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“No, I don’t know.” I grinned. “What are you trying to say, dear Izzy? Besides the fact you’ve been eavesdropping.”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping—it’s just that your voice projects. You should probably keep that in mind. You have a child. And by the sounds of it, you’ll be having more soon.”
I rubbed my abdomen. I would love nothing more than to have another baby with Drake. “Does it bother you, Izzy? I know how badly you want one of your own. You know, I would be a surrogate for you, if you wanted.”
Her eyes went all misty. “Thanks, Char. I love you for it, but you just keep having your own babies and I’ll love on them. I don’t begrudge you that blessing at all.” She wiped her eyes before any tears fell.
“Even if they’re Drake’s babies?”
“Even if they’re his.” She gave me a crooked grin before looking up at the ceiling. “You really should have let me charge him for staying here. I wanted you to have the chandelier for the ball.”
I climbed onto the working platform. “No. That’s a dream for us. Not Drake.”
She thought about that, then nodded. “You’re right.”
“What?” I slapped a hand across my chest. “I’m right about something?” I teased.
“You’ve been right about a lot, but you didn’t hear that from me.” She winked. “I’m proud of you, Char. And we will work together and get that chandelier. But please, for the love, let your rich boyfriend pay a painter to finish what we have left upstairs. If I have to paint one more room, I might lose my ish.”
“Well, I would hate for you to lose your ish.” I giggled. “Whatever that is, it sounds important.”
“Believe me, it is, and you won’t want to see me lose it.”
“Okay, fine, I’ll let Drake hire a painter. He’ll be thrilled.” He’d been begging me to let him do something, especially pay child support. I guess I could accept painting support.
“Now that we have that settled, get to work.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I saluted her.
I had barely gotten three hooks installed before someone knocked on the door. Izzy gave me an inquisitive glance from below. “Are we expecting a contractor today?”
Fiona barked and charged the door to viciously lick to death whoever was knocking.
“No. And George would walk right in,” I yelled above Fiona’s barking.
“Don’t fall. I’ll be right back.” She flitted toward the door in perfect Audrey Hepburn fashion.
I sat on the platform, my legs dangling off the edge. I admired our handiwork for the ball. We’d set up the food tables yesterday. The ruffled lacy tablecloths were to die for. We were having dozens of roses delivered on Friday to make bouquets. Fairy lights and hearts abounded. It was all so darling. Just how Daisy would have wanted it. My only wish was that Drake could be here for it. Sure, Jameson was a great little dancer and the cutest kid around, but I longed for his dad’s arms.
I heard Izzy quiet Fiona before opening the door and saying, “Hello.”
A timid female voice I didn’t recognize responded, “Hello, I’m looking for Charlotte Valentine.”
If it was another reporter, I was going to lose my ish, whatever that was. And have Drake fire the security guy on duty. He’s supposed to vet whoever comes to call. I was more irked because I hadn’t seen any sign of a reporter in three days. I’d assumed the novelty had worn off, given I’m a hugely boring person, other than the fact that I gave birth to a megastar’s child. I was excited to have life go back to normal and not have an audience when I bought tampons—or a vat of chocolate ice cream.
“Who are you?” Izzy snarled. She was more than tired of all the looky-loos. Although, she had enjoyed flipping them the bird and seeing if she could get her car to spray them with slushy snow.
The woman didn’t answer right away. Any second now Izzy was going to lose her ish and slam the door. I waited and waited but then heard the woman say, “I’m Nora Foster.”
It was a good thing I was sitting down on the platform or I may have plunged to my death. I gripped the railing, wondering why Drake’s mother was here. Did Drake know? Surely, he would have given me a heads-up. If not, we were going to have some serious words.
“I’m Drake’s mother,” she clarified.
“Come in,” Izzy rushed to say.
I looked down at my yoga pants and oversized red sweater. It wasn’t meet-your-boyfriend’s-mother appropriate, but I had looked worse. There were plenty of photos out there to prove it. I braced myself for the inevitable face to face I was about to have. I probably should have climbed down, but I felt safer up on the scaffolding. All I knew of this woman was that Drake said she had become cold and bitter. Yet, her voice sounded soft and gentle. But maybe that was a ruse to get in the door. Or maybe it wasn’t really Nora at all—maybe it was a clever reporter.
