Page 126 of Champagne Fizz

There’s an echo of voices down the hall in the kitchen. Arie and her sister must have returned from the airport while I was sending emails. Connor told me to avoid Arie, but he’s not here, and frankly, it’s Esme I want to ask for advice.

I walk into the kitchen to find Arie decorating Olivia’s wedding cake. Good! That needs to get done. Arie’s carefully pouring dark chocolate over the layers so it drips in long black streaks over the gold and burgundy buttercream. Esme and Desmond sit opposite of her on kitchen stools, catching up on gossip about his show. It sounds like there’s a scandal with his female costar and their producer.

I wait patiently, not wanting to interrupt. I also don’t want to disturb Arie. She’s so particular about pouring chocolate that she’ll trash the cake if I speak too soon and cause her to flinch. Perfectionism and dragons can have costly consequences.

“I know you’re over there,” Arie says, mid-pour. “You can stop lurking like a creeper and come greet my sister. Obviously, she’s the one you want to see.”

Arie’s eyes cut to me for a venom-laced second, before returning to pouring.

“Well,” Esme says, coming to my defense, “Simon and I haven’t seen each other in months.” She gets up to walk in my direction.

“That might change,” Arie says cryptically, meaning I might leave Hawaii. Only, Esme knows nothing about what happened earlier today.

“How was the flight?” I ask, giving Esme a hug, then I turn to shake hands with Desmond.

“Oh you know, private jet. First class. It was absolutely atrocious,” Esme jokes, though with her Hollywood hunk, she definitely rides in style now. It would be impossible for them to fly a commercial airline without being mobbed.

“When you have time,” I say, lowering my voice. “Can we talk? It doesn’t have to be now, hang out with your sister, catch up. I just need to run some things by you.”

Esme gives me a curious look. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, it’s just peachy,” Arie snips, overhearing everything. “Simon’s just looking to branch out. Screw Flambé when you can find new investors and build whatever you want.”

“After the wedding!” I snap at Arie, which makes Esme look at me wide-eyed.

“She isn’t serious?” Esme asks. “Are you leaving Flambé? You love this place. You built it.”

“Yes, I love it,” I say quickly. “And no, I’m not leaving, per se.”

Arie’s watching me and not the icing she’s pouring.

“Chocolate!” I hiss, causing Arie to flip up her pan just in time to keep from turning the cake into a black blob of ugliness. “We’ll talk about this later,” I say to Esme. “When you have some free time.”

“Afterthe wedding,” Arie says, echoing my previous comment, only making it sound nasty.

“Yes, after the wedding,” I say, turning to face her. “Because a lot of this depends on how you decide to conduct yourself over the next few days.”

“I will conduct myself as I always do,” Arie says hotly, pulling out black currents and arranging them in the glossy chocolate coating. “I’ll behave as a royal w-i-t-c-h as your girlfriend would say.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” I snap back.

“Fine, as your virgin trophy would say,” Arie revises with a nasty smile, happy to burn all my instincts to forgive her in one fell swoop.

“If you say something like that in front of Kendall,” I hiss, “I’m definitely leaving!”

Esme and Desmond stare at us like we’re a reality TV show, and Arie shrugs like she couldn’t care less about my comment, continuing to add ripe fruit to the cake.

I shake my head and walk out, striding toward my office in giant steps. I don’t know why I even bother to give Arie a chance. She’s happy to throw napalm on everything. I storm into my office and grab my bag. I can’t be here right now. Connor was right, except I’m going to need more than twenty-four hours away from Arie. I’m going to need seventy-two, or a week, or the rest of my damn life!

“Simon?” Esme’s voice trails into my office behind me. “What did I just witness? What’s going on with you two?”

“Nothing,” I bark, slamming my laptop shut and shoving it in my bag. “I’m just in love with someone who isn’t Arie, and she can’t handle it!”

“You’re in love?” Esme asks, her expression turning kind.

Did I just say that out loud?

Did I mean it?

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