Not the Marrying Kind(33)
“That’s my husband,” Poppy muttered, shoveling the last of her key lime pie into her mouth. She could’ve been eating cacti for all she cared, her favorite dessert barely registering as she mulled over what was going on in her husband’s head.
“That’s freaky.”
“What?”
“You calling him your husband.” Ashlee scooped the last of the custard from her plate and licked the spoon. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you like it.”
“You know why I’m doing this.” Poppy lowered her voice and darted a look around to make sure no one else was within hearing distance.
“I know what you said at the start, but after today?” Ashlee cocked her head to one side, studying her. “I’m reassessing the situation.”
Poppy knew what her BFF was implying. And she didn’t like it. “Think what you like, you’re talking out your—”
“Ass-essing, that’s all I’m doing.”
They laughed and Poppy sent a silent prayer heavenward in thanks that Ashlee knew the truth and she had someone to talk to. She would’ve gone nuts in this pretend marriage otherwise.
“Your husband sure knows how to par-tay.”
Poppy had to agree. She loved the rooftop fairyland, complete with miniscule lights strung across the ceiling between billowing chiffon, ecru-covered chairs tied with gold bows, and the shimmer of crystal and silver everywhere.
Every table had elongated rectangular vases filled with sparkly stone bases and long-stemmed blood-red roses as centerpieces. The nametags were individually embossed gold on cream, and the exquisite food was laid out buffet style for people to help themselves.
Flame-grilled garlic oysters, pan-seared scallops, shrimp tempura, soyed duck fillet, pork ribs in peppercorn sauce, poached fresh abalone, and wasabi beef fillet had kept the hordes fed, while the eight-piece band ensured the dance floor remained crowded…when they weren’t jostling for position at the dessert bar for amaretto crème caramel, vanilla bean panna cotta, sticky mandarin pudding, nougat parfait, cappuccino cheesecake, and Poppy’s favorite, key lime pie.
The overall effect was an elegant party, relaxed enough for revelers to enjoy themselves, classy enough to make them feel special.
Everyone except her.
“Money can buy you anything.”
“Including a wife, apparently.”
Poppy knew Ashlee meant it as a joke, but the truth hurt. She had been bought. For a good cause, but bought nonetheless. And for a gal who hated rich folk flinging their money around to obtain anything, it irritated her. Hell, it bugged the crap out of her, but she owed Sara and finally, after all the years her sis had put into raising her, they were square.
“You’re going to visit the office regularly, right?” Ashlee had the strained look of someone who’d only just realized what a monumental change had taken place and was trying to deal the best she could.
“Sure,” Poppy said, knowing she’d miss her friend terribly, and frequent visits wouldn’t help. “I need to see Sara once a week and I’ll pop in then.”
“It’s a fair commute for weekly.”
“I’ll use the company jet. Beck won’t mind.” Especially since he’d banished her to his desert hideaway. He wouldn’t even notice she’d gone.
“Listen to you, Miss La-di-da.” Ashlee mimicked drinking a cup of tea with her pinkie extended. “I’ll just pop in on the company jet.”
Poppy laughed at her fake posh accent. “There have to be some benefits to this crazy marriage.”
Benefits…
Which conjured up other potential benefits of being married to Beck, the kind that made her blood warm and her face flush.
“Apart from the obvious, you mean?” Ashlee snickered. “Try all you like, hon, but I see the way you two look at each other.” She fanned her face with a napkin. “Scorching.”
“There may be a little something there—”
“More like a whole hunka burning love.”
Poppy groaned and Ashlee said, “What? You think I’d come to Vegas and not make an Elvis wisecrack?”
“I’m going to miss you.” Poppy slung an arm around her shoulder and hugged her.
“You won’t have time, what with tending to your wifely duties.”
“Just keep Party Hard afloat on your end and I’ll do the rest from here.” Poppy bumped her with her hip.
“The diva has spoken,” Ashlee said, with a dramatic eye roll. “Let’s see how long your divorce focus lasts when you’re making out with The Hottie.”
Poppy could’ve denied it, said she had no intention of making out with Beck, but she’d never lied to Ashlee and she wasn’t about to start now.