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The doorbell suddenly chimes with an obnoxiously long, fancy sound, and Ursula looks right at me and smiles, which makes my blood run cold.
“Looks like our other guest has arrived. If you’ll both excuse me,” she tells us, walking away from the table and disappearing into the foyer.
“Oh, shit,” Eric mutters. “I’m just going to apologize now. She probably invited the mayor or the governor or some shit to try and impress you.”
“The-the mayor?” I squeak when I hear laughter coming from the foyer.
“Yeah. He went to college with my dad. They’ve been family friends for as long as I can remember. Nice guy, but boring as fuck,” Eric tells me.
Jesus Christ. JESUS CHRIST!
I told Ursula that day in the courthouse that PJ was a close personal friend of the mayor, who would be more than happy to vouch for the Naughty Princess Club. The lie detector test says THAT’S A FUCKING LIE! Not only is she close personal friends with the guy, I’m sure she was secretly laughing her ass off when I told her that bullshit to try and prove to her that we had friends in high places.
While I paste a fake smile on my face, my panic level has reached an all-time high.
A few seconds later, the sound of heels clicking against the marble floor make Eric turn around in his chair while I stare at the silverware in front of me, wondering if it would be better to stab Ursula with a fork or if I should stab myself, to put me out of my misery.
“Son of a bitch . . . ,” Eric whispers, quickly removing his arm from around my chair, reaching down under the table and grabbing my hand.
He laces his fingers with mine as he rests our joined hands on the table between us.
“I promise I will make this up to you. Whatever you want, it’s yours. You want your own goat-yoga farm? I’ll buy it for you. I was already planning on replacing the broken bust you knocked over, but if you want a hundred of them, I’ll have them commissioned. Fuck it, make it two hundred. You want a Pringles factory? Done. Seriously, make a list. It’s all yours.”
Yes, I told Eric I bumped into the fucking bust and broke it, don’t even ask me why. Also, what in the actual hell is he rambling on about?
“Eric, darling. Look who’s decided to move back home,” Ursula announces as she walks back into the room, her hand linked through the elbow of a woman around my age.
But not just any woman. A stunning one, with long, shiny black hair, a flawless olive complexion, full heart-shaped lips, perfect cheekbones, big green eyes surrounded by long dark lashes, and not an ounce of fat on her tall, statuesque frame. She’s wearing a sky blue, A-line tea dress with a full skirt and a satin belt around her tiny waist, and Ursula beams at her as she approaches Eric’s chair.
Eric lets out a displeased sigh that only I can hear as he pushes his chair back and stands up.
“Eric! Oh, my goodness it’s wonderful to see you. You look as handsome as ever,” the woman gushes, resting her hands on his shoulders.
“Vanessa, it’s nice to see you again,” he says as she air kisses both of his cheeks, her hands still clinging to his shoulders while she stands entirely too close to him.
Looks like I’ve found my target for the fork stabbing.
Eric shrugs out of her hold as he turns to smile down at me, which makes the smile on my own face feel not as forced.
“Ariel, this is Vanessa Kostopoulos. Vanessa, this is the love of my life, Ariel.”
Oh, this man is totally getting laid before we even get back to the boat.
Not that I needed him to add that overkill when introducing me, since I can damn well take this chick if she has any ideas. But it sure as shit doesn’t hurt.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Aria,” Vanessa says, the smile she gives me not meeting her eyes like it did when she was gazing at Eric.
“It’s Ariel,” I correct her. “You know, just like the princess.”
I give her a bright smile as she moves around to the other side of the table, and Eric chuckles softly, bending over to kiss the top of my head before taking his seat again.
As Ursula settles at the head of the table and Vanessa sits on the other side of her, directly across from Eric, he reaches over and grabs my hand again, giving it a squeeze as he holds it against his thigh under the table.
No one speaks as the chef and a few servants enter the dining room through a swinging door, carrying plates that they set down in front of us on top of the plates already at our settings.
