Chapter 12 How did I forget that Abbi Wolf is pregnant? Now that I'm looking at her swollen belly, I do recall seeing a headline or two somewhere announcing the news, but it obviously slipped my mind. Now, it's thrown me off-balance from the word hi. Henry Wolf spawning hasn't softened my hate-filled feelings toward him, but I feel an odd kinship to this woman as I eye her specially selected plate of food and wonder if I've eaten anything harmful tonight. Maybe I should have spent the day reading up on dos and don'ts of pregnancy instead of styling my hair and steaming my dress. "Ronan." The cool, overly calm voice comes just as Ronan is stuffing a scallop into his mouth. Somehow, I know who it belongs to. My pulse thumps in my throat as we turn to face the imposing figure behind us. Okay, so the magazine photos have not been airbrushed. Henry Wolf is as handsome and tall and commanding as he appears in print, and then some, as he looms over our huddled group like a brewing storm. Ronan can't answer. His mouth is full, and he's chewing slowly. But he meets Henry Wolf's hard gaze with one of his own, and a wordless exchange seems to happen in that lengthy stare. "They brought me a plate of food. All safe for the baby," Abbi interrupts the nonverbal showdown. "The service is fantastic. You should tell whoever's running this night." Henry Wolf finally relents. "I'm glad to hear that." He's wearing a simple black dress shirt and tailored pants, and yet he somehow looks more elegant than the men in full suits. "Have you met Sloane yet? Ronan's ... uh ... girlfriend?" Dissecting, cold blue eyes land on me, and I fight the urge to shrink. There is no doubt he recognizes me from his PI's exposé. "Sloane Parker. Our renowned neighbor. No, I haven't had the pleasure." Grim humor dances across his face. So this is what it feels like to stand face-to-face with the billionaire who has ruined my last five years of sleep. Okay, let's dance. I steel my spine. "So great to finally meet you, Henry." "I'll bet." He turns his attention back to Ronan. "I knew you had a set on you, but I didn't think they were this big." Ronan smirks, squaring his shoulders as if preparing for a physical confrontation. "Guess you needed a different angle to see them." There's an edge to his voice as he delivers what seems like a taunt. Henry's jaw clenches. Meanwhile, next to me, Abbi's face flushes a bright red. What on earth are they talking about? "So, Sloane, what do you think of my new hotel?" Henry asks suddenly. I hesitate, replaying my conversation with Gigi from earlier today. Peach pie or spittle, which do I choose? For Ronan's sake, I go with the former, because something tells me spitting in Henry Wolf's face during cocktail hour isn't how I want to be remembered. But I will not lie, and I sure as shit am not kissing anyone's ass. "It's everything I imagined it would be." Right down to the arrogant owner. Henry's hard expression cracks as he bursts out with laughter that sounds genuine. Abbi and Ronan share a wary look. This must not be the expected reaction. Even I can't keep confusion from skittering across my face. Henry's mirth ends on a heavy sigh, just as clicking heels approach from behind. "You seem to be enjoying yourselves." The blond who was staring me down earlier joins our little group, her voice a seductive purr. "Dinner is about to begin." "Belinda, have you met Ronan's girlfriend?" Henry's smile is smug and loaded. I resist the urge to deny the label. Belinda. This is the general manager, Ronan's immediate boss, who was also not a fan of my art project or of me. "I have not yet, no," she answers in a clipped tone, her eyes dragging over my dress in an assessing manner. "Ronan never mentioned a girlfriend, though Eleanor told me that he added an extra person last-minute." "This is Sloane Parker. She lives next door to the hotel." Each word is enunciated in a calm, even tone. "Next door." She glares at Ronan. "Is this a joke?" "No. I'm sure I mentioned her at our afternoon meeting today. You remember the one, right?" Ronan meets Belinda's gaze unflinchingly. Clearly, something happened in this meeting because she looks like a keg of gunpowder about to erupt. "I insisted that Ronan bring Sloane tonight so we could meet her," Abbi says in a rushed tone, reaching out to grab my free hand. "I can't wait to get to know someone so important to one of my closest friends. Right, hon?" She peers up at her husband with an innocent smile. How does she fake that so well? "Oh, yeah. I've been dying for this moment." There's the perfect blend of dryness and mocking in Henry's tone. "In fact, Belinda, can you please make sure Sloane and Ronan are seated next to me and Abbi?" I stifle my groan. Belinda's painted red lips purse. "But we've put⁠-" "Move them." The two words are delivered sharply and leave no opportunity for rebuttal. She stiffens. "I'll see to it right now." With one last scathing glare for Ronan, Belinda storms away. The pianist has wrapped up her performance, and servers in pressed uniforms are forming a line by the kitchen doors, signaling dinner. Guests take the hint, moving in to read the seating cards as ambient music comes to life over the restaurant speakers. "After you, Abigail." Henry steps back and gestures toward the head of one table before leading his wife away. "I guess that could have been worse," Ronan murmurs as soon as they're out of earshot. "You were right. This dinner is going to be so much fun," I mock. Ronan smooths his calloused hand over my bare shoulder. "Should we make a run for it?" "No, it's too late. You made your bed, and now you're gonna lie in it." "As long as you're there with me." "Well, good news, then, because ..." I cast a hand dramatically toward the table, where Belinda is shuffling seating arrangement cards with a scowl. Ronan steps closer, his hand cupping my nape. "The sooner Henry realizes you are in my life, the better." My breath hitches as he leans down to kiss me tenderly. "Now, do I need to confiscate your butter knife or will you behave?" he whispers against my lips. I'm caught in a haze, this growing pull toward him-both physical and emotional-beginning to overshadow everything else. "I make no promises." His deep, dark chuckle invades my body. "That's my girl." "We have paired wines with each course this evening, as you can see on the menu cards set in front of you," the server who brought Abbi her plate earlier announces to our end of the table. "Each course has three options to choose from, and we will tailor your pour, unless you vehemently oppose." Six more servers are spread out in sections to cater to smaller groups, and a small army waits behind us, each carrying wine bottles at the ready. In total, there must be close to forty people here for dinner tonight and almost as many staff. "What is your name?" Henry asks calmly as he studies the card, never looking up. "Umm ... Jacqueline. Or Jacquie's fine." "When was the red snapper brought in?" "This afternoon at about 3:00 p.m. Caught an hour before by Captain Dave," she answers without missing a beat. Dave Rogers is known around here for guaranteeing the freshest day's catch and gets paid well for it. "And the king crab?" "Our shipment arrived early this morning." She holds her breath as she waits for his response. I imagine serving the owner of Wolf Hotels is nerve-racking at all times, but especially so when he's grilling you. "My wife claims she had impeccable service from you earlier." Finally, Henry acknowledges the server with a glance. "Keep it up, Jacqueline." He uses her full name, just as he called Abbi by hers earlier. Jacquie's eyes flitter to Abbi, who smiles up at her with encouragement. "If there's nothing else, I'll give you a few minutes to decide on your meals." He waves a hand in a that'll be all gesture, and Jacquie scurries off. Ronan and I exchange glances from across the double-wide table, an array of candles and florals a formidable barrier. Belinda separated us, seating Abbi and Henry at the very end as table heads-the king and queen. At least I'm closest to Abbi and not him. Ronan gets that honor. On my other side is a man with a smooth Parisian accent who said a polite hello but has otherwise been caught up in conversation with Margo Lauren, the raven-haired supermodel seated next to Ronan. She's even more striking in person than the magazine covers she graces, if that's possible. It would have been much kinder of Belinda to seat me and Ronan next to each other and pair these two up, but I don't think showing kindness was a part of the equation where she's concerned. "How long do they swim for?" Abbi admires the aquatic tank, where a new mermaid skims through the water, this one in lavender-and-cream scales. Henry abandons his menu card and leans back with his drink-scotch, if I had to guess. "I believe they change every twenty minutes. Is that accurate, Ronan?" "My realm is the tank itself, not who or what swims in it," Ronan answers wryly. "Lena will have to answer that." Henry briefly scans faces as if looking for this woman named Lena before dismissing the topic. "Sloane, how is your grandmother doing?" "She's good," I answer warily. He takes a sip. "Ruby, right?" "Yes." "And it's been what, now? Two years since you put her in an assisted-living center and claimed her properties?" My mouth gapes for a moment. "I didn't put her anywhere or claim anything." There's more bite in my tone than I intended, but he blindsided me with that jab. Plus, he's tossing around Gigi's name as if he personally knows her, as if he gives a shit what happens to her. I take a calming breath. "She registered herself at Palm Oaks, and she loves it there." He hums. "I've never understood how anyone can enjoy living in one of those places." I can't help myself. "It's quieter than the last few years at her home. No constant hammering and saws and drills all day long. But I'll be sure to let her know you asked about her." I mock frown. "Wait, did you two ever actually meet or are you just regurgitating what your creepy PI told you?" Henry studies me a moment. "No, I don't believe we did, officially." From my peripheral, I note Abbi chugging her water. Jacquie returns then, ending a chance for me to toss another barb. "Okay, folks, have we decided?" She peers down at Abbi, prompting her to begin. I steal a glance across the table at Ronan to find him studying me, the corner of his mouth curved upward. At least he's not annoyed by me antagonizing his boss. "Well, I can't have the wagyu tartare or the smoked salmon. What about the blue cheese in the pear appetizer?" Abbi holds up the menu, pointing at the line. "Is that unpasteurized?" "Very likely, yes, but we have an excellent vegan substitute that the chef has confirmed is safe for you." Abbi's face lights up. "Yes, perfect. And then the salad, but can you substitute the goat cheese? Again, the unpasteurized thing." Her face squishes up like she's afraid to impose on people. As if her husband doesn't own this hotel and can literally demand everyone walk on their hands and sing for their suppers. "And the chicken in puff pastry and risotto is fine." Jacqueline nods, mentally cataloguing everything like only the most exceptional fine-dining servers can manage. The next test is not mixing things up. "And for you?" Jacqueline waits for me expectantly. Fuck. How am I supposed to know about unpasteurized cheeses and smoked salmon. What the fuck even is wagyu tartare? How am I thirty-one years old and not aware of any of this? I guess because I've never been pregnant before. I still don't even know if I'm keeping it-a decision I have to make very soon. "Oh, um, you know what? Everything Abbi ordered sounds great, so I'll just do the exact same." At least that way, I'll know I'm not eating something I shouldn't. "The vegan substitute as well?" "Yes. I try to avoid dairy as much as possible. Dietary thing," I lie, thinking about the wheel of camembert waiting for me at home. "Perfect." Jacqueline moves on to Henry and Ronan. "That entree is going to be so good." Abbi adjusts her napkin on her lap. "The pastry chef here is incredible." "Good because I'm hungry." "Ronan and I ate a plate full of her pastries this morning, and they were to die for. Well, actually, I ate them." She giggles. "Ronan had maybe one bite." Abbi Wolf is nothing like I imagined her to be. Sure, she looks like the photographs-polished and gorgeous, her hair a fiery red that you can pick out from across the room. But I expected a snooty, greater-than-thou woman, and she's warm and friendly and unpretentious, and she is putting in a genuine effort to tame her husband for me. Or perhaps it's for Ronan. That's more likely the case. Either way, I hate to admit it, but I like her, despite her choice in husbands. I suppose I can't blame her. She married a disgustingly handsome billionaire who seems to dote on her. The man to my left leans over then, throwing an arm across the back of my chair and invading my personal space as he says, "Abigail, I brought my camera. When will we take your photos?" "Oh!" She bites her bottom lip in thought. "Maybe tomorrow morning if you have time? Henry will be golfing." "No, Henry must be present," Henry says, referring to himself in third person. Abbi scowls at him. "Relax. They're maternity pictures. With my giant belly hanging out." "Joel, what will Abigail wear for this photo shoot?" he asks calmly. "Uh, how do we say ... less is more?" Joel says with a grin. He's classically handsome, though there's a devilish gleam in his eye that I don't trust. "Less is more." Henry's smile is superior as he regards his wife. "I'll be there for this photo shoot." She opens her mouth to answer-or argue. "This is not a negotiation." With a heavy sigh laced with irritation, she asks, "And what time can you work me into your schedule?" "Talk to Miles, but we will make something work." Henry leans in to whisper, but I'm within earshot to catch, "You are not taking off your clothes for another man unless I am there. You know the rules." I immerse myself in my lavender water while pretending I didn't hear that last part. The rules? What does that mean? If Henry is there, his wife can strip for other men? "Joel, have you met Sloane?" Abbi asks, gesturing to me. "She came with Ronan." "Just a quick hello when we sat down. It is a pleasure to meet you, Sloane." My name in his accent is enchanting. "Joel was our photographer at our wedding," Abbi explains. "And the pictures he took are out of this world. I still look at them all the time." "I've seen them. I mean-" I stumble over my words, not wanting to come off sounding like a stalker. "-they were all over the internet." "Ugh." Abbi rolls her eyes. "Yeah, the media would not leave us alone for a while there. It's gotten better, though. They've moved on to their next target." I know. I had endless material to pull from with those headlines while the paparazzi were in a feeding frenzy. And now I realize who I'm sitting next to-Joel the photographer, aka the pervert who takes intimate pictures of women mid-orgasm. My cheeks flush as I make the connection. Okay, maybe it's not so odd or controlling that Henry isn't keen on leaving his pregnant wife alone with this guy. "It seems I have time in the morning for a shoot," Joel purrs in my ear. "What do you say?" "Me?" I squeak. "Oui. I am always looking for a model and this face ... This body..." His gaze dips down into my cleavage. "Uh ... I don't know how to pose." That's the truth. I see all these girls in their bikinis at Starfish Beach, arching their backs, sucking in their cheeks, and all I can think of is how ridiculous they all look. "It is no effort at all. Well, no effort for you. I do all the work." He winks. Oh my God. Is he hitting on me? I try to catch Ronan's attention, but he and Margo are deep in conversation. I wish I could hear what they're discussing, but the buzz of voices is too loud. "Sorry, I'm working tomorrow. Maybe another time." As in never o'clock. "For your first course." A male server appears over my shoulder, holding a bottle of white. Thankfully, it forces Joel out of my personal space. "A Chenin Blanc, its blend of fruit and nuttiness a perfect complement to the blue cheese and pear." Before I can deny the offer, he's filling my wineglass. "None for me, obviously." Abbi holds her manicured hand over the glass. Something I should have done. "That's okay, we have a lovely nonalcoholic for you." Another server appears to fill her glass, smiling at her as he pours. "Abigail, you will be coming to the grand opening of the chateau, oui?" Margo asks as a third server comes around to pour red wine into her glass, as well as Henry's and Ronan's. "Probably not. The baby will only be a few months old." Abbi rests a hand on her belly. She touches it a lot, I've noticed. I guess that's a normal thing that all pregnant women do? Will I end up doing that? "You must! It is my crowning achievement!" Margo drapes her arm over the back of Ronan's chair as she leans in. It's very intimate and personal. "Henry, I insist that Abigail comes. How can we open the Wolf Chateau without you both there?" "We'll see how things go." Henry swirls the freshly poured red wine around in his glass. "But I promise I'll be there." Her bottom lip curves downward in a pout. "Margo and Henry are opening a boutique Wolf hotel in Margo's family castle in France," Abbi explains without me needing to ask. "The first of its kind for the hotel chain." "That sounds exciting." Another friend of his opening a hotel. The supermodel pauses to assess me. "You should visit too." "Your boutique Wolf hotel in France." I can't help but laugh. These rich people have no concept of budgets and responsibilities. "Yeah. Maybe one day." "Sloane isn't impressed by my luxury hotel chain," Henry says smoothly. "She much prefers the comfort of her colorful little mobile homes." I grind my molars as I try to decipher what he means. Is that his sophisticated way of calling me trailer trash? Abbi's frown his way says she's wondering the same. Margo says something in French that I obviously don't understand, but it doesn't take a genius to understand it's about me, her eyes grazing over me while she speaks. Henry's jaw clenches through a sip of his wine, and then he confidentially rattles something back, his French almost as smooth as hers. They toss words back and forth. "I hate it when they do this," Abbi mutters through a sip of her fake wine. "Do they do this a lot?" It's beyond rude. "Every time they're together." I reach for my glass and then remember that I can't have any, so I veer for the last of my lavender water. If there was ever a night to inhale booze, tonight would have been it. Margo asks another question in her native tongue. "No," Ronan answers before Henry can and then flips into French, his tone calm but his face stony. I blink in surprise. So Ronan speaks French. Another thing I didn't know about the guy. There are so many things I don't know about him. Margo reaches up to toy with the ends of Ronan's hair at his nape while she answers him. It's an intimate move. My jealousy burns. Is she hitting on him, right in front of me? Or is this how they always are? A darker thought enters my mind almost immediately. Have Ronan and Margo slept together? "Joel and Margo have been dating for years," Abbi says, as if reading my mind and gifting reassurances. It does little to ease my concern, though. Ronan takes a lengthy sip of his wine, and then he says something back to her. After a beat, Margo slides her hand away from him. "It would please me greatly to see you at my chateau one day. Both of you." She caps that off with a coy smile for me, one that holds many secrets. I think I hate Margo Lauren. I definitely want her far away from Ronan. The waitstaff files out of the kitchen then, their arms laden with the first course. "I suppose now is as good a time as any." Henry taps his wineglass with his fork, the telltale dinging sounds drawing a hush as he stands. "Good evening, everyone. Abigail and I would like to thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate the new Mermaid Beach location. After five very long years with more than one hiccup along the way"-his gaze darts to me so quickly I doubt anyone notices-"we finally open the doors to patrons this weekend⁠-" "What are we if not patrons? The pig's arse?" Preston hollers, earning a round of laughs. "If we don't have your credit card on file, you don't count," Henry throws back smoothly. "But they do have yours, so cheers to that." The obnoxious Brit lifts his glass in a toast, and several others follow suit. Henry smirks. "On that note, let's raise a glass to William Wolf." Everyone reaches for their glass, forcing me to do the same or become the petty asshole refusing to toast a dead guy. "He was the true visionary behind this place. He purchased this land decades ago with nothing more than anticipation. The only mistake he made was not getting his hands on more of it, back when it was easier to do so." I roll my eyes-and hope Henry catches it-as I meet Ronan's stare. He mouths "What a prick." "Now, everyone, eat, drink, and enjoy yourselves tonight on me because the next time you come, you'll be paying heavily." A hum of laughter and voices fills the space, though I doubt he's joking. I pretend to take a sip before setting the full glass down, just as a plate appears before me. Oh well, like Gigi said, at least I'm getting a fancy meal out of this, at Henry Wolf's expense. In "A Relationship Kept in The Dark" by CrushReel, the storyline unfolds as renowned photographer Jane finds herself drawn to the charismatic rookie model, Hector. Little does she know that Hector harbors a secret—he is actually the heir to a powerful business empire. 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