Page 111 of Turning Back

Chella comes up to us with her hands outstretched, looking sophisticated and fabulous, as usual. But also approachable and casual. Her wide-legged winter-white trousers are paired with a matching double-breasted jacket with rhinestone buttons that reflect the light from the chandeliers above. It’s got a little flare at her waist, making her look powerful and feminine at the same time.

“You made it,” she says, kissing my cheek and running her fingers through Adley’s silky blonde wavy hair. “And you two look gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” I say, still looking around with uneasiness. “Everyone is staring at me.” And whispering, I don’t add. Because that makes me sound paranoid.

“Just jealous, sweetness. That’s all. You own the hearts and minds of the two most eligible bachelors in this town.”

Yes. I guess I do.

“Come on, I have a special table set up in back for you and the little princess.”

I follow Chella through the maze of tables and people. Some are sitting down, but many of them are standing and they make no attempt to hide the fact that they are staring at me as we pass.

We are led to a table near the revolving door that leads to Turning Point. There are already four people sitting at the table, none of whom I recognize.

“Rochelle,” Chella says, stopping at the head of the table to smile. “These are my friends from the gallery. Michell and Kathryn.”

“Hi,” I say, hitching Adley up on my hip. They greet me with pleasant hellos, which makes me feel better. At least I’m not stuck at some table with a bunch of Club women.

“And this is an old friend of mine, Darrel. He used to be my security detail when I was younger.”

A man wearing a light gray suit, probably in his late thirties, stands, bows, and then says, “Very nice to finally meet you, Miss Bastille.”

Oh. Well, I guess that means they’ve been talking about me, because Chella never said my last name. No awkwardness there. “Pleasure,” I say. “And this is Adley,” I say, looking down at her.

“Oh,” the other woman says. She’s older, maybe fifties? Sixties? “I would recognize her anywhere.”

“What?” I laugh nervously.

“This is Kitty Foster,” Chella says with a wide smile. “Quin’s mother.”

Holy fucking shit. You have got to be kidding me. I look at Chella, ready to bolt. But she places a hand on my arm and smiles. Even bigger, if that’s possible. “Rochelle, she’s been dying to meet you. Apparently, Quin has talked quite a bit about you over the past week.”

“This baby!” Kitty Foster says, standing up and coming over to us. She is tall and slim and dressed up for a tea party. “She’s adorable! May I hold her?” Kitty already has her arms outstretched, so what I can say?

“Sure.” I smile. I’m secretly hoping Adley will get fussy, but nope. Her happy personality shines right through my discomfort.

Adley coos up at Quin’s mother. She coos right back at her and takes her seat again.

I take my seat as well, and everyone resumes their conversations. Except Kitty Foster. She’s too busy to deal with anyone else. She’s dressed up like a… I try my best to give it a name. It’s a style I recognize. Very vintage, which is cool. 1920’s, I decide. She even has one of those floppy lace hats on her head. Garden party—that’s her costume. And it’s definitely a costume Something I’d wear. Her dress is pale pink, made of silk chiffon with a pretty lace bodice and a large clasp—maybe rhinestones, but if I know Quin, it’s diamonds—at her waist. She and Adley match, I realize.

Isn’t that special.

There’s a high chair next to me, but it goes unused. Because Kitty has no intention of giving my daughter back until she’s forced.

“I am one lucky grandma!” Kitty exclaims.

This is just fucking great. Does she know what kind of relationship Quin and I are in? Did he tell her Adley is his? He was so certain before that allergic reaction to the mango. But now… I think all of us are having serious doubts about that.

“Have you been enjoying your time in Denver again?” the man named Darrel asks.

“What?” I say, still preoccupied with my new… mother-in-law? Maybe? Kinda? Sorta? “Oh, yes. It’s nice to be back.”

“You know,” Kitty says, leaning in my direction, “she looks just like Quin when he was a baby.”

“Does she?” I ask. I’m so uncomfortable right now. I have no idea what to say to that.

“I bet you’ll grow up to be just like him,” she squeals at Adley. Adley, to my dismay, is eating it all up. She is cooing, and babbling, and performing for her… grandma… God help me. “His father was so proud of him.”