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We’re seated immediately and we both order strawberry lemonades as we check over the menu, making small talk. I’m not that hungry and decide to have a fall-themed salad with grilled chicken, dried cranberries and a balsamic dressing while Tinsley orders a cheeseburger with fries.
“You made me feel a little guilty with your choice, but screw it,” she says after the server takes our order and menus. “I’m in the mood for something bad for me.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” I reassure her, momentarily regretting my choices.
A cheeseburger and fries sounds delicious. And if I’m pregnant, what does it matter if I eat something like that every once in a while?
Really, why does it matter at all? We should all be able to indulge here and there, whenever we want.
Tinsley smiles, leaning across the table. “How’s married life with my brother, hmm?”
This is where it gets tricky. I don’t want to share too intimate details with her. I view her as a friend, but come on. Perry is her brother. If I say something bad—not that I have anything bad to say at the moment—she might report back to him. And if I say something too, ahem, raunchy, she won’t want to hear it.
Because he is her brother. The last thing I want to know are sexual details involving any of my brothers.
Gross.
“It’s good,” I say, remaining neutral. “We’re getting along well.”
Understatement of the year.
“I’m so glad,” she says, looking pleased, even by my simple response. “Perry is a great guy. You two seem happy together.”
We do? I was quiet at Thanksgiving. Even a little distant. Not that I meant to be. I was still dealing with my recent trauma, and not feeling that great either. “We’ve gotten used to each other pretty quickly.”
That’s not a lie. As time goes on, we do get along better and better, and I’m used to having him in my life. Perry is fun. Sweet. Easy to talk to. Sexy. Really good at the sex thing.
Really good.
Actually, I can’t imagine him not being a part of my life.
And I don’t want to either.
I watch as Tinsley checks her phone, her expression changing as she reads whatever text message or notification she was just sent. She lifts her gaze to mine, her eyes full of apology. “I think a guest is going to drop in on our lunch.”
I frown, my mind awhirl with the guest possibilities. “Who?”
“My mother.”
Chapter Eighteen
Charlotte
Minutes after Tinsley’sannouncement, Caroline Constantine enters the restaurant, and like magic, things happen. People stare at her as if she’s a celebrity while the employees surround her. Someone takes her coat. The hostess leads her to our table. The server is waiting for her, eager to take her drink order. By the time the three of us are left alone at our table, I’m watching my mother-in-law in wonder.
I forgot how much influence she has. The Constantine family is a formidable bunch, and their matriarch is the most formidable of them all, with Winston a very close second. Most people tremble in their presence, unsure of how they’re going to react or what they might say.
Not me. I’m a Lancaster. In status, our family is higher on the social ladder. All of that generational, old money wealth is hard to rise above. In our intimate circles, Lancasters conquer all. Constantines are new money.
But Caroline Constantine is a bit of a legend, and at this particular restaurant, they know it.
“Such a fuss,” Tinsley says to her mother, shaking her head.
Caroline leans over to drop a kiss on my cheek and give me a one-armed side hug before she settles into the booth seat next to her daughter. “You know I don’t ask for that kind of treatment.”
“Please. You love it,” Tinsley teases, glancing over at me. “She’ll pretend it’s too much, but if they completely ignored her, she’d be angry.”
“That is not true,” Caroline admonishes, then immediately laughs. “Actually, it is true.”
