His grandmother shrugged. “Might have lied about that too.”
Luc watched as Ava gestured the cameramen into his bedroom for God only knows what kind of assessment, only to see her emerge several seconds later looking confused.
Luc nearly choked when he saw what was in her hand.
It was a framed picture of Ava. A publicity shot, if the posed, wide smile was any indication. He’d never seen it before, and yet the picture had come from his bedroom.
Very slowly he turned to look at his grandma. “Nonna…”
“I know,” his grandmother said on a heavy sigh. “I should light all the candles when I stop by church.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Taking her stilettos off when she got home every evening was the highlight of Ava’s day.
Taking her stilettos off at the end of a Friday, signaling the start of two whole days of flip-flops, sweatpants, and damp ponytails, makeup optional?
That was the highlight of her week.
Ava had this routine down pat.
The high heels were off before she even made it through the door.
She stopped in the kitchen just long enough to drop her bag on the counter, pour herself a hefty glass of wine, and then head to the closet for a moment that was almost as good as kicking her work shoes…
Yoga pants.
It was always tempting to leave her work clothes in a messy pile on the bedroom floor. Maybe to teach them a lesson about being binding and damned uncomfortable.
But since dry-cleaning bills were expensive as heck in the city, for the most part she tried to keep things looking nice for as long as possible.
“Look at you, being all boring and shit,” she said to her charcoal wool pants as she carefully folded them along the crease and looped them over the hanger. “I bet you have no friends.”
She picked the sleeveless white blouse off the floor and pulled another hanger off the rack. “Well, I guess this guy could be your friend. Just look at all these stupid ruffles.”
She didn’t even bother speaking to her bra as she undid the front clasp. It deserved the silent treatment.
Left in only her panties, Ava sighed in relief as she pulled on gray, cropped yoga pants and a pink sleeveless tank that she’d gotten at a Las Vegas gift shop after she’d forgotten her pajamas on a bachelorette party trip.
Then it was to the bathroom to swap out her contacts for her black-rimmed glasses, before piling her hair into a messy ponytail.
Life was good.
Plucking her wineglass off the dresser she padded back into the kitchen to survey the contents of her fridge.
She closed it two seconds later.
Sushi takeout it was.
When Ava had first moved to the city and was learning her way around the world of tiny Manhattan kitchens and a reliance on takeout, she’d had her favorite places on speed dial.
But nowadays there was something more magical:
A website and phone app that had an ungodly number of takeout options just a Checkout button away. There were the standards, of course. Chinese. Pizza. Thai.
But this was New York, and food options didn’t stop there. You could also get Ethiopian and bagels and Philly cheese steak sandwiches delivered within half an hour.
It. Was. Glorious.
Sushi was her Friday-night go-to, though. It drove Beth and her other friends crazy, but unless it was a special occasion, Ava kept her Friday nights pretty sacred. Saturday she could go dancing, have a martini or four, maybe go on a date (although not so much these days), but Friday nights were Ava nights.
Just her, her comfy clothes, and whatever TV show she was currently binging on. Lately, it had been Lost. She’d completely dismissed it when it first aired, but at Beth’s insistence she was finally giving it a shot.
It was weird as hell.
And she couldn’t get enough.
“What are we feeling today, Honky Tonk?” she asked as her fat orange cat chased his toy mouse around the floor. “Spicy tuna or dragon roll?”