Page 158 of Champagne Fizz

Arie glares at her sister, but I use the opportunity to keep talking. “I don’t know if you realize that Simon adores you,” I say to Arie, and her eyes snap to me like I’m flinging poison covered roses at her. “He’s always defending you and telling me you’re his best friend. In fact, just the other day he told me he’d probably forgive you for almost anything.”

Arie shrugs, not wanting to give me any power, my words are just evidence that this will blow over.

“Listen!” I snap, before she can gloat. “I saidalmostanything! He’s not going to forgive you if you keep being horrible. I understand that you don’t like me, and that’s fine. You don’t have to like me. But what you do have to do is respect me. Because actually, that’s respecting your best friend and his choices. You think you’re insulting me, but what you’re really doing is insulting the one person who wants to forgive you. You’re giving him no choice but to leave.”

Arie’s eyes flick to Simon, and her steely gaze waivers.

She’s finally hearing this.

“I don’t want him to leave you,” I continue. “I don’t want him to leave Flambé. What I came into your kitchen to say was how wonderful this place is. You’vebothcreated something truly spectacular here, and I’m sorry if I didn’t see that at first. I was wrong. This place is magical. It’s original, and sexy, and yes, it puts me out of my comfort zone, but isn’t that what challenging art is supposed to do?”

Arie’s eyes narrow, she wants this to be a trick, but it isn’t.

“Yes, I said art,” I assert. “Your food is art. It’s sculpture and beauty wrapped up in an extraordinary experience that tastes so good it’s no wonder you’re sold out every night. And yes, that should make you feel confident and powerful. But Arie, you’re wrong about Simon. Your art is amazing, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat people like crap. And Simonwon’tforgive you for that. You’re insulting him every time you say something awful to me—and that’s personal.”

A hand slips into mine and I know it’s Simon’s. He squeezes my palm as he stands by my side.

Arie glares at us.

Silent.

I can tell she’s processing everything I’ve said. She’s trying to decide if she should listen or let her ego get the better of her and strike instead.

I turn to Simon. “You two need to talk about this,” I say, cupping his face with my free hand. “I’ve said my piece. I’ll forgive her if you forgive her, but it’s your choice. And if that choice means you move to Los Angeles and open a new restaurant, then we will figure that out when we have to. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

Tears prick at the edges of Simon’s eyes and I brush is cheek.

“Superman is under there,” I whisper, touching his glasses with a soft tap. “You’ve got all the strength you need for this conversation.” I nod to Arie and he smiles. I kiss him softly on the cheek, then turn toward the door.

“Esme,” I say, letting go of Simon’s hand, “we have a wedding to attend. Shall we give these two a minute?”

Esme nods and we head for the reception.

This is between friends.

45

SIMON

The door swings shut behind Kendall and Esme, and I feel like they took all the air out of the room with them.

Arie doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t move. She doesn’t breathe. She just stands in the center of her empty kitchen glaring.

I’m impressed with Kendall. Those things had to be said, and she’s right, I’m pissed at my friend because it’s my decisions she’s undermining. But she’s also been cruel. It’s hard to stand by someone with that much fear and anger in their heart.

“Arie,” I begin, “Kendall is—”

But Arie lifts up her hand to stop me from talking.

Her face is a war zone—scrunched with anger and pain, vengeance and fear. And under it I can see how many shots she’s taken from Kendall’s words, all the things Arie doesn’t want to admit she heard.

“Arie—”

“Nope—” She cuts me off again, her breath coming through clenched teeth in a hiss. Her brain whirring and trying to process this. “I—”

Her jaw sets.

Her eyes gleam like black ink.

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