Page 22 of Save Me (The Wolf Hotel Mermaid Beach #2)

I can’t help myself. “It’s quieter than the last few years at her home. No constant hammering and saws and drills all day long. But I’ll be sure to let her know you asked about her.” I mock frown. “Wait, did you two ever actually meet or are you just regurgitating what your creepy PI told you?”

Henry studies me a moment. “No, I don’t believe we did, officially.”

From my peripheral, I note Abbi chugging her water.

Jacquie returns then, ending a chance for me to toss another barb. “Okay, folks, have we decided?” She peers down at Abbi, prompting her to begin.

I steal a glance across the table at Ronan to find him studying me, the corner of his mouth curved upward. At least he’s not annoyed by me antagonizing his boss.

“Well, I can’t have the wagyu tartare or the smoked salmon. What about the blue cheese in the pear appetizer?” Abbi holds up the menu, pointing at the line. “Is that unpasteurized?”

“Very likely, yes, but we have an excellent vegan substitute that the chef has confirmed is safe for you.”

Abbi’s face lights up. “Yes, perfect. And then the salad, but can you substitute the goat cheese? Again, the unpasteurized thing.” Her face squishes up like she’s afraid to impose on people.

As if her husband doesn’t own this hotel and can literally demand everyone walk on their hands and sing for their suppers.

“And the chicken in puff pastry and risotto is fine.”

Jacqueline nods, mentally cataloguing everything like only the most exceptional fine-dining servers can manage. The next test is not mixing things up.

“And for you?” Jacqueline waits for me expectantly.

Fuck. How am I supposed to know about unpasteurized cheeses and smoked salmon.

What the fuck even is wagyu tartare? How am I thirty-one years old and not aware of any of this?

I guess because I’ve never been pregnant before.

I still don’t even know if I’m keeping it—a decision I have to make very soon.

“Oh, um, you know what? Everything Abbi ordered sounds great, so I’ll just do the exact same.” At least that way, I’ll know I’m not eating something I shouldn’t.

“The vegan substitute as well?”

“Yes. I try to avoid dairy as much as possible. Dietary thing,” I lie, thinking about the wheel of camembert waiting for me at home.

“Perfect.” Jacqueline moves on to Henry and Ronan.

“That entree is going to be so good.” Abbi adjusts her napkin on her lap. “The pastry chef here is incredible.”

“Good because I’m hungry.”

“Ronan and I ate a plate full of her pastries this morning, and they were to die for. Well, actually, I ate them.” She giggles. “Ronan had maybe one bite.”

Abbi Wolf is nothing like I imagined her to be.

Sure, she looks like the photographs—polished and gorgeous, her hair a fiery red that you can pick out from across the room.

But I expected a snooty, greater-than-thou woman, and she’s warm and friendly and unpretentious, and she is putting in a genuine effort to tame her husband for me.

Or perhaps it’s for Ronan. That’s more likely the case.

Either way, I hate to admit it, but I like her, despite her choice in husbands. I suppose I can’t blame her. She married a disgustingly handsome billionaire who seems to dote on her.

The man to my left leans over then, throwing an arm across the back of my chair and invading my personal space as he says, “Abigail, I brought my camera. When will we take your photos?”

“Oh!” She bites her bottom lip in thought. “Maybe tomorrow morning if you have time? Henry will be golfing.”

“No, Henry must be present,” Henry says, referring to himself in third person.

Abbi scowls at him. “Relax. They’re maternity pictures. With my giant belly hanging out. ”

“Joel, what will Abigail wear for this photo shoot?” he asks calmly.

“Uh, how do we say … less is more?” Joel says with a grin. He’s classically handsome, though there’s a devilish gleam in his eye that I don’t trust.

“Less is more.” Henry’s smile is superior as he regards his wife. “I’ll be there for this photo shoot.”

She opens her mouth to answer—or argue.

“This is not a negotiation.”

With a heavy sigh laced with irritation, she asks, “And what time can you work me into your schedule?”

“Talk to Miles, but we will make something work.” Henry leans in to whisper, but I’m within earshot to catch, “You are not taking off your clothes for another man unless I am there. You know the rules.”

I immerse myself in my lavender water while pretending I didn’t hear that last part. The rules? What does that mean? If Henry is there, his wife can strip for other men?

“Joel, have you met Sloane?” Abbi asks, gesturing to me. “She came with Ronan.”

“Just a quick hello when we sat down. It is a pleasure to meet you, Sloane.” My name in his accent is enchanting.

“Joel was our photographer at our wedding,” Abbi explains. “And the pictures he took are out of this world. I still look at them all the time.”

“I’ve seen them. I mean—” I stumble over my words, not wanting to come off sounding like a stalker. “—they were all over the internet.”

“Ugh.” Abbi rolls her eyes. “Yeah, the media would not leave us alone for a while there. It’s gotten better, though. They’ve moved on to their next target.”

I know. I had endless material to pull from with those headlines while the paparazzi were in a feeding frenzy.

And now I realize who I’m sitting next to—Joel the photographer, aka the pervert who takes intimate pictures of women mid-orgasm.

My cheeks flush as I make the connection.

Okay, maybe it’s not so odd or controlling that Henry isn’t keen on leaving his pregnant wife alone with this guy .

“It seems I have time in the morning for a shoot,” Joel purrs in my ear. “What do you say?”

“Me?” I squeak.

“Oui. I am always looking for a model and this face … This body…” His gaze dips down into my cleavage.

“Uh … I don’t know how to pose.” That’s the truth. I see all these girls in their bikinis at Starfish Beach, arching their backs, sucking in their cheeks, and all I can think of is how ridiculous they all look.

“It is no effort at all. Well, no effort for you. I do all the work.” He winks.

Oh my God. Is he hitting on me?

I try to catch Ronan’s attention, but he and Margo are deep in conversation. I wish I could hear what they’re discussing, but the buzz of voices is too loud.

“Sorry, I’m working tomorrow. Maybe another time.” As in never o’clock.

“For your first course.” A male server appears over my shoulder, holding a bottle of white. Thankfully, it forces Joel out of my personal space. “A Chenin Blanc, its blend of fruit and nuttiness a perfect complement to the blue cheese and pear.”

Before I can deny the offer, he’s filling my wineglass.

“None for me, obviously.” Abbi holds her manicured hand over the glass. Something I should have done.

“That’s okay, we have a lovely nonalcoholic for you.” Another server appears to fill her glass, smiling at her as he pours.

“Abigail, you will be coming to the grand opening of the chateau, oui?” Margo asks as a third server comes around to pour red wine into her glass, as well as Henry’s and Ronan’s.

“Probably not. The baby will only be a few months old.” Abbi rests a hand on her belly. She touches it a lot, I’ve noticed. I guess that’s a normal thing that all pregnant women do? Will I end up doing that?

“You must! It is my crowning achievement!” Margo drapes her arm over the back of Ronan’s chair as she leans in. It’s very intimate and personal. “Henry, I insist that Abigail comes. How can we open the Wolf Chateau without you both there?”

“We’ll see how things go.” Henry swirls the freshly poured red wine around in his glass. “But I promise I’ll be there.”

Her bottom lip curves downward in a pout.

“Margo and Henry are opening a boutique Wolf hotel in Margo’s family castle in France,” Abbi explains without me needing to ask. “The first of its kind for the hotel chain.”

“That sounds exciting.” Another friend of his opening a hotel .

The supermodel pauses to assess me. “You should visit too.”

“Your boutique Wolf hotel in France.” I can’t help but laugh. These rich people have no concept of budgets and responsibilities. “Yeah. Maybe one day.”

“Sloane isn’t impressed by my luxury hotel chain,” Henry says smoothly. “She much prefers the comfort of her colorful little mobile homes.”

I grind my molars as I try to decipher what he means. Is that his sophisticated way of calling me trailer trash?

Abbi’s frown his way says she’s wondering the same.

Margo says something in French that I obviously don’t understand, but it doesn’t take a genius to understand it’s about me, her eyes grazing over me while she speaks.

Henry’s jaw clenches through a sip of his wine, and then he confidentially rattles something back, his French almost as smooth as hers.

They toss words back and forth.

“I hate it when they do this,” Abbi mutters through a sip of her fake wine.

“Do they do this a lot?” It’s beyond rude.

“Every time they’re together.”

I reach for my glass and then remember that I can’t have any, so I veer for the last of my lavender water. If there was ever a night to inhale booze, tonight would have been it.

Margo asks another question in her native tongue.

“No,” Ronan answers before Henry can and then flips into French, his tone calm but his face stony.

I blink in surprise. So Ronan speaks French. Another thing I didn’t know about the guy. There are so many things I don’t know about him.

Margo reaches up to toy with the ends of Ronan’s hair at his nape while she answers him. It’s an intimate move.

My jealousy burns. Is she hitting on him, right in front of me? Or is this how they always are?

A darker thought enters my mind almost immediately.

Have Ronan and Margo slept together?

“Joel and Margo have been dating for years,” Abbi says, as if reading my mind and gifting reassurances. It does little to ease my concern, though.

Ronan takes a lengthy sip of his wine, and then he says something back to her. After a beat, Margo slides her hand away from him. “It would please me greatly to see you at my chateau one day. Both of you.” She caps that off with a coy smile for me, one that holds many secrets.

I think I hate Margo Lauren.

I definitely want her far away from Ronan.

The waitstaff files out of the kitchen then, their arms laden with the first course.

“I suppose now is as good a time as any.” Henry taps his wineglass with his fork, the telltale dinging sounds drawing a hush as he stands.

“Good evening, everyone. Abigail and I would like to thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate the new Mermaid Beach location. After five very long years with more than one hiccup along the way”—his gaze darts to me so quickly I doubt anyone notices—“we finally open the doors to patrons this weekend?— ”

“What are we if not patrons? The pig’s arse?” Preston hollers, earning a round of laughs.

“If we don’t have your credit card on file, you don’t count,” Henry throws back smoothly.

“But they do have yours, so cheers to that.” The obnoxious Brit lifts his glass in a toast, and several others follow suit.

Henry smirks. “On that note, let’s raise a glass to William Wolf.”

Everyone reaches for their glass, forcing me to do the same or become the petty asshole refusing to toast a dead guy.

“He was the true visionary behind this place. He purchased this land decades ago with nothing more than anticipation. The only mistake he made was not getting his hands on more of it, back when it was easier to do so.”

I roll my eyes—and hope Henry catches it—as I meet Ronan’s stare.

He mouths “ What a prick .”

“Now, everyone, eat, drink, and enjoy yourselves tonight on me because the next time you come, you’ll be paying heavily.”

A hum of laughter and voices fills the space, though I doubt he’s joking.

I pretend to take a sip before setting the full glass down, just as a plate appears before me.

Oh well, like Gigi said, at least I’m getting a fancy meal out of this, at Henry Wolf’s expense.