CHAPTER 62

We were all at lunch with Perla one afternoon when she got up from the table and stepped aside to call her husband. She thought she was out of earshot, but we could all hear her fighting with him. It was all about the nanny. I couldn't tell exactly what it was about, but I heard the words "hotel room" and "text messages." We all stopped talking to listen, and it was clear what was up. But honestly, it's her own fault. We warned her about hiring someone young and pretty. I mean, seriously. What was she thinking?

—Chun Andrews, wife

"Paige looks nice, doesn't she?" I passed a bowl of brussels sprouts to Grant, who scooped out a heaping amount and grunted in response. He'd been distracted and moody for the last few days, an evolution I wasn't crazy about.

"Grant." I set down my fork and waited until he looked up from his plate. "Did you notice Paige today?"

He looked around. "No. Is she here?"

I was torn between applauding him for his disinterest in other women and smacking him for the same reason. "Yes, she's upstairs, putting Sophie's uniform in the wash. I sent her to my salon for a makeover and gave her some clothes. You should say something to her, give her a compliment."

He finished chewing, and then spoke. "You mean right now?"

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard that I tasted blood. "No, just the next time you're alone with her. I don't want her to think you're saying it for my benefit."

"Okay." He speared another brussels sprout and chewed noisily.

"She's a beautiful girl," I pointed out. "She just needed a little work, that's all."

"Speaking of beautiful, you know that you didn't need that surgery." He put his fork down and cupped one hand in the other, his elbows on the table. "I loved your nose."

"Well, you'll love this one too," I said tartly. "Once the swelling goes down." It was too early to tell how good my new nose would look, given how puffy I was, but even with my face looking like a marshmallow, I was still prettier than before, and now without that shit stain on my cheek.

"It looks good already," he said. "I just hope you didn't do it for me."

Oh no, Grant. You were the last person I was thinking of when I made that decision. I toyed with the garlic chicken tenderloin on my plate. "No, it's been something I wanted to do for a long time."

"Did Kellan see your ..." He glanced at Sophie, but she was zoned out, her focus on twirling her angel hair pasta around her fork. He mouthed the word scar .

"Yes. He asked about it. I told him I don't like to talk about it and that I didn't want it fixed."

He nodded, and I tried to gauge the look on his face. Grant had never understood my attachment to my scar. Early on, he had suggested I get it fixed. I had staunchly refused, and he hadn't brought it up again.

I knew he hated it. Looking at it reminded him of death and what had happened to his sister. But ... I think it also reminded him of my mortality. Of the fact that he could have lost me also, and he didn't. I think every time he saw my scar, it endeared him further to me. It was a theory, but another reason why I held such affection for the mark.

Paige appeared in the doorway. "Her uniform is in the wash. Would you like me to wait until it's done, or should I head out?"

"I'll swap the laundry," I said. "You can head on home."

"Okay, thanks." She patted Sophie on the shoulder as she passed. "Bye, Sophie."

"Au revoir," Sophie said without looking up.

"Oh!" I twisted around to see if Paige was still in the kitchen. She was, crouched down and getting her purse out of the cabinet. She was wearing a pair of cream linen pants and the new ballet flats I had bought for her, paired with a simple white silk shirt. She looked good, especially with her new haircut, which was much shorter and wavy. "Paige, I'm blocking you in. Grant, can you move my car?"

"Of course." He leaned forward and rose, holding his tie against his shirt to keep it from falling into the food. Wiping his mouth with a linen napkin, he placed it on the table beside his plate.

I mouthed Compliment her to him, and he rolled his eyes but nodded.

I watched as they walked out together, him keeping an appropriate space between them as he held the door and waited for her to pass through. Such a polite man. Such a gentleman. So handsome. All traits I would be competing with once the party occurred.

I turned back to my plate and focused on my chicken breast, sawing back and forth on the delicate meat with the sharp blade.