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“You can’t trust him,” she yells at my back.
“I can’t trust you either.” I tug on Gabriella’s hand. “Gabbi, come.”
“You can trust me,” Trixie assures me, but I shake my head. “Ineedthat job, Bianca.”
I hate that she went there. Preying on my kindness to force me into speaking to her.
“No, you don’t. You’re a hairdresser, Trixie. You can work anywhere.”
“I’m also a whore,” she bites out.
I walk away. “You can try to fuck people’s husbands anywhere.”
Gabriella jogs to catch up. “Bitch has some nerve.”
I don’t answer, fuming at Trixie’s audacity to tear down my husband when only weeks ago she threw herself at him.
“Mrs. Ferrari, are you okay?”
I force a smile at Andre. “Yes.”
“I ducked into the bathroom, and I only made it back to the car to see you walking away from her.”
I touch his shoulder. “Andre, it’s fine. She only tried to speak with me.”
“I should call Mr. Ferrari.”
“Please don’t,” I beg. “Gabriella and I are having a wonderful time, and we’re not ready to leave.”
He considers my request, uncertainty worrying at his eyes enough to cause lines at their crease. “I have to call him. But I’ll wait until you’ve started eating.”
“Thank you,” I concede, pulling Gabriella into the restaurant.
Seated at our table, I sigh loudly.
“She looked really familiar,” Gabriella comments.
“Who? The maître d'?”
“Trixie,” she corrects.
I push out my bottom lip.
“Has she been on TV?”
“Not that I know of. I’m going to get the shrimp salad.”
“Ahi tuna bowl for me,” Gabriella responds. “Too bad we’re too young to order a martini.”
I sit back in my chair. “Vincent is going to be murderous enough with Trixie accosting me in the street.”
She laughs. “Maybe he’ll understandwhyyou need a drink.”
A server takes our order, sparkling water included, and leaves us alone again.
“How long ago did your mom die?”
Gabriella’s eyebrows disappear behind her dark fringe. “Wow. That got deep fast.”
