Again, I glance at the cotillion invitation, but this time, adrenaline and annoyance flare in my gut as I think about how long I’ve let Mom and Cornelia pull those strings.
“Nope. Not anymore.” I grab it off the counter and slide my finger underneath the flap to slice it open. And sure enough, inside with the invitation is the RSVP card. Rummaging through my junk drawer, I fish out a pen and practically carve a huge X on the “declines with regret” line. “Unfortunately—for you—I’ll be unable to attend because I’ll be too busy having marathon sex with the man who is cute and can take care of me. Are you happy,Mother?” I yell into the open air of my townhouse.
Extremely satisfied with myself, I march off to the bathroom.
Half an hour later, I’ve showered, my hair is wrapped in a towel, my Calming Water Sounds playlist is humming through my phone, and I’ve been standing in front of my closet for the last ten minutes. My business mode is loading, my game face on, and I’m really concentrating on what to wear that says,I’m not the one, CorneliaEunice Livingston, so keep it pushing.Or maybe something that says,Professional on the outside. On the inside, not somuch.
After pulling out my red elbow-sleeve sheath dress, I pair it with my leather red-sole ankle-strap stiletto sandals, which isn’t exactly a great choice for an active construction site, but they make my legs look fabulous. And maybe they’ll inspire Linc to sneak away into one of the suites with me for a few minutes.
“Oh my Lord!” An exhausted sigh plumes out of me. “Jesus, why am I so horny? Get a hold of yourself!”
I drag in a deep breath, willing my libido to calm its happy little self down so I can get focused.
The thing is, work-wise, I’ve got a ton to do. All week I’ve got wedding consultations for new clients. For Hailey and Donovan’s, the vendors need to be reconfirmed, RSVPs reviewed, and the ceremony programs inspected before our final planning meeting. There’s no time to be ducking and diving around Madison Manor for quickies, no matter how sexy it would be.
After tossing the dress and heels on the bed, I hurry and blow-dry my hair. But as my flat iron heats up, I can’t stop my mind from reeling.
It’s a bit difficult to think about being productive today when my mind is torn between the joy of being in love with a man who makes me feel…everything, and the anxiety of my ex-mother-in-law—and current employer—actively trying to sabotage us.
Before I can second-guess it, I turn off the calming sounds of water rushing and swipe over to phone.
After two rings, Savannah picks up.
“Hi, it’s Ebony. Have you got a few minutes?”
Surprisingly, that’s all it takes to bring her up to speed on my Cornelia theory and how things have progressed with Linc despite it. As I flat-iron my hair, bumping the ends into curls, I tell her I’m going to thank Leslie for his services and hold off on dating to give things with Linc a real shot—andlet the divas say they told me solater—but that I need advice on how to proceed with Cornelia.
“What’s the worst she could do?” Savannah asks, and I don’t really know how to put in words that I don’t actually have any proof that sabotage is in fact Cornelia’s motive.
Yes, she’s responsible for hiring Bridges Heritage Conservation and Ebony Grace Events. And she did cancel my insurance, leaving me to scramble for wedding props. But what else has she really done?
Linc is the best at what he does, and Hailey chose me.
I tilt my head, stretching my neck as I try to stay centered.
“The thing is…I don’t know,” I say, slightly defeated.
Did I make all of this up? Is it all an elaborate, unfounded theory? Is this all some weird, extreme stress reaction about Julian and Nora? What am I soparanoidabout?
I set the flat iron down and stare at my reflection—without the makeup, the jewels, expensive clothes, and long hair running down my back.
“I don’t know.” It comes out barely above a whisper. “And now I’m starting to wonder if I’m overreacting, and what that means?” Am I just afraid of being happy with Linc?
“Okay, you’re right.” Savannah’s tone softens. “We don’t know what she’s capable of, or that she’d want to hurt you or Lincoln…” Pressure builds in her pause. “But we also don’t know that you’re wrong. God gave us instincts, gut feelings, for a reason. I’m not going to be the one to tell you not to trust them.”
I’ll admit that I’m fully vindicated that she doesn’t dismiss me completely. No, actually, quite the opposite.
“Let’s talk about some tools to keep handy, starting with setting boundaries and prioritizing joy,” she starts before outlining ways to protect my peace. I’m to limit all interactions with Cornelia to email, and only when necessary—for professional reasons—hold in-person meetings with others around. “You don’t owe her anything and shouldn’t give her power to define your worth or impact your happiness.”
“With Linc, you mean?”
“Especiallywith him,” she says. “Ebony, you’re a single woman, and while Cornelia and Julian were once part of your life—and we always wish them the best—they don’t get to say when or whom you get to love. If Lincoln Bridges is making you happy”—her smile vibrates in her voice—“and I suspect he is, judging by the fact that you’re even considering any of this. I want you to love on him and let him do the same without putting limits on it.”
I could cry, I’m so happy.
And suddenly, I’m glad I decided to do my makeup last, because tears singe the corners of my eyes. I smile, blinking them back, eager to wrap up this call and get to him.
“Thank you, Savannah.” Emotion thickens my voice as I open my makeup drawer and pull out my primer.
