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Her face lit up, and she gripped my hands in hers. “What time is he picking you up?”
“He’s having a car get me at eight.”
Her smile faded. “A car?”
I nodded, thinking the same fucking thing. “In case he’s late,” I added. “And who eats at eight o’clock or later?”
“Rich people,” she teased. “You should know. You’re one of them.”
“Yes, but I eat at a normal time. And if the car isn’t picking me up until eight, that means I won’t be eating until nine o’clock!”
“Maybe he has a really good cook that will make up for the fact that he’s being an asshole.”
“I doubt it. James would never hire a cook.”
“Yes, but you’re not married to James. You’re married to Alexander.”
I threw myself on the couch and buried my face in the pillows. This whole thing sucked.
“Stop throwing a pity party. We need to figure out what you’re going to wear tonight to impress him.”
I sat up, glaring at her. “I don’t want to impress him. I won’t be the wife he wanted.”
“But you were going to be for Alexander.”
“Yes, but James knows who I really am. I’m going like this, and if he doesn’t like it, he can lump it.”
She grimaced at my sweater. “Really? That one?”
I glanced down, noticing how worn it was. “Okay, maybe I’ll put on a different sweater.”
