After work, I go to barre to exercise with my friends. The plan is to not think about François’s Wife. My brain needs a break, and maybe something amazing will come to me if I just let my subconscious work on the problem for a while.
When Jo and Hilary ask me how my day’s been, I tell them it’s been fantastic. I’m not going to talk about the big worry or even think about it. Sticking to the plan.
Yuna joins us, having arrived just in time for the class. I still don’t understand where she’s storing her so-called extra calories, because even in skintight workout clothes, she’s slim. Amazingly, Jo agrees as we hit the bar afterward.
“You could afford to gain a few pounds.” Jo looks Yuna up and down again. “Or maybe not, since I bet you can make anything look good. Love your outfit, by the way.”
I shake my head inwardly. Just like Jo to look at people like they’re walking hangers, then notice how they’re put together. But that’s her job—dressing people fabulously. And I have to admit that I haven’t yet seen Yuna looking bad, except for the seaweed incident. Even after a strenuous barre session, her makeup is flawless. And she wasn’t half-assing it in the studio, either. It’s gotta be magic, since my lipstick is more or less gone. My mascara’s okay, but only because it’s water- and sweat-proof.
“Thank you,” Yuna says with a smile, crossing her leotard-clad legs. The pastel pink would make me look pudgy and soft. Not her, though.
“If you look less fashionable, maybe your mom won’t ask you to get married,” I joke, remembering why she’s hiding out in my apartment.
Yuna laughs. “I wish. She’d just hire a makeup artist and outfit coordinator to follow me around and make sure I look perfect enough to suit her.”
Wow. Maybe her mother and mine are long-lost sisters. At least when it comes to plans for their daughters.
“Really? Is she very critical?” Hilary asks, her eyes wide.
“No. She just wants what she thinks is best for me.” The ironic smile on Yuna’s face says she disagrees with what her mom considers “best.” Then she turns to me. “By the way, is everything okay? You seemed really distracted this morning.”
“Was I that obvious?” I thought I was doing okay outwardly, despite my internal angst about the statue. And thinking about Dane’s grip on the damned hunk of bronze is spiking my stress level.
“Yeah. Because I asked you twice if you wanted me to walk Champ, and you said you didn’t want breakfast.”
“That’s, like, nuclear bomb level,” Jo says. “You’re never that distracted.”
“Everything okay at work?” Hilary asks.
“Or was Wyatt lacking in bedroom technique?” Yuna adds.
That makes my friends sit up straight, and I drop my head in my palm. I haven’t had time to talk about my relationship status with Jo and Hilary because I’ve been busy with Salazar’s return and the statue situation and…well, distracted. But right now, they’re looking at me like I’m a traitor.
“You slept with Wyatt?” Hilary says slowly, her voice rising a bit. “I thought you hated his guts.”
Jo waves an index finger up and down. “Okay, blow-by-blow postmortem. That was the deal.”
“Postmortems are morbid,” I say, like that’s going to be acceptable to either of them.
Our waitress brings our cocktails, interrupting the inquisition. She’s getting a fat tip.
My friends grab theirs, and Yuna sips her daiquiri daintily, looking at me through her lashes.
I gulp down half my margarita. “I need to begin with the wedding.” And I don’t mind starting from there because Yuna hasn’t heard the story either.
So in broad strokes, I tell them about the ceremony, how I caught Churchill cheating and Geneva’s big revelation.
“Holy shit, that’s makjang,” Yuna says.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Super messed up,” she explains. “But it happened over the weekend, so that wasn’t why you told me you weren’t having breakfast today.”
Yuna has to be leading another life as a freelance CIA interrogator. “No.” I tell them the rest of the story involving my five-year bonus and the mix-up with the housewarming gift.
Jo smacks the table with a fist. “Oh, that rat bastard.”
“Should have checked to make sure.” Hilary sounds positively mournful.