“That’s awful,” Gretchen said, and reached out and squeezed Chelsea’s hand. “I’m terrible at being sympathetic. That’s Audrey’s gig. But seriously, there’s got to be something you can do.”
“I wish there was.” She blinked rapidly. “I really like Sebastian and I trust him and I want us to go forward, you know? But I can’t seem to enjoy that part of the relationship.”
“Maybe if you had the right toys? There’s a place we can visit after lunch that sells all kinds of weird shit. We’re bound to find something to shock your chonies back into existence.”
“Maybe,” Chelsea said, feeling glum. Why had she brought this up to Gretchen? Now she felt like more of a freak than ever. “Let’s just forget I brought it up, okay?”
“Heck no,” Gretchen exclaimed. She scooted her chair closer to Chelsea’s and leaned in. “Look. You think Hunter is mister perfect in the sack? He was totally shy when we got together.”
“I don’t know if I want to hear this—”
“I had to approach him, you know? Had to point out to him that it was totally fine to bone me. Is that the problem, maybe? You’re not sending the right signals to Sebastian?”
She shook her head. Maybe if she got lucky, the floor would swallow her up alive, because Gretchen’s enthusiastic voice was making people at the surrounding tables stare at them. “Maybe we should talk about something else.”
“Or maybe it’s a control issue, you know? Like you have to be the one in control of the situation or else your lady parts close the doors for business.” She snapped her fingers and pointed at Chelsea. “We are going to the sex store, and we are getting you handcuffs!” she proclaimed loudly.
Someone at the next table over giggled.
Chelsea just shook her head. “I don’t think it’ll work.”
“Yeah, but if you don’t use them, then I can borrow them.” She gave Chelsea an exaggerated wink, and then groaned. “Oh, god. Speaking of people with control issues . . . Your new mother-in-law is here and headed this way.”
Chelsea stiffened. “Oh, shit.” And today, of all days, she’d said she didn’t need a bodyguard. Figured.
“I know. And she’s got a camera crew. Be ready to smile.” Gretchen gave her a fake smile and then scrubbed the front of her teeth, indicating that Chelsea had something in hers.
Chelsea took her napkin and swiped at her teeth, then stood as Mrs. Cabral came over to their table. Today her iron-gray hair was streaked with black and pink, and she carried her same little dog and a massive red Birkin bag that smacked a few diners in the head as she walked past. Her tight designer suit was red, and she wore impossibly tall heels. At her side was a familiar face—Lisa. Two cameras hovered as the women entered the restaurant and headed unerringly for Chelsea’s table.
“Someone must have told on you,” Gretchen said. “How fun.” Her voice was flat.
She had to agree—the restaurant was busy, but it wasn’t a hotspot for celebrities or the upper crust. They’d picked it because it had good food and a good location close to shopping. The fact that Sebastian’s mother had shown up here told Chelsea that she’d been waiting to ambush Chelsea in particular. And since she had Lisa in tow? Chelsea could just guess what this was going to be about.
“Oh, look, it’s my new daughter-in-law,” Mrs. Cabral said with a fake sweetness. She arched an eyebrow and gestured at the small table occupied by Gretchen and Chelsea. “Room for more company? We’d love to join you.”
Chelsea opened her mouth, then gave Gretchen a helpless look.
“As long as you don’t film me, I’m fine with that,” Gretchen said.
“No, we’ll crop you out of the shot.” She snapped her fingers at the cameramen. “Not the disheveled one.”
Lovely.
“You heard the woman,” Gretchen said, eating another forkful of salad. “Not the sexily disheveled one with the billionaire fiancé that likes to sue people.” And she gave them a sweet smile.
“Definitely don’t film the disheveled one,” Mrs. Cabral said in a low voice.
The waiter rushed over, a worried expression on his face.
“Oh, good, you’re here to get us chairs? We need four of them. One for me, one for Lisa, one for my purse, and one for Raquel here.” She kissed the tiny dog’s head.
“Actually the only animals we allow in the building are service animals,” the waiter said. “You’re going to have to remove it from the premises.”
“She is my emotional service animal,” she said in a snotty voice and gave him a challenging look. “Chairs?”
The man wavered, and then pulled a few chairs from a nearby empty table, crowding them around Chelsea’s tiny lunch table. Well, then. Guess that was decided.
Mrs. Cabral sat down with a flourish, and the cameras circled around their table. Chelsea pushed her soup away. Did she think she had no appetite before? She was really done now.
“I’m glad we found you,” Mrs. Cabral said. “We need to talk. What did you say your name was again? I feel as if I need to stop calling you ‘whore’ since you’re not divorced yet, and ‘gold digger’ sets a bad tone for the conversation.”
Oh, lord. “Chelsea.”
Gretchen’s eyes went wide and she forked another mouthful of lettuce into her mouth.
Mrs. Cabral sniffed. “Yes, well, I’m here to mediate between you and Lisa, since you stole her man and my son refuses to meet up with the family to discuss this in a sane manner.”