Page 81 of Lucy and Her Wicked Three

"What a lying bitch!"

I chuckle, closing the phone, handing it over. "Don't delete those. Matty hasn't got any creepy naked pictures of himself since that last one and Delaney sounded pretty freaked out about getting sued in there. Hopefully that's enough to scare her into leaving you—us—alone."

We keep walking toward the apartment, and I tease Lucy for getting come-drunk and forgetting to tell us something pretty monumental—that we're potentially all being stalked, not just Matty. But watching her blush in embarrassment is payment enough.

When we get home, Matty's still at the office so we cuddle up on the couch with Noah between us. We call Matty on speaker and tell him about the meeting and the pictures. Matty was, as predicted, pissed Lucy didn't tell us about them, but she believes her reason for forgetting was valid, and Noah and I back her up.

It's all very adorable and Leave It To Beaver. We're just a wholesome group of four lovers who like to tease and kiss and cuddle.

Noah falls asleep on my shoulder, with Lucy's head in his lap, late into the night since we stayed up watching a movie, all hoping to catch Matty before going to bed. Noah smells like clean laundry and something masculine, an undercurrent of his woodsy body wash blending with whatever is uniquely him.

I arrange him so his head falls down into my lap, and I scratch my fingertips into his scalp while he falls deeper into sleep. MyLucy and Noah, cuddled together in my arms. My heart pinches, it almost hurts with how much I love them.

I wake to Matty picking Lucy up off the couch. He's kind enough to wake me, too, gently tapping my shoulder. I'd carry Noah, but the fucker's too heavy. Instead, I kiss him, and even in his half-dreaming state, he smiles against my lips and kisses me back, then follows me to bed.

Chapter 27

Lucy

Things are finally back to normal. I'm on my last week of sabbatical and while I've made no final decision as to what I'm going to do, Noah's been spending more time with me, helping me weigh the pros and cons of picking up the mantle once more.

I still feel anxious about what to do. If I go online again, I worry I'll fall into the same old patterns, but the guys insist they won't let me drown. Noah and I talk about setting hours, something he struggled with when they first started their company. He said he and Silas would work all the time, well into the night and while their paychecks starting out were really good, it wasn't a healthy way to live. They now set the number of hours they work each week—Silas needing a creative outlet aside, because we catch him drawing character ideas at all hours of the night—but he reminded me that it's not just my work, all self-employed people struggle with setting boundaries.

So, we wrote out a schedule of what my day could look like, and I try to decide if I can maintain the same level of content within those parameters. I may have increased followers while I've been away, but that's because Delaney was perpetuating our drama. Now that she's stopped—finally!—my numbers will start to drop off, and rapidly. My window of opportunity is narrow, and I need to have a plan in place before the end of the week.

The girls are no help, as much as I love them. Portia and Mary-Anne think I should start up again, but with a shift in my platform, honoring more about my experience struggling with my mental health, dropping the fourth wall and resuming my perky role but with a ton more honesty.

Cara thinks I shouldn't change a thing.

"I'm just saying, like, I know this was all hard or whatever, but people don't want to hear about your stress. We have enough of our own."

She stuffs a bite of her gluten-free pancake into her mouth, her round, pale pink cheeks filling out like a chipmunk.

"Fair enough," I say. "But I don't think I can go back to that, even if that's what people would prefer."

"It isn't," Portia insists. But she doesn't know, not really. None of us do. Is my personality enough to keep people around if I start talking about depressing topics? Or will I lose everything as soon as I start back up? The number of mean comments since Delaney started shit-talking me have doubled, way beyond the normal number trolls that everyone online deals with. It's half the reason I don't open my accounts, I've been holding off until I decide what to do, because every time I log in, I'm bombarded.

I argue the points, when Mary-Anne says, "Well, if you're gonna lose it all anyway, why not go out the way you want? If you're prepared to walk away, then you're prepared to lose all your advertising. So, what's the downside?"

"She could make a fool of herself and make everyone hate her more than they already do," Cara adds.

"People don't hate Lucy!" Mary-Anne gasps. I appreciate the vote of confidence, but Cara won't meet anyone's eyes and honestly, I know what she's saying. Like all levels of celebrity, people love you and love to hate you. And even those who love you, many are jealous. Of your clothes, your fame, your charmedlife, however real or fake it might be. Cara, harsh as she's being, is right.

Portia knows it too, which is why she doesn't defend me. She's got her own trolls she deals with. Mary-Anne's more a Martha Stewart type, she might be the only one at this table that doesn't garner any hate DMs and comments.

We finish eating in silence, the sounds of phones beeping not even registering on my anxiety radar. I really have come a long way—not just since that terrible night almost two months ago now, but before that too. I'm so much more in control and stable. Noah's half-convinced me to go back to therapy, too. I'm making real strides.

Portia reminds me we've finally got her rescheduled photoshoot, the one Cara practically dared her to set up, next Sunday after brunch. I don't know what she has planned, but whatever it is, it's in support of me going online and whatever pictures we take will be used in a handful of posts, if I decide to go back to work.

A tall figure looms over my chair from behind, casting a shadow across my plate. The girls sit straighter, Mary-Anne sweetly greeting my boyfriend. "Hi Mateo, so good to see you again!"

I look up, staring at the underside of his chin, grinning happily. He's never picked me up from brunch before. In fact, he's usually at work at this hour.

Portia and Mateo say hi, and after we sign our credit card slips, he pulls out my chair, but not before he sticks my fork in the last bite of my breakfast and finishes it off.

I giggle, pushing against his chest. "Look at you, you're actually human. Eating off my plate, out in public in the daylight, saying hello to my friends."

"Lo que tú digas."

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