Page 51 of Happy Wife

“Don’t worry.” She smiled gently. “I’m the new-money bitch from California. They hate me, too.”

“We should start a club.” My words sounded a little more solid than they had in the kitchen. Maybe the change of scenery, or a whack to the head, was helping to sober me up.

“Or a coven.” She shrugged. “Who gives a fuck what they think anyway?”

It wasn’t exactly a groundbreaking point of view, but after spending the day with Autumn—the executive director of giving a fuck—it was nice to exhale a little of the tension I had been holding on to as I tried (and failed) to keep perfect composure.

“Come up to the house.” Este motioned with one hand.“You’ve got a little…” She waved her other hand around my face. “…shrubbery. In your hair.”

As we walked up the side of her house toward her pool deck, I noticed a man about Este’s age sitting in a lounge chair outside.

“Nora, this is my husband, Beau.”

A wave of nausea rolled over me, and I had to stop and bend over a little. I should have been embarrassed, but liquid courage was propping me up.

“Hey, I’m Nora.”

“Nice to meet you. You look a little…green. I’ve got an edible that might help?”

Beau looked to Este, who made a face at him to play along. She didn’t think I saw, but I did. Bless her. And him.

“You look great. But by Beau’s math, there’s nothing an edible can’t cure.” She looked back at him. “Nora belongs to the party next door. She’s the bride.”

“Nice,” he said. “Congrats.” Then he frowned and looked at Este. “Wait. Are you supposed to congratulate the bride or the groom? I can’t ever remember.”

“Those rules are stupid.” Este waved the question on. “Beau is an engineer. If it’s not ones and zeros, he needs a road map.”

“Este likes to think she’s the brains of this operation,” he said and winked at her, then gestured around the property. “But it’s all a part of my long con to get her to take care of me.”

“Shut up.” She laughed. “I’m going to take her inside and let her borrow a little makeup.”

“Welcome to the neighborhood. Don’t be a stranger,” Beau called behind us.

As we walked into her modern mansion and out of earshot of Beau, Este said, “Beau sold his tech company back in California, and we made a killing. Now, he spends most of his time mentoring start-up founders. He’s thinking of teaching a class at Rollins. But mostly, he’s impossibly rich and does whatever he wants. That qualifies as genius these days.”

She explained this the same way most people explained their professions.

He’s an attorney. She’s an architect. Este and Beau are essentially retired gazillionaires with zero fucks.

In a place that seemed to be built on double-talk, it wasrefreshing to be in the company of someone who called things as they were. Este didn’t talk to be crass or boisterous. She couriered the truth with an ease and sense of perpetual relief. I was immediately jealous.

We wound our way down a hall that led to a well-appointed master bedroom, sparsely decorated and furnished with pieces that were simultaneously sleek and serene. There was a vanity in the dressing area between Este’s bathroom and closet that I was pretty sure I’d seen on a decorator’s Instagram touted as “one of a kind.”

“Sit there,” she said, pointing at a velvet bench. And I flopped compliantly into the seat as she handed me a Diet Coke from a minifridge in the corner.

“Sip. Slowly,” she instructed as she reached for a brush.

“You have a minifridge in your closet? God, rich people think of everything.”

Sniffing a little laugh, she said, “I’m just going to zhuzh a little.”

She brushed and spritzed my hair with product before applying a few touches of makeup. “Just a little extra,” she narrated as she tapped eye shadow into the inside corners of my eyes. “To brighten you up.”

I felt like she was throwing me a lifeline in the middle of the ocean.

“Thank you. And I’m sorry, by the way. I didn’t mean to crash-land in your yard.” I realized I hadn’t given any thought to what she might have been in the middle of. “I thought this party would be fun, but it is…not.”

“With that crowd, I can’t say I’m surprised. You know that expression ‘Never let them see you sweat’? It doesn’t really work here. They’re out for blood.” She reached for a bottle of Evian face spray and misted my cheeks. “Not a hint of sweatorblood in sight. Only a youthful, dewy glow for you, my dear.” She handed me the bottle. “Take this with you. It will keep you looking hydrated.”