"It's just as I suspected." Mrs. James gives me that knowing look, as if I've been inducted into the teeny weenie penis committee.
I'm thinking she's going to follow up with a secret handshake. Maybe one that involves just our pinkie fingers. But as I listen to her baleful sigh, I realize beneath Mrs. James's beautiful façade is a very unhappy woman. I'm not feeling so jealous anymore.
"Mrs. James is everything okay?"
"Everything is wonderful," she says with forced exuberance. "My husband is married to his career, but at least I have that baby I've been wanting, and money," she adds dryly. "Lots and lots of money."
I have nothing else to say, so I gape at her like an idiot. I don't think this moment can get any more awkward, and I'm suddenly wishing I was somewhere else, like at my favorite coffee shop eating The World's Best Brownie.
I jump when I'm pelted in the side of the head with a French fry. I look at Ty, who's grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
"Ty really clings to you," Mrs. James continues before taking a sip of what I initially thought was tea, but now suspect may be something stronger. "That's why my husband hates you, you know?" She waves a disinterested hand in my direction, as if it's no big deal. "Jackson said you two were going to get married and take away the baby. My husband was furious. He loves Tyler as if he's his own son, even though he never gets to spend time with him."
"Uh, huh." I absently nod while peeling potato off my face. What the hell had Jackson been smoking that he would ever think I'd go back to him?
"But don't worry," Mrs. James says, her voice dripping with a tad too much sugary sweetness. "Mr. James doesn't hate you anymore. Not since Jackson and that whore agreed to the adoption."
"Adoption?" My mouth falls open. I know Karri's been a lousy mother, but would she really give up Ty for good?
Memories from the first day my real mom and I finally met replay through my mind. All of the tears we shed. All the regrets she shared. Even though I've forgiven her, she still wears her shame like an albatross around her neck.
Not a single day goes by when I don't regret giving you up, she'd cried.
No matter what I say, my mom won't forgive herself. As much as I don't like Karri, I don't want to see her have the same regrets, and I've got this gut feeling if Karri leaves Ty with the James family and walks away, it will be the biggest mistake of her life.
"So what does Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome do for a living?" Mrs. James licks her lips while stroking her straw with the tips of her fingers.
Ew.
My spine stiffens, and I feel as if I'm looking at Mrs. James through new eyes.
I'm uncomfortable talking about my fiancé, especially considering her cougar smile. "He's inheriting his uncle's auto repair shops," I say mechanically as I choose to focus on Ty splattering ketchup with his fist.
"Nice," she drawls. "Are they profitable?"
I silently nod.
"Then he works long hours?"
I cast my gaze in her direction. One pale brow is arched as she continues to seductively stroke her straw.
"Yes," I say as an uneasy feeling makes its way down to my stomach.
"Get used to spending many nights alone. A few glasses of wine dulls the senses and makes it more bearable." As if to emphasize her point, she winks before taking a long sip from her "tea" glass. "So does a buff bodyguard."
I gape at her for a long moment. "Excuse me?"
But Mrs. James is too busy noticing something behind me to answer my question. "Oh, look who it is. Nora Richards and Vivian Duval."
And just like that, the uneasy feeling in my gut twists and turns until my stomach is one solid knot. The blood pumping through my veins solidifies like quicksand, making it impossible for me to turn around. I clench the linen tablecloth, bunching it in my fists as I stare out the restaurant's picturesque bay window. Golfers drive by on their carts, making me green with envy. I think how much being outside sounds more appealing than spending the afternoon inside this upscale prison with The Cobra.
"They're here just about every night," Mrs. James says. "We call them our resident drunks."
They just don't hide it as well as you, I want to say, but I keep my mouth shut as I turn my head in the other direction, scanning the room. There's a crowd of golfers blocking the nearest exit. Crap.
"Christina, are you okay?" Mrs. James leans forward and clasps my hand. "You're as pale as a ghost."
"I don't want to be here with her," I say through clenched teeth as I slowly unhook my fingers from the tablecloth. I've torn a hole in the fabric.
"Looks like they're leaving, anyway," Mrs. James says.