I wanted to throw up, but smiled faintly.
I needed to get up and leave. Maybe call Devon on my way home. He’d come, even if he was with Louisa. That was the kind of man he was.
Aisling rubbed her temple, her thick, dark eyebrows drawn together. “This is wrong. This is all wrong. You know you have to fight for him, right?”
Easy for her to say. For all her sweetness, Aisling was vicious when it came to love. She fought tooth and nail to win her husband after pining for him for years.
“And ruin his family’s life?” I let my head fall to the table.
“His sister and mother are not your problem,” Sailor said flatly.
“Plus, he’ll be ruining his own life and Louisa’s if he marries her while he is in love with you,” Persy finally chimed in.
We were interrupted by the staff again. This time, they brought dessert and tea. Custard, lemon merengue, and fat pieces of nougat.
We waited until they were gone before we spoke again.
“Are you crazy?” I whisper-shouted, sticking my spoon deep into the custard. “He’s not in love with me.”
“This is amazing,” Aisling murmured around her own spoon, pointing at the custard. “And in my humble opinion, as the person with the highest IQ in the room, he is in love with you.”
“Super humble.” Sailor popped a piece of nougat into her mouth. “But I actually agree. You have to give him the chance to prove himself, Belle. If he knew how you felt, he wouldn’t even pay Louisa any attention.”
“I don’t know what kind of relationship they have.” I helped myself to a lemon merengue.
Okay. Maybe I did have a pregnancy symptom in the form of wanting to eat anything that wasn’t nailed to the floor.
“Time to ask,” Sailor said.
“The thing about men is…” Persy sipped her tea, a faraway expression painted on her face, “…sometimes they require a little push to realize that what they need and what they want is in front of them and can be found in the same woman.”
“Amen to that.” Aisling lifted her teacup in the air, making a toast.
“I’m not like you guys.” I shook my head. “I don’t have the ability to make someone else happy. As soon as I become vulnerable to them, it’s game over. I do something horrible and try to push them away. So I can’t promise him all the things you’ve given to your husbands. The family, the children, the … you know … unconditional love and shit.”
I could tell from the looks on my friends’ and sister’s faces that I did not manage to make my point across with tact or finesse.
“Is that all we’re good for? Making our so-called men happy?” Sailor asked with a humorless smile on her face. “I’m only a former Olympic archer and the owner of one of the biggest food blogs in the country. What do I know about running a business or having a life outside of marriage?”
She was, indeed, all those things. But she had also married into a wealthy family and had come from one, so she had nothing to prove to anyone.
“And I’m just a doctor.” Aisling took another sip of her tea. “Definitely not as earth-shatteringly important or influential as you.”
Persephone, who didn’t have a day job, was the only silent one, so I made a point of turning toward her to say, “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Like what?” She sat back, looking perfectly composed and unaffected. “Oh, I may not work nine to five anymore, but I throw fundraiser events that raise millions of dollars for kids with needs, women’s shelters, and animals who’ve been abused. I feel incredibly fulfilled and don’t need anyone’s permission to call myself a feminist.”
Okay, maybe they all had a point.
“A woman is a woman.” Persy put a hand on my shoulder, and I wondered since when had the roles reversed? She’d become the wise and worldly one, and I the one in dire need of advice.
“A woman is a wonder. We are programmed to do and be everything we want to be. Don’t sell yourself short. Whatever Devon saw in you is still somewhere inside. Look for it hard enough, and you’ll find it,” Persy added.
Could I really salvage what I had with Devon?
The Whitehalls wanted me out of the picture. And Louisa was going to be a royal pain, pardon the pun.
But other than them, what else stood between me and Devon?
Nothing. Or rather no one—other than one person.
Myself.
I left Persephone’s house, driving on autopilot back to Devon’s apartment, which was in the same Back Bay neighborhood.
Drumming my fingers over my leg and thinking about my conversation with the girls, I took a right on Beacon Street, onto Commonwealth Avenue, then continued up to Arlington Street.
When I stopped at a red traffic light, a motorcycle cut through the line of traffic out of nowhere. The rider put himself between me and a Buick in front of me, blocking my line of vision. His face was hidden by a black helmet, and he wore a black leather jacket.