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Lindy
Claire can’t stop staring at the ring on my left hand. “This piece of jewelry you’re wearing was in the royal family. Queen Margaret? Are you serious?”
“Princess Margaret, but yes,” I say, reassuring her for the umpteenth time. I take another bite of my chicken pesto pasta.
Ava taps a long, hot-pink fingernail against the tabletop. “I can’t believe he finally let you out of his sight. What’s it been? Two months since you left the club that night?”
I don’t tell the girls he’s standing across the street, keeping an eye on us. I nod, waiting to swallow before saying, “Something like that.”
When I asked to see Ava and Claire, he said okay as long as he chose the place. I was thrilled to find out that the girls and I would be dining at Café Fresca. Finally. After all those months of dying to try this place, I’m finally here.
I had no idea the family owns this place.
“And you live there now,” Claire says for the second time. “In the actual Village?” Claire gapes at me before saying, “What’s it like?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t say much about it.” I tear a piece of bread into a smaller bite, thinking of all nineteen pages of my NDA. “Tell me about you guys. What’s new at CityScoop?”
Ava shoots me a pointed look. “Other than Mike having an aneurysm when he found out you’d not only signed an NDA, but were quitting?”
“Yes,” I laugh, picturing how red his pale Irish skin can get when he’s upset. “Other than that, please.”
“Patrick came by looking for you.” Ava slides her gaze to my face to see my reaction.
Claire shakes her head, giving Ava a look. “Ava, don’t. That doesn’t matter now.”
“Patrick? I haven’t even thought about him since I left.” I chew while I think. “Not true. I have, but only in the context of how relieved I am that I’m not, in Ava’s words, twisting myself into a pretzel to be something I’m not, to please him.”
“He wanted you back,” Claire says softly. “Apparently Willow dumped him. Left him high and dry with half the rent when she took off with Hozier’s tour bus. I guess she and the bassist got together after a show. She’s a groupie now.”
“She thinks she’s a Band Aid,” Ava sniffs.
“Band-Aid?” I ask.
Ava’s mouth drops. “Have you not seen Almost Famous?”
I take a sip of water, washing down my bread. “I have but I don’t remember much.”
Claire puts on a funny voice. “Penny Lane says… and I quote… ‘Groupies sleep with rockstars because they want to be near someone famous.We are here because of the music, we inspire the music.We are Band Aids.’”
“But she’s sleeping with the bassist?” I ask. “I’m trying to keep up.”
“Yup.” Ava pops a cherry tomato in her mouth. “Groupie.”
I enjoy our lunch, laughing so much my cheeks hurt. Afterward, I’m sad to say goodbye, but so happy to slip my arm into Damian’s as he leads me to the car.
My driver waits for us.
He gives me a warm smile as he opens the back door of the Bachman-outfitted Bentley. Soundproof and bulletproof, among other tech and security gadgets. My driver looks so handsome in his black coat with the gold crest of those who’ve been vetted, trained, and deemed worthy of being employees of the family.
My driver’s dark brows rise as he asks, “How was lunch?”
“It was really nice to see the girls,” I say. “And Ava gave me a movie recommendation for you. Remind me later—I put it in the notes of my phone.” My sleek new phone, also Bachman tech.
“Awesome,” he says. “I need something for tonight. Lana is coming into town.” He takes my cold hand in his warm one, helping me into the car.
I slide across the dove gray leather back seat. “Thank you, Enrico.”
“Of course. Best job I ever had.” Enrico continues to hold the door open for Damian.
