Page 46 of Paradise Pride

“What do you mean?” Kim shot her an innocent look. “I’m a great cook. I entertain all the time in London.”

No, you don’t.A far as Meghan was aware, Kim could barely boil an egg, and she wondered how on earth she’d produced dinner for four people. The delicious waft coming from the oven was suspicious to say the least, but she didn’t voice her thoughts.“Of course,” she said instead. “I was only joking. Do you want some help?”

“You can help me plate.” Kim beckoned Meghan to follow her into the kitchen and lowered her voice. “And?” she asked in a whisper. “How is the sex?”

“It’s…” Meghan hesitated. “It’s great,” she said. “Really great.” Kim stared at her, and she shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Come on. Why so secretive? ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ That’s all I’ve heard you say this holiday. Give me something, at least.”

Meghan let out a sigh of exasperation. “It’s mind-blowing,” she said, thinking of Florence. “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I’m completely sexually free when I’m with he—” She stopped herself. “When I’m with him.”

“Wow.” Kim giggled, and Meghan was grateful when she finally opened the fridge to take out the salad she’d prepared earlier. “Look, I understand you’re uncomfortable telling me all about it while he’s outside, but when we get back, we’re going to catch up and you’re going to give me details. Deal?”

“Deal.” Meghan inspected the salad that consisted of tomato, cucumber and onions chopped so precisely into neat squares that there was no way it hadn’t been sliced by a machine. “You didn’t make this,” she whispered. “It’s a deli salad.”

“Shh.” Kim placed her index finger against her lips. “Andres loves my cooking, so don’t spoil it.” She took out the oven dish that contained four perfectly even squares of lasagne.

“Yourcooking?” Meghan laughed. At least she wasn’t the only one lying. “If your goal is to convince anyone those are homemade, you need to rough them up a bit. Because no one will fall for that.” She took a knife out of one of the drawers and sliced a bit off the sides, so the portions were less even. “That’s better.”

“Shame. They looked so pretty.” Kim jutted out her bottom lip as she plated them. “There’s a great little deli in town. I go there when he’s at work, and they do amazing stuff. Yesterday, I made him a beautiful Spanish stew. He said it tasted just like his mother’s.” She looked at Meghan and burst into laughter. “I guess I’ll have to come clean at some point, but I might wait until after we’re married.”

“You’re so bad.” Meghan added salad to the plates and carried two of them outside.

It was a beautiful, mild night, and Kim had lit candles on the table. If only Florence could be here with them, her night would be perfect. In an ideal world, Kim would know, and they could all hang out and have fun together because every moment without Florence felt like a moment wasted. In an ideal world, she wouldn’t have to pretend that she was in love with Tiger, and she wouldn’t have the constant weight of guilt on her shoulders—guilt from lying and guilt for leaving Florence on her own.

“Kim really outdid herself today,” she said, placing the plates in front of Andres and Tiger. “I forgot how much I love her lasagne.”

“It’s nothing.” Kim batted her lashes as she joined them on the balcony. “Just something I whipped up after I came back from my shopping trip.” She sat down and looked so happy that Meghan came close to confessing. With Tiger’s arm draped around her shoulder, she felt like she was disrespecting Florence too, and that made it even worse.

“I hope we’ll get many more nights like this,” Kim said, pouring them wine. “You’re all my favourite people in the world.”

“Kim talks about you like she’s got you on a pedestal,” Andres said, moaning as he tasted the pre-made deli dish.

“I do. Meghan’s my best friend.” Kim turned to her and looked at her earnestly. “I love you, Megs.”

Meghan swallowed hard and forced a smile as she took Kim’s hand. “I love you too, Kimbo.”

46

Florence

Uncle Edgar’s restaurant had become their go-to place at night whenever Manuel was home. It was the only place Florence could think of where Kim and Andres couldn’t possibly go, as they only went there after it had closed for the evening. Meghan was at ease there, and she was happy and flirty, rather than shifty. She’d bought Florence’s uncle presents to thank him for having them, and she’d already charmed the hell out of him.

“Will you close up, Flo?” he asked, handing her the keys. The staff had left, the lights were out in the restaurant, and the darkness that surrounded them made the stars look even brighter tonight. “Just drop the keys through my letterbox on your way home.”

“Thank you. I promise I won’t trash the place again,” she joked.

“Again?” Meghan raised a brow at her.

“She did, you know.” Edgar turned to Meghan and shot her a grin. “On her sixteenth birthday, I let her have the restaurant after hours so she could celebrate with her friends.” He shook his head dramatically. “Boy, did I regret that.”

“Hey, it wasn’t me! The boys I invited were the ones who drank all the alcohol and got into a fight.” Florence laughed. “My friend Marita had an older boyfriend, and he brought some friends along. Before I knew it, there were thirty of us instead of twelve, and most of them I’d never even met.”

“She was lucky I came by to check on them so I could chuck them out,” her uncle said. “One of the boys had thrown up all over himself and my furniture. I dragged him to the shore and gave him a good wash. Never saw him again.”

Meghan laughed. “I bet you paid the price,” she said to Florence.

“I did. Uncle Edgar sent me to the restaurant kitchen and made me do the dishes every Friday, Saturday and Sunday night for a month.”

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