Page 48 of 40 and (No Longer) Fighting It
Claire reached eagerly for a full glass. “Only sometimes the bike is an easier, better ride.”
Erin and Scarlett hooted in laughter.
“Not to mention a bigger ride.” Lily snickered.
Scarlett lifted her margarita to toast. “A totally fantastic, bigger, better—”
“Please stop,” Erin whined, reaching for the whiskey cocktail Lily had added to the tray. Erin preferred Jameson, ginger ale, and cranberry juice to the sugary-sweet margaritas the rest of them loved, although she made an exception when they had Mexican food. She said the spice and sweet just went together.
Claire applauded her sense of balance. Well, in everything but sex. Not that she’d had any more interest in sex than Erin until Lincoln came along.
“Eat some pretzels.” Lily pushed the bowl Claire’s way. She’d had time to get one in her mouth before Scarlett piped up.
“So you’re having sex with Lincoln.”
The pretzel went halfway down Claire’s windpipe. Lily beat her on the back until she coughed it back up. “Y’all already knew that.” They couldn’t have missed it, especially Lily. Not with the number of nights Lincoln had spent at her apartment.
Three expectant gazes didn’t waver from her face. When she finally caught her breath, she drank a third of her glass without stopping.
“Maybe you should pace yourself,” Lily said, not unkindly. “We have all night.”
Claire met her friend’s eyes and took another big swallow, feeling the sudden swirl of dizziness as the alcohol hit her system. It was a welcome balm to the memories of reporters shouting questions about her relationship with Lincoln, about her apparent failure at ICE, about her current business and how it definitely didn’t qualify her for working at a high-end resort aiming for a Michelin star.
No, she had no intention of pacing herself.
“No talking about the sexy chef yet, I see.” Scarlett swirled her finger in the sugar surrounding the rim of her margarita glass. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Not today.” Claire’s laugh was not at all amused and more than a bit wobbly. Not from the alcohol, not yet, but from reaction. The sheer relief of the ceremony being over. The speculation. At least for now. She’d have to go out in public again tomorrow, wouldn’t she?
And what about the bakery? How would all of this affect Gimme Sugar?
She couldn’t even begin to think about what had happened in Lincoln’s bedroom.
Erin frowned. Getting up from the chair, she circled the coffee table to sit on the floor next to Claire. “Honey, just talk to us.”
“Y’all were there.” There wasn’t much of a way to miss what had been going on.
“Only the press conference was…” Lily wiggled her hand. “We were able to keep a pretty good handle on it during the ceremony, don’t you think?”
Claire took another drink. “Doesn’t mean people weren’t talking about it.”
“Well they may have been talking about it,” Scarlett said, “but they weren’t believing it after seeing—and eating—your food. The spread you put out… That was phenomenal, Claire.”
Lily and Erin echoed the sentiment. To be honest, Claire hadn’t paid attention to the reactions to her food as she made her way to the mansion. She’d been too upset, too self-conscious. It made her feel good to know that her friends recognized the quality of her work, but it didn’t make up for the sense of shame that seemed to be following her around.
Another swallow and Claire sighed. “I had it out with Mama a few days ago,” she admitted. Stared down at the sugary rim of her glass. “My family…they’ll use this against me.”
Despite what she’d said about pacing themselves, Lily picked up the pitcher and topped off Claire’s nearly empty glass. A handful of pretzels followed. “No offense, Claire,” she said, moving on to Scarlett, who held her glass out eagerly, “but even if you never put one toe out of line, that group would find something to criticize. Really, it’s like a compulsion with them. You are not damaged, and you have nothing to be ashamed of. If they can’t see that, that’s their loss.”
Her friend’s words echoed the very sentiment she’d used with her mom, and yet… She nibbled a salty curve. “Why do I feel so ashamed then.”
“Because people are trying to shame you,” Erin said quietly. “That doesn’t mean they’re right.”
Somehow that just wasn’t getting down into her heart yet. Maybe it would eventually.
She gave them all a crooked grin. “So the food was good?”
Scarlett laid back on the couch and patted her gently rounded belly. “Lord, yes. I want more of those truffles—you can make a truckload of those for my birthday if you want. I won’t protest.”
