startled out of her dark thoughts. “No. Why do you ask?”
“Well – you’re buttering your bread. And you never eat bread. Or butter.”
Holly forced her thoughts aside. It wasn’t fair to Nat to scowl and sulk through lunch because of Jamie’s ridiculous culinary infatuation with Catherine. “You’re right. Sorry, just thinking about that flapper and wondering who she is,” she said, and returned her bread to the basket.
Natalie nodded her understanding but said nothing more. She knows I’m lying, Holly thought.
They both knew she was lying.
“I’m done.”
Jamie took off his apron later that evening and sank wearily onto a barstool and glanced around him. Everything was nearly ready for the opening.
“It looks amazing,” Catherine said, reading his thoughts as she rested her hip against the bar. “You’ve done a great job, Jamie.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Not true. You worked your ass off for weeks to get here.”
“It’ll all be worth it when we open the doors. But now–” He stood up. “–I really should go. I might even manage to get home before midnight tonight. I promised Holly I’d try.”
Catherine went behind the bar and retrieved a bottle. “Oh, no,” she said firmly. “Not until you have at least one glass of champagne with me to celebrate. We’ve earned it.”
She popped the cork, laughing as a froth of fizz bubbled out, and filled two glasses. She handed him one. “To us. Cheers.”
“Okay. Why the hell not?” he said as he took the glass. “Cheers,” he echoed, and grinned as he sat back down. “Here’s to you, Catherine – the best damned sous chef in Manhattan.”
There was nothing that a bubble bath couldn’t cure, Natalie reflected that evening as she eased herself into the claw-footed antique tub and leaned her head back in bliss.
It was half-past seven, and Rhys wasn’t home yet. But she didn’t mind. It gave her extra time to linger in the frangipani-scented bath, spray herself with frangipani-scented perfume, and arrange herself seductively in bed to await her husband’s arrival.
Well, she thought ruefully as she rested a hand on the slight swell of her stomach, at least as seductive as one could look in the fourth (nearly fifth) month of pregnancy.
But as she sat propped against the pillows a short time later, reading a murder mystery about a man who escaped from a mental health facility and went on a killing spree in a quiet English village, Natalie wished she’d chosen something a bit more...anodyne to read.
She lifted her head from the book. What was that sound? Had she heard a floorboard creak?
She could still see that figure looming over her in the darkness the other night, and the thought sent a remembered chill down her spine.
But Rhys had searched the apartment quite thoroughly, she reminded herself. And he’d found nothing.
Because no one was here, Natalie reassured herself. And even if someone had been in the apartment, they’d left without taking anything or causing any harm.
Still, she decided uneasily as she got out of bed, it wouldn’t hurt to throw the deadbolt on the front door until Rhys got home and check the apartment again, just to be sure. She’d left a lamp on in the living room and on the hallway table, unwilling to face a dark, shadowy room while she was alone.
Her mobile phone rang, and she started. She glanced at the screen. Rhys. “Are you on your way home?” she asked shakily.
“Yes. I got us takeaway from Madame Wu’s.” He paused. “What’s wrong? You sound upset. Has something happened?”
“Everything’s fine,” she said. “I’m reading one of those English murder mysteries and scaring myself a bit, that’s all.”
“Darling, why do you do that?” he scolded her. “Never mind, I’m nearly there. I’ll see you in about ten minutes.”
“I can’t wait.” Feeling immediately better, Natalie returned to the bedroom and drew on a robe, and went in the kitchen to wait for Rhys.
As she polished off a second spring roll twenty minutes later, Nat licked her fingers. “This is really scrummy.”
Takeway containers and packets of plum sauce and Chinese mustard littered the kitchen table as she and Rhys dined on sticky chicken and dan dan noodles.
Rhys dipped a spoon in his sweet and sour soup. “We have Chaz to thank. He’s the one who told me about Madame Wu’s.”
“Of course.” Nat resisted rolling her eyes – only just – as she reached for a fortune cookie.
“He knows all of the best places to go. He even typed up a list for me.”
“How thoughtful.” She unwrapped her fortune cookie and read aloud, “‘You will meet a tall, dark stranger.’” She tossed it aside. “How original.”
“No, darling, sorry to say there’s no tall, dark stranger in your future,” Rhys said. “Unless,” he added with a gleam in his eye, “we count your intruder the other night.”
She regarded him indignantly. “I’m glad you find it so amusing, Rhys. I did see someone in the apartment. And anything might have happened if I hadn’t screamed.”
“Yes. I might’ve gotten a decent night’s sleep.”
She didn’t dignify that with a response.
Rhys sighed. “I’ll see what I can do. Perhaps I can have additional security measures put in place. Chaz can look into it.”
Chaz again, Nat thought irritably. “Whatever would you do without him?”
“I honestly don’t know,” he said, completely missing her sarcasm as he leaned back in his chair. “We’ve been so busy, and there’s still so much to do – I’d never have accomplished half of what I have if it weren’t for Chaz. He’s incredibly organized. I’m really very lucky to have him on board.”
Natalie dug out the last of her sticky chicken from the carton with her chopsticks and plopped it on her plate.
I used to dress fashionably, she thought morosely. I used to have Rhys’s eye, and his undivided attention. Now all he can talk about is his personal assistant, and I’m just a...an afterthought. A fat afterthought.
“Natalie,” Rhys said gently as he took the chopsticks from her hand and laid them aside, “what’s wrong? You look like your last credit card was just turned down.”
“Yes, well, you’d know about that, wouldn’t you?” she retorted.
He blinked. “What?”
She
