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He laughed and glanced back at Carter. Instantly, his expression changed. Dark brows crashed together. "What's wrong?"
Carter's eyes flashed across the table. When Grace shrugged, her friend explained. When she was done, Farrell wore a grim expression.
"Here's what we're going to do," he said.
"Please," Grace interrupted. "None of this is your problem. I don't want to—"
"We're going to call John Smith."
"That's a great idea," Carter declared.
"Who's John Smith?" Grace asked. "Other than a man with a ridiculously ubiquitous name?”
"He's helped me in the past," Farrell said. "He's a private security guy. First rate. And he's very discreet."
"I don't really think that's necessary."
Nick shot her a blunt look. "Whoever left that article is probably just getting started. You want to meet him some night when you happen to be alone? "
The picture of Cuppie's throat flashed through her mind and Grace felt a stab of fear in her chest.
Carter frowned and stroked her arm protectively. "You don't have to be so harsh, Nick."
"I apologize, but you both know I'm right. She needs a bodyguard."
Grace looked away from the man's intense, diamond-colored eyes. The last thing she felt up to was fighting with someone like Farrell about her own safety. She didn't have the energy to spare and, even if she did, she had a feeling he rarely backed down once he'd made up his mind.
"I'm calling Smith right now," he announced and left the room.
Grace took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She shouldn't have come, she thought.
Carter rushed to apologize. "I'm sorry. He can be a little ... aggressive when he worries. We're working on that. It's really just because he's concerned."
Grace shrugged, feeling the tension in her shoulders. "I don't want to be an alarmist. I'm not a movie star who needs a posse and I don't want some doughnut-munching rent-a-cop following me around."
“From what I've heard about this guy, Smith seems more like a trained killer."
Grace flattened her lips. "I don't want that either."
When Farrell came back ten minutes later, he said, "Smith’ll be here tomorrow morning."
Grace opened her mouth to protest but the two of them just stared at her with almost identical expressions of determination.
No wonder they were such a great pair, she thought. Although their arguments could probably level a city block.
“I guess it can't hurt to talk to him," she said, giving up.
As they smiled at her, Grace took another sip from her glass. Inside, she felt numb. As she had so often in previous weeks, she found herself wondering whose life she was living.
* * *
The next morning, Grace paced around the mansion's living room until she thought she'd wear a track in the Aubusson rug. She made herself stop in front of an Early American mirror and stared at her reflection. Her face was disfigured by the leaded glass and the contortion seemed right.
She didn't feel much like herself, either.
She ran a hand down her skirt and adjusted her silk shirt, though neither needed the fine-tuning. She'd thrown the suit she'd arrived in back on. It was business, after all, and Chanel made her feel in control.
Grace wore Chanel a lot.
Feeling restless, she checked the backings of the heavy diamond studs she was wearing. Both were secure. She glanced down at her shoes. Not a spec of dirt on them. She wouldn't have minded a tear or a smudge requiring an emergency blast of seltzer. Without anything to focus on, she just dwelled on the lack of oxygen in the sun-drenched, airy room.
She went over to a window and pushed it open, welcoming the cool autumn breeze on her face. Outside, the lake was calm, the sun was shining, the day seemed full of promise. Perversely, she wished it was raining.
"He's just pulled up,” Carter said from the doorway.
Grace turned around just as Nick came up behind his wife, putting his hands on her shoulders.
"You ready?" he asked.
"Bring on Mr. Smith," Grace replied as the brass door knocker let out a thundering noise.
This was all wrong, she thought, as Nick went to open the door. She didn't want a security detail. What she wanted was for Cuppie to be alive. She wanted to go back to Thursday night at the Plaza and to see Cuppie sitting between her husband and the ambassador all the way through the dessert course.
Grace fiddled with her watch, looking down at the platinum dial. She wasn't going to hire whoever came into the room and regretted letting herself get talked into the meeting. Nick might have had her best interests at heart but she felt like she'd been pushed.
What was it about her that made her a sucker for controlling men? Her father had been utterly devoted to her but he'd also been domineering and heavy-handed. She'd learned to accept the good and the bad in him, reminding herself, when he made unreasonable demands or tried to take over her life, how much he loved her. But being able to see both sides of him was not the same as sticking up for herself and that had led to her marrying the wrong man.
