Him staying away made me think I’d done something wrong.
I’d reverted to my designer armor (it was an art opening and I did own the gallery, I couldn’t exactly wear flannel, like Tex). I was wearing a slim-fitting, brush-the-knees, ecru skirt that was covered in opalescent beading. My top was stretchy, ecru, knit silk, long-sleeved and off the shoulders but very snug. I had a velvet ecru ribbon tied as a choker around my neck, pointed-toed, spike-heeled, ecru satin mules with bugle beads stitched on the toe and my hair pulled back severely from my face and fastened with another velvet ribbon at my nape. It was definitely an Ice Princess outfit.
I knew Hector didn’t like my armor and I thought it pissed him off.
But even though he stayed away, I knew he knew where I was at all times (don’t ask me how, I just did). Sometimes, when my eyes would stray to him, I saw he was watching me. Sometimes, his face would grow soft. But other times, he looked like he was trying to figure me out (those times were not my favorite times, I didn’t want to be figured out, no way).
I tried not to think about it and instead did my job making sure the champagne flowed, the trays of hors d’ouevres were plentiful and, above all, I mingled.
It was about an hour after he arrived that I understood why he stayed away. He stayed away because I was working and he was giving me space.
And, at that thought, I quit panicking and I also quit sinking down in the warm, comfy water where the possibility of a “Hector and Sadie” had taken me and instead, I executed a below the surface back flip.
I turned away from Hector, who was now standing talking with Tom and Hank, and looked at Shirleen.
“Hector’s the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on in my life,” I told her bluntly and I didn’t even care what she thought about me saying it.
“Mm-hmm,” Shirleen agreed, her eyes still locked on Hector. “Never fancied me a brown boy but, given the chance, I wouldn’t say no to Hector Chavez. No fuckin’ way.”
After she said that, she tore her gaze from Hector, looked at me and I grinned at her. She grinned back then her eyes flicked over my shoulder and her grin died.
“Shit. Society bitch, three o’clock and closing in. Gotta go,” Shirleen whispered and then, poof, she was gone, disappearing in the crowd.
Dazed at her quick disappearing act, I turned around and watched Monica Henrique bearing down on me.
Oh no.
What was she doing there?
She’d hated me since the whole Nanette thing went down!
And she was definitely not on the guest list and hadn’t been since The Daisy Incident.
And there was no way Ralphie would invite her, she’d come before and Ralphie instantly loathed her.
“Sadie!” she screeched, fake smile on her face, throwing her arms out straight in front of her like we were best friends reunited after years apart.
Before I could escape, she grabbed my upper arms and pulled me in for air kisses, first one cheek then the other then she leaned back, still with her hands on me.
“Oh my God!” she continued to screech (loudly), her eyes on my cheek. “What happened to your face?”
Someone, please tell me she did not just say that.
I felt people turning to look at us and I wanted to cut and run.
Of course, I did not.
My back went straight, my chin jutted out and I ignored her unbelievably insensitive question.
“Monica. Lovely to see you,” I said in a voice that made it clear I felt the opposite.
She ignored my tone and let go of my arms but only to get close to my side and link her arm with mine.
“Sadie, I don’t know if you know this,” she whispered conspiratorially. “But Daisy Sloan is here.” And she said Daisy’s name like it tasted bad.
My body stayed frozen stiff but my head turned slowly to look at her.
“I know,” I said. “Daisy was invited.” I stressed the last word to make my point but it flew directly over Monica’s head or, more likely, she ignored it because she was a bitch.
A look went across her face like she was thinking about this then she came to a conclusion and carried on, “Well, her husband is loaded. And you’ve got paintings to sell, now that your situation has, um… changed.” I stared at her, shocked even further that she brought up my father but she didn’t notice it and went right on talking. “We must do what we must do.”
I felt the saliva gather in my mouth.
Instead of spitting it at her (which I really wanted to do), I swallowed it because right then, I knew why she was there.
I knew.
She was there to rub my nose in my own misfortune.
See! Total bitch!
My mind started whirling to try and hit on something (anything!) that would make her let me go without causing a scene and make her just plain go without, again, causing a scene because I did, indeed, have paintings to sell, a scene might hinder that effort.