The woman spun around, her mane of shimmering black hair twirling around her shoulders. “Paige? Paige Kerrigan? Is that really you?”
Oh, fudge. Of all the people she could have bumped into, it had to be Astrid Sherwood, Paige thought. Fate was really having a laugh at her expense. Her former high school friend was Vogue perfection in a taupe trench coat, nautical-striped sweater, skinny jeans and ballet flats, discreet diamonds in her ears and a gentle cloud of French perfume.
Paige steeled herself. “Hi, Astrid.”
“Oh, possum! What’s happened to you?”
Astrid Sherwood, undisputed queen bee at high school, had long ago perfected her bitch stare. One look from her was enough to make anyone, students and teachers alike, aware of their shortcomings, and nobody, not even her friends, was safe from it. Now, as Astrid surveyed Paige’s slapdash appearance, Paige felt her insides shrivel as all her insecurities rose from the depths.
“Oh, you know how it is.” Paige waved her hand, trying to act nonchalant. “Just popped out to do some shopping.”
“Shopping? For groceries?” A puzzled frown hovered on Astrid’s milky smooth brow. Her polished fingernails tapped against the can of Red Bull. “I didn’t even know you were back in town. When did you arrive?”
“Not long ago.”
Astrid’s sharp eyes narrowed. Fortunately the cashier, who’d been waiting, cleared her throat loudly, and Astrid turned around to pay for her drink. But instead of departing, as Paige had hoped, she leaned against a railing, popped the tab of her can, and watched Paige as she began to unload her groceries onto the conveyer belt.
“I’m engaged,” Astrid announced. She wafted her left hand in the air to draw attention to her large diamond ring.
“Congratulations.” Paige heaved a bulk pack of toilet rolls onto the counter. “Who’s the lucky man?”
Astrid slanted her eyes at Paige. “You remember Eric Jensen?”
The muscles in Paige’s back squeaked tight. Handsome, charming Eric Jensen had been the most popular guy in high school. She’d had one date with him—the Year Ten school formal, and it had ended in humiliation when Owen had gate-crashed the party and demanded to know why she was with that jerk. He’d made a scene until the teacher chaperones had pounced on him and thrown him off the premises. She’d been so mortified she’d caught a taxi home, by herself. After that, she and Eric had avoided each other whenever possible. And Owen had disappeared to Sydney.
“Eric, sure.” She busied herself arranging the groceries on the conveyor belt. “When’s the big day?”
“July. We’re getting married in the south of France!” Astrid’s affected squeak scraped against Paige’s nerves.
“How nice,” she answered flatly. “Hope it won’t be too hot then.”
Astrid sniffed. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got everything planned. I know exactly how my wedding should be, and Eric says I can have anything I want.”
Paige’s thoughts drifted back to her own wedding. She, too, had organized the event with military precision. From a young age, she’d heard her mother and her contemporaries discuss each wedding they attended, and seen the importance of getting it right. A girl couldn’t be too young to start planning her wedding. So, just like her friends, she’d begun compiling her wedding dossier, collecting ideas of all things nuptial, and when her wedding date was set, that was her cue to put her years of planning into action. She’d been so obsessed with getting every detail right that she’d overlooked the most important ingredient—the husband-to-be.
“Hey, I heard about you and Seth.” Astrid’s ice-pick drawl dragged Paige from her memories. “Too bad, hmm?”
Astrid’s sympathy was about as genuine as the Tooth Fairy. Paige lifted her shoulders and replied with a noncommittal grimace. No way was she going to discuss her failed marriage with her best frenemy.
“You should count yourself lucky to be rid of him.” Astrid circled her manicured finger around the top of the can of Red Bull. Her eyes glinted. “Very lucky, lucky, lucky”
A cold spasm gripped Paige low in the gut. Her hands trembled slightly as she clutched a carton of milk. There was no mistaking what Astrid was alluding to. She’d seen the video, and no doubt spread the word. All the people Paige knew in Burronga had probably seen it. Watched it and snickered and judged her.
The catlike smile on Astrid’s face made her feel so small. Made her feel sixteen again, anxious to be accepted by Astrid’s group, willing to do anything to get the queen bee’s stamp of approval. “Why can’t you be more like Astrid Sherwood?” her mother had sighed on numerous occasions. “Now there’s a girl who knows how to make the most of herself.” So she’d tried really hard to emulate Astrid, to be liked by Astrid, and all it had gotten her was this—a supercilious gibe in the middle of a supermarket.
Paige stood there, frozen and helpless in her humiliation, like a worm trapped beneath Astrid’s ballet flat, waiting to be squashed.
Lifting a languid hand, Astrid smoothed her immaculate hair. “Well, so you’re back home, filling up on”—she peered at the groceries—“Pepsi and cheddar cheese and—good lord, is that bologna sausage? Eww.” She made a face. “Eric’s builders are always eating bologna sausage sandwiches. Do you have a hot, buff builder at your place? Wouldn’t be surprised”
As she tittered, an image of Owen flashed into Paige’s brain. Hot, buff builder—yes, he was that, all right. Before she could help it, a prickling flush swept across her cheeks, making Astrid crow louder.
“You are a naughty possum! Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I won’t breathe a word about you and your builder and your bologna sausage.” She waved a farewell, her diamond ring sparkling, and sauntered off.
Paige fumed silently and helplessly as she watched Astrid flip out her mobile phone. In five minutes, all of Astrid’s friends would know whom she’d bumped into. Damn her. But there was nothing Paige could do, since hurling a carton of milk at Astrid’s immaculate head was probably against the law. No, she’d have to suck it up, buttercup.
Chapter Four
Paige glanced around the kitchen. Everything was ready for the party. The food from Carlotta’s Bistro had been delivered, and all the chafing dishes were set up in the dining room. In the last fifteen minutes, guests had been arriving and gathering in the formal living room with Owen.
As the chatter filtered down the hallway, Paige drummed her fingernails on the kitchen counter. Soon, she’d have to enter that living room with a tray of champagne flutes and face everyone for the first time. She didn’t like to admit it, but she was nervous about tonight, about appearing as Owen’s housekeeper in front of Nate and Ally and the rest of their friends. They had no reason to feel kindly toward her. In the past Paige wouldn’t have cared whether casual acquaintances liked her or not, but after her run-in with Astrid yesterday, she was fresh out of chutzpah.
And how would Owen treat her in front of his friends? He wasn’t a cruel man, but he might not be able to resist a dig or two at her expense. She couldn’t let him get to her. Which was why, after preparing the dining room, she had dashed back to her cottage and made herself more presentable. Her sleek black trousers, figure-hugging crossover top, and black high heels were too elegant for a housekeeper, and her upswept hairdo and diamond earrings were probably going too far, but she needed the boost to her confidence. She wanted to look on top of the situation, not conquered by it.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor before Owen entered the kitchen. He stopped short. “Oh.” He stared at her chic appearance. “What happened to you?”
“I changed.” She tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ears. “I feel more comfortable like this.”
“Comfortable? You’re better dressed than all the guests, including me.”
She examined his chinos and plaid shirt. Hmm, he’d gotten the colors and textures right, but he plainly hadn’t put much thought into his clothes, and once again he was wearing those disreputable canvas sneakers. If Owen bothered to get some stylish threads, he’d look more like the successful company executive he was, and less like awell, a builder Not that there was anything wrong with looking like a builder, and Owen did the construction worker look very well. The shirt stretched tight across his well-built shoulders, highlighting the broadness of his chest, and the chinos hugged snugly to his narrow hips and long legs. And there was a rugged appeal to his rough hair and stubbled chin
Paige caught her breath. She was ogling Owen. Right in front of him, too. How awkward. She gestured nonchalantly. “I was tired of looking like a frump these past few days.”
“You weren’t a frump. You looked just fine.” A line appeared between his eyes. “Now you look like Princess Paige again.”
“Really?” She smiled. Being Princess Paige was good; that was what she wanted, despite Owen’s disapproval.
“You’re the housekeeper now. Remember?”
“How can I forget when you remind me all the time?”