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My phone beeped and I lunged for it, glad that I was alone so I didn’t have to be ashamed by my eagerness.
Go get ’em Audrey, it read.
I’ll pick you up at four. Text me if you need a rescue.
I held the phone close to my heart for a second. It was as though I could hear his voice, and feel him through his words.
Ok, I texted back, as if I was a normal, calm person.
Then I held the phone against my heart again because right now, I was anything but.
* * *
The lobby of Imperial Hotel was even more impressive than the Stratum’s, and it was eminently more stuffy. Oriental rugs, oil paintings, and crystal chandeliers emphasized the exclusive luxury of the place. I did not fit in here. I felt a cold trickle of sweat run down my back as I headed in toward the restaurant.
The firing squad was waiting for me, dressed in their finest.
“Audrey!” Evie said, coming up to me instantly. She was wearing a hot-pink sheath that hugged her body. It was obvious that Evie had been on an all-lettuce and Pilates diet leading up to the wedding: she was rail thin, her collarbones jutting out almost painfully. She was all sharp edges and blinding-white teeth.
I smiled at her, awkward and wary. “Are you getting excited?” I asked. “It’s only a few days, now.”
She gripped my arm. “I am so excited. Todd is the love of my life.” She searched my face with a laser-like glare.
“I know he is,” I lied. Except you tried to swap him out for his wealthier brother. “You two are perfect together.” I hope he comes to his senses and divorces you, then marries someone who’s eaten something in the last six months.
I decided to keep my thoughts to myself and pretend to be excited for her. “So, is everything all set for the ceremony?” I asked. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
To my relief, Evie started talking about the flowers and the photographer and the weather forecast. Like so many brides before her, she couldn’t see past the ceremony. She had wedding myopia, which was fine with me. I followed her to some nearby couches where her cousins and Mrs. Preston were seated.
Her cousins were Meghan, Michelle, and Sarah; if I’d understood James correctly, they all lived outside the city in Wellesley, a wealthy suburb. All three cousins were former investment bankers, married to investment bankers. All three of them had children, but you’d never know it by looking at them: their bodies were rock hard, sinewy with muscle, contrasting sharply with the soft, summery fabrics they wore. They scared the bejeezus out of me, too.
There were platters of delicious-looking appetizers, finger sandwiches, and cookies laid out before us, but no one had touched a thing. My stomach growled, and I self-consciously grabbed a sandwich. But Mrs. Preston smiled at me while I ate. “Hello, dear,” she said, turning her attention to me. I startled. Her face looked different today, oddly puffy.
“Oh, I’ve just had my facial filler today, don’t be alarmed,” she said. Her cheeks were big and round, like a chubby toddler’s.
“You have to get it done a few days before a big event so the swelling has a chance to go down,” explained Evie.
“Oh,” I said. “Well, I’m sure you’ll look perfect, Mrs. Preston. But I already thought you did.” I reached for another sandwich and stuffed it into my mouth before I had to talk some more. I forgot all about being self-conscious—if Mrs. Preston could talk about filling her face up with pharmaceuticals, I could fill mine with food.
Besides, I could not handle these bitches on an empty stomach. They were being friendly, and it set off all my internal alarms.
“Isn’t she sweet?” Evie said and patted my hand. My back immediately stiffened. I took another sandwich and stuffed it into my mouth. I had the sinking feeling this was a set-up.
“You’re starving,” Mrs. Preston clucked. It looked as if she was trying to smile, but her face was too puffy to move. “Any chance you’re eating for two?”
I shook my head no, horrified. “Not a chance,” I croaked out, past my sandwich.
“But wouldn’t that be nice?” Evie said, still fake-smiling at me. I should have just told her to stop, she sucked at it so hard.
I swallowed my food. “Not for me,” I said. “But you
’re another matter.” Now I showed her what a genuine fake smile looked like and turned the tables, making the conversation all about Evie. “You could get pregnant on the honeymoon…wouldn’t that be exciting? Another little Preston?”
“It would be wonderful,” Evie said reverently. It sounded as though the idea made her salivate. But Evie didn’t strike me as all that maternal. I wondered just how much of a trust fund little Baby Preston would have.
“I expect a grandchild,” Mrs. Preston said to Evie. It looked as if she was trying to arch an eyebrow for emphasis, but nothing was really moving.
She turned to me. “But not from you,” she said.
