughed, clearly delighted to be flying around in circles. “You didn’t come back on the plane with everyone. And you promised me that you were going to play Brontosaurus.”
“Sorry, bud,” Russell said. He stopped spinning him and set him down. Artie took a few wobbly steps. “We can play tomorrow, okay?”
“Or now!”
“No,” Wylie and Chloe said in unison.
