“She said it was closer to six,” answered Joe in his gravelly voice. “Didn’t hear anything about barbwire.”
The shine in the waitress’s eyes dimmed a little. “Still. Not bad for a woman in a wedding dress. Mine was so tight I couldn’t even get out of the limo without help. Did you know the groom and his best man took off to Hawaii?”
“No way,” said Nell.
My stomach sunk. “They went on the honeymoon?”
It made sense. Otherwise, the tickets would have gone to waste. Well, Chris’s tickets, at least. They would have had to buy new ones for the best man. Mine were nontransferable and I highly doubted travel insurance covered cancellation of wedding due to a scandalous sex tape. And yet, Chris and Paul were right now enjoying my romantic beach honeymoon. The effort I’d put into finding the right resort for us, the best room to start our wedding life off together perfectly. Wonder what they’d think of the massages and candle-lit dinners I’d booked. Suddenly my face felt swollen, my eyes hard and sore. No more crying.
It didn’t matter. It didn’t.
“I heard they’d gone too,” said a woman at a nearby table.
Too many people. There were too many people all up in my business. It gave me hives. Suddenly, all of the big windows, polished stone, and glossy worn-old-wood loveliness of the bar felt more like a trap. A stage with bright lights. My shoulders inched up, hiding me from view. Such a shit storm of titillation. I’d never given it much thought before, what it’d be like to be one of those people on the pages of magazines. Trailed around by paparazzi, having your life spread across the pages and dissected at every turn. And this was just a scandal in a small(ish) town. My aversion to attention, especially over something as embarrassing as this, made the Delaneys’s need to buy my silence all the more ridiculous. Those people didn’t know me at all.
I wanted my privacy back. To be just one more face in the crowd, doing my thing, living my life. Coeur d’Alene and I were done. Through. Kaput.
Amid the madness came a voice. “Hey.”
Vaughan’s eyes caught me, calming me. Gossip was not the end of my world. A few more days and I’d be out of here. The thought of leaving Vaughan bit, though he’d soon be on his way too. Back to the West Coast and the music biz. I’d make other friends. One day, I might even meet a man I could trust, someone I could make plans with.
“You okay?”
“Sure,” I lied. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He leaned over the bar, getting closer, making a safe space just for me and him. “Asshole stole your honeymoon.”
“Meh. Bet he catches crabs.”
“Bet he gets sunburn on his balls.”
“Bet he accidentally gets fed to the sharks,” I said with great venom. “And there’ll be nothing left but this red froth in the churning water, just like in Jaws.”
“Nice.” Vaughan nodded in appreciation. “How do you see that happening?”
I bit my lip, pondering. “Maybe he’ll go out on one of those charter fishing boats and fall overboard. I don’t have all the details together yet.”
One side of his mouth curved upward, eyes set on me. Like, really focused solely on me. I checked my front teeth with my tongue. Nothing there that I could feel. Maybe there was a mark on my face or he’d just realized I was outside my healthy weight range or something.
“What?”
“You look looser now,” he said. “You’ve lost the bullshit plastic smile.”
“Have I?”
“Yeah.” He linked his fingers, exhaled. “All good, babe?”
“All good.” I was so happy he was there with me, I honestly didn’t even mind that he’d used the b-word.
“Don’t need me to hit anyone?”
“Nuh. I got this.”
“Okay.” He turned to his sister. “Nell, look after this woman, feed her.”
“On it.” Once more, his sister grabbed my hand. She towed me toward the kitchen, located beyond a low partition, apart from the gossip pit. Nirvana. Good food. Peace and relative quiet. And all of this with a view of Vaughan, my favorite combo of friend and man-candy, busting his moves at the bar. Awesome. Saved yet again by my tattooed redheaded hero in blue jeans.
Now if I could just figure out a way to return the favor.
CHAPTER NINE
Nell could cook.
She could also bark orders at her assistant (a harried older guy named Boyd), pump me for information about her brother (not that I had any), and still find time to bitch intermittently about Pat. The woman multitasked like a master.
“Is it always this busy?” I asked, hanging to the side, trying to keep out of the way. Every table was taken and there were a couple of people standing around, socializing by the bar.