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"Are you kidding? All that free publicity?" Margo stretched her arms up. Her shoulders were aching, a sensation she'd gotten used to. "Besides, it'll give me a chance to deck myself out, get in front of the camera. I'm thinking the sage green Armani or the blue Valentino."
"We've already tagged the Armani."
"Right. Valentino it is."
"As long as it doesn't make you uncomfortable."
"Valentino never makes me uncomfortable."
"You know what I mean." Laura hefted the urn, decided it looked slightly less unattractive on the corner shelf. "All those questions about your private life."
"I don't have a private life at the moment. You've got to learn to shrug off the gossip, honey." She tapped out her cigarette and knelt to explore the crate. "If you let every whisper and snicker about you and Peter sting, the wasps will know and they'll keep after you."
"He came back to town last week."
Her head jerked up. "Is he hassling you?"
"No, but… Josh had an incident with him a few days ago. I didn't hear about it until this morning."
"An incident?" Amused, Margo studied a little Limoges box replicating a French flower stall. Christ, she loved these little bits of nonsense. "What did they do, draw their Mont Blancs and duel?"
"Josh broke Peter's nose."
"What?" Staggered between shock and glory, she nearly bobbled the box. "Josh punched him?"
"He broke it with a tennis ball." When Margo collapsed into hoots of laughter, Laura scowled. "There were people in the next court. It's all over the club. Peter had to be taken to the hospital, and he might very well file charges."
"What, assault with a forehand lob? Oh, Laura, it's too delicious. I haven't given Josh enough credit." She pressed a hand on her stomach as her ribs began to ache.
"It had to be deliberate."
"Well, of course it was deliberate. Josh can bean a speeding car at fifty yards with his backhand. He could have played center court if he'd taken himself seriously. Damn, I wish I'd seen it." Wicked delight sparkled in her eyes. "Did he bleed a lot?"
"Profusely, I'm told." It was wrong, Laura had to continually remind herself, it was wrong to enjoy the image of bright red blood geysering out of Peter's aristocratic nose. "He's gone to Maui to recuperate. Margo, I don't want my brother smashing tennis balls into the face of the father of my children."
"Oh, let him have his fun." Without remembering to tag or log it, Margo placed the Limoges in a curved-front cabinet where a dozen others were already displayed. "Ah, is Josh seeing anyone?"
"Seeing anyone?"
"You know, as in dating, escorting, having hot sex with?"
Baffled, Laura rubbed at her tired eyes. "Not that I know of. But then, he stopped bragging about having hot sex around me years ago."
"But you'd know." As if it were vital to world peace, Margo rubbed at a smudge on the display glass. "You'd have heard, or sensed."
"He's awfully busy just now, so I'd say probably not. Why?"
"Oh." She turned back, smiling widely. "Just a little wager we have going. I'm starving," she realized abruptly. "Are you starving? I think we should order something in. If Kate comes by after work and we're not done with this shipment, she's going to lecture us on time management again."
"I don't have time for lectures on time. I'm sorry. I have to pick up the girls. It's Friday," she explained. "I promised them dinner and a movie. Why don't you come with us?"
"And leave all this luxury?" Margo spread her arms wide to encompass boxes, heaps of packing material, half-empty cups of cold coffee. "Besides, I have to practice my gift wrapping. Everything I do still looks like it was wrapped up by a slow-witted three-year-old. I don't mind, really—"
She broke off as the door swung open and Kayla burst through. "Mama! We came to visit." With a beaming smile, she launched herself into Laura's arms, clung just a little too hard.
"Hello, baby." Laura squeezed back, worrying how long these small reassurances would be necessary. "How did you get here?"
"Uncle Josh picked us up. He said we could come and look at the shop 'cause we should take an interest in our legacy."
