Burned Hearts (Burned 3)

I stepped behind the magic curtain and found Ari admiring, in the full-length, three-way mirror, the back of the wedding gown she wore. The design was intricate pearl and crystal lacing across her bare back. The whole thing was way over-the-top, but I supposed that was part and parcel when you were marrying—were married to—a billionaire.

“Hey,” she said with a bright smile as she caught a glimpse of me in the reflection.

“Hey.”

Tamera left us alone. I had no idea where Grace was.

“So,” I said, “I hear you’ve hit the sauce already.”

“Just a little champagne.” It had turned her cheeks rosy.

“You look fantastic.”

“So do you.”

I shrugged. “I suppose.”

She laughed sweetly. “Seriously gorgeous.”

I had to skip over that. Time to stop reading too much—stuff that wasn’t actually there—into everything she said. “I didn’t realize you knew so many people. Six hundred guests. Seriously?”

“This is the short list. We didn’t want to get too crazy.”

“Right.”

She laughed again. “A lot of them are Dane’s associates, friends, acquaintances. People from the Lux. You know how it goes.” Her smile faded and her expression turned contemplative. “If you’ve noticed, Mommie Dearest isn’t crashing.”

I eyed her curiously. “How’d you manage that? I think there was a wedding announcement in the New York Times.”

“There was.”

I shook my head. “I guess normal has officially slipped from your vocabulary.”

“Well … consider who my husband is.”

I couldn’t come up with a rebuttal. So I said, “Tell me how you’re keeping out the wicked Maleficent.”

“Ingenious of me, really. And Jackson. He managed to get the agent to dump her by threatening lawsuits. Then I jumped in. She’s not a fan of babies, so I decided to introduce her to mine.”

“Oh, Christ. This ought to be good.”

“During a fashion show at the Royal Palms Resort and Spa,” Ari began, “where she was all dolled up with her socialite BFFs. I swept in with a VIP ticket Dane secured for me. Not only was poor little Amsel ‘ripe,’ as you would put it, but his diaper leaked.”

She crinkled her nose. I resisted the urge to, just thinking of how this had likely played out.

Ari gave me a coy smile. “Leaked all over Mother’s ecru-colored Prada dress to be exact.”

“Gross!”

“I swear, it was practically on-cue! I knew he was a little gassy before we arrived. Was sort of banking on it, to be honest, since he’d just had a bottle.”

“Remind me not to piss you off. Like, ever.”

“Precisely.”

“What was the reaction?”

“Picture, if you will, the ladies who lunch all prim and proper, sipping their Cristal and planning their summer wardrobe during the fashion show. The smell wafting their way was disturbing enough. But Mother … Wow. She pitched a temper tantrum the likes of which I have never seen—right there in front of Gucci, Dolce and Gabbana, Chanel, and everyone.”