Eye Candy

“What’s up with you? Did you do too many wheatgrass shooters this morning?”

“I’ve been up since two. I couldn’t sleep last night. I think I may have overdone it on espresso shots this morning. I honestly thought the extra yoga session would help calm me down. Maybe I should’ve done cardio instead.”

Amie is a big fan of yoga and running. She goes a minimum of four times a week. While it’s great that she likes to stay active, I think she might be going overboard these days, although maybe it’s her way of managing stress. When I’m stressed I wash a lot of dishes and eat a lot of takeout. Since moving in with Bancroft I’ve developed new stress management techniques that often include his penis. I’ve found it has a one hundred percent effectiveness rate in stress reduction. At least temporarily.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” Amie’s always been an early riser. She’s one of those people who can get only four hours and still look fresh the next morning. If I get less than eight the bags under my eyes are so big I can fit the entire contents of my closet in them.

“Thinking about the party.” She slips her arms through mine and we head for the restaurant where Bancroft has made us a reservation for lunch.

As we pass a mirrored wall Amie grimaces and pats her hair. “I’m going to have to do something about this before I go back to work this afternoon.”

“You look great.”

“I’m having dinner with Gwendolyn tonight. She wants to talk about the guest list for the wedding again. I’ll definitely need to fix myself up before I see her.”

“As long as it’s not the kind of fix-up she seems to be fond of.” Armstrong’s mother’s face doesn’t typically move apart from her lips. It’s a little unnerving how infrequently she blinks, to be honest.

“She suggested I go for a Botox treatment a month before the wedding.”

I snort. “What could you possibly need Botoxed?”

“She says I make this face when I’m nervous and it’s creating lines in my forehead. Armstrong said it’s not a bad idea. I’m only twenty-five and I don’t want wrinkles yet.”

I really have to bite my tongue against the scathing comments just itching to fly. In all the years we’ve been friends, Amie has never been this concerned about her appearance. She works for one of New York’s leading fashion magazines, and they perpetuate the “you’re not good enough” ideal at every turn. Buy this cream, use this technique. Fix yourself. How to be prettier, sexier, a better wife, a better girlfriend, a better lover. I think she might be brainwashed.

Obviously her soon-to-be mother-in-law is exacerbating Amie’s newly developed insecurities. In fact, I think this entire wedding is pushing her insecurities. Broaching the subject without upsetting her is impossible, though. I tried in the beginning, but soon learned it wasn’t worth the stress it seemed to cause her.

“You don’t have wrinkles, Amie.”

“It’s sort of preventative, isn’t it?”

God. I really hate how uncertain she sounds. “If you mean it prevents you from having facial expressions, I guess. Besides, I’ve read some studies about that stuff. Apparently if you can’t make the facial expression, you can’t experience the emotion attached to it, which might explain why Gwendolyn is such an insufferable bi—”

Amie’s nails dig into my arm. Hard. Hard enough to nearly cut the skin. I stop before I’m able to finish the sentence, assuming my mouth is the issue.

“Oh, sugar snap peas,” Amie mutters under her breath.

Seriously. Even her dirty mouth has disappeared in the past six months. Along with almost everything fun about her. Okay. That’s untrue. When it’s just her and me it’s fine. She’s still fun to be around, but add her fiancé to the mix and it’s like he sucks all the awesome out of the room, and her.

I follow her wide-eyed gaze. Speak of the insufferable bitch. Gwendolyn is sitting across from Meredith Mills—my boyfriend’s mother. They’re sisters. How Meredith and Gwendolyn can be related and so very, very different is beyond me.

Bancroft’s mother—everyone calls her Mimi—is probably one of the sweetest women I’ve ever met. Is she concerned with unnecessary, ridiculous things like plastic surgery and highbrow gossip? Of course. But it’s not her fault, that’s the environment she was raised in. At least she’s nice about it, and she can make fun of herself. Gwendolyn, on the other hand, believes she’s one step down from royalty and that everyone should kiss her feet and offer to wipe her ass.

Before I can turn us around, Mimi raises her hand in a wave, beckoning us over. I survey the table at our approach. It appears they’ve already eaten. Thank God. I don’t mind lunch with Mimi, but if I have to spend an entire lunch hour with the insufferable bitch I’ll need alcohol to survive. Lots of it. Enough to make me dance on top of a bar. Topless.

Mimi pushes away from the table and daintily places her napkin beside her mostly empty plate. “Ruby! It’s so lovely to see you!” She hugs me and Amie in greeting while Gwendolyn remains seated. Both Amie and I are forced to bend and air kiss her since she refuses to get up.

Of course Gwendolyn has to make a comment about Amie’s gym bag and her slightly disheveled appearance, while Mimi tells me how pretty I look.

“We’re just finishing lunch, but come join us.” Mimi doesn’t even have to summon anyone. Two servers appear out of thin air with extra chairs and we’re quickly seated. “I was hoping I’d see you today. Harrison informed me we’ll be hosting a soirée here at the end of the month. It’s such a fabulous idea. Have you decided on a theme?”

“We’re just in the planning stages,” I say quickly.

If there’s one thing I know about Meredith Mills, it’s that she loves a good party. Bancroft only introduced me to his family a little over two months ago, and in that time I’ve attended at least four dinner parties at the Mills mansion. Each time, Bancroft and I have snuck away for a quick screw in a different room. We were almost caught once. That was super fun.

“Well that’s perfect, isn’t it, Gwennie? We can help you plan!”

“Now isn’t the best time. We have an appointment in fifteen minutes at the spa, remember, Mimi?” Gwennie checks her watch. I assume she’s frowning, but it’s hard to tell since only a slight lip twitch results.

“Oh right! Silly me. Well why don’t we plan another lunch for later this week?”

“If we’re planning a party we’ll need more than an hour,” Gwendolyn cuts in.

“That’s true.” Mimi taps her lip. “We should have dinner, then. Maybe next Monday since that would work best for you, right, dear?”

“Mondays are usually okay.” I look to Amie, searchingly. Planning a party with Mimi will be fun, but I’m not sure if that’ll be the case if Armstrong’s mother is involved.

Amie checks her calendar. “Monday would definitely work.”

“It’s settled. Monday dinner at our place. We’ll invite all the boys so Harrison doesn’t get bored and try to interfere,” Mimi says with a smile.

Awesome. Another evening spent in the company of Armstrong. I can’t wait.