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“Sir? Here are the wines you ordered.”
“Thank you.” I shift again and lean forward in the armchair, resting my forearms on my thighs. Regardless of her provocative attire, she’s still Sophia. My friend’s daughter. As the sommelier drones on about the wine’s merits, I focus on my breathing techniques and reining in my wayward body. She’s undercover. That’s why she looks completely different. And no matter how mature she appears, she’s still the girl I protected for seven years.
After the waiter leaves, Sophia picks up the first glass and swirls. “I figured if I’m going for PLU status, I’ve got to fit in. Dropped about eighty K. Worth it?”
Uncertain I heard her correctly, I lean in to question. “Eighty thousand?”
The shirt’s nice, mostly because of the absence of material, as are the soft leather pants that hug a shapely derrière, but come again?
She tilts her head back and laughs. “That expression. I wish they were sitting here beside us. That’s the look of a husband who is in duress.”
“There’s no way that expenditure will be approved.” But even as I say it, I remember. She might be a working girl, but she’s got a bank account that’s larger than some island nations.
“I have no plans on submitting the receipts.” She runs a thumb over the ends of the talons. “And this is so not me. Back in the room, I need to practice holding my handgun with these puppies. I doubt anyone could really punch with these.” She splays out her hand, examining the new attachments on her nails.
“What’s a PLU?”
“People like us. Haven’t you heard that before? Anyway, I can’t do this to my hair myself. Had to get it blown out. Took some work to get them to do my nails while doing my hair, but that’s one thing I learned from dear Dad. With enough money, there’s never a no. Also, new outfit.” She waves a hand down her svelte, seductive, overpriced costume.
She’s fucking stunning. Eye-catching. Sexy as hell. I catch one of the young guys at the end of the table stealing another glance our way. He may be close to her age, but unfortunately for that young man, she wouldn’t give his baby soft face a second glance. Even if she wasn’t my wife.
I reach across the space between us and clink my glass against hers.
“To makeovers.”
“To shopping.” She grins, and those light blue eyes sparkle. She’s fucking mesmerizing.
“Ah, excuse me, are these chairs available?”
“Yes.” Sophia dramatically flutters her talons as she gestures to the open chairs.
Gemma sits in the chair closest to Sophia. I stiffen and swirl my drink.
“Babe, the guys can’t all fit here.” The deep voice resonates from behind my high-back chair.
Gemma waves a hand. Her nails are shaped exactly like Sophia’s, only they’re painted light blue. “They can pull up chairs. Otherwise, you heard the man…it’s, like, an hour wait.”
“I thought I made reservations.” Rafael’s annoyance is clear in his tone, but he’s not throwing the fit one might expect from a spoiled international playboy.
The waiter arrives within seconds, and Rafael listens intently while Gemma reads the cocktail menu.
While swirling my wine, I stare appreciatively at my wife. She returns my gaze with a flirty smile, and the lightest of blushes coats her smooth cheeks. She crosses one leg over the other and snuggles into the armchair, angled conversationally to the pair seated near us. Her gaze and smile are for me, so much so that any onlooker would assume she’s mine. Young Sophia may have missed her calling as an actress.
“Oh. My. God. I love those boots,” Gemma says. “Where’d you get them? Are they Chanel?”
“They are.” Sophie’s eyes widen and she leans forward, uncrossing her legs and placing the silver shoe in question down on the floor. “In the shop down the hall. Can’t remember the name. Aren’t they fantastic?” She scrunches her nose and smiles. Then she flutters those talons in my direction and grins. “See, honey? I told you they were worth it.”
I simply stare at the chameleon. If she were actually mine, I’d take her across my knee. I can only hope that thought plays out in my facial expressions. The tiny, sexy smirk flirting across Sophia’s glossed-up lips tells me she’s reading my thoughts just fine.
“I love those,” Gemma says. She leans back in her chair, effectively separating from us to converse with her husband. “I might go shopping tomorrow.”
“You have a full spa day,” Rafael says, sounding ambivalent.
“Pretty sure I can fit in some time to get a few new things.” Gemma lurches forward onto Rafael’s lap with a girlish giggle as the four friends join them. Ivan, the friend with a shaved head, pulls up two chairs. We’ve been watching Ivan for years, but we’re light on background details. Carlos waves down a waiter, communicates the order, and collects another chair.
Rafael jokes with his friends, while Gemma’s hand continually roams his chest, smiling at the men and occasionally laughing. Carlos gives us a curious glance, and I lean forward and capture Sophia’s hand in mine. I press my lips to her knuckle. There’s too much distance between us, so I shift the armchair forward a few inches until our knees bump.
“What do you want to do for dinner?” I ask her as I gaze into her light baby blues that are now framed by seemingly darker eyebrows.
