Page 70 of Bastard

Breakfast is a nightmare. Barrington is in a miserable mood. Guest are walking around on the discarded eggshells of the Eggs Benedict being served. My eyes feel puffy from the tears shed.

Only Hayden seems unaffected by the turmoil surrounding us.

“What’s happening, do you think?” I murmur.

“Barrington heard a rumor that guest were partnering up to drive down costs.”

I squeeze his arm. “Does he know it was you?”

Hayden lifts a shoulder. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

“Do I pick a fight with you if he confronts you? Cause a distraction?”

“We’ll see how this plays out. Don’t act on your own. Wait for my signal. And if things get too aggressive, head for the terrace.”

“I trust you.”

He kisses me on the temple. “I know you do.”

We part company and are directed to our seats. Mi esposo is seated by the windows overlooking the ocean while I’m closer to the terrace doors. The former Mrs. Ogdenhayer’s friends can barely contain their excitement at our separation. And, although I know it’s for show, my temper still flares when I catch him flashing them a wicked smirk.

Lorenzo is beginning to wear on my nerves.

“Emilia,” the man to my right interrupts my thoughts. “How long have you and Lorenzo been married?”

The men surrounding me listen attentively.

“A few years. But,” I pause, “he travels a lot for business.”

They react as predicted and bombard me with questions. I do my best to respond, painting a picture of my husband as a highly successful business owner. His international connections. The money he’s making and the lavish lifestyle we live. I even mention a yacht.

Lying has never been this easy.

“And are you involved in his business?”

I shrug. “Sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong? Well ... yes.”

They laugh.

I catch Hayden’s frown from the other end of the table.

“He’s a lucky man.”

“He is,” the man to my left adds.

“You’re both so sweet.” I take a sip of my coffee and watch them react to my compliment. “This your first time attending one of Mr. Ogdenhayer’s parties?” I casually ask.

“This is the first one Barrington has hosted.”

I mentally curse myself for my mistake. The first Mrs. Ogdenhayer hosted the parties. Maybe that’s why Barrington is in such a foul mood? Maybe he doesn’t have the patience for such a thing?

“His first wife was my sister-in-law. These parties were her doing.” He turns to the man listening next to him. “Remember the event in Moscow?”

“Hard to forget with the hired expert entertainment.”

They chuckle.

“I negotiated a great price at that party. And made some connections I’m hoping to further develop.”