Chapter 18
Isabelle
“The skin definitely melted off his face,” Selena whispered to me the next morning over the sound of stand mixers spinning in unison. She threw
a look over my shoulder, then back to me. “Not that it’s a contest, but you win the breakup.”
With two days between the welcome party and the first ceremonial event—the Mehndi—Selena and Henry’s wedding planning team
had arranged for guests to have any number of experiences during the downtime.
Today, any of the two hundred guests in attendance could take a macaron-making class with chef Gaston Phillip—the celebrity
chef and owner of the three-Michelin-starred restaurant Sucre.
About fifty people filed into the giant, professional-grade demonstration kitchen for the activity. Blake and Francesca sat
in the back.
Selena took a giant, crunchy bite out of a baguette she had taken from the enormous breadbasket that greeted us when we entered
the kitchen. On the other side of her, at her workstation, Henry carefully read through the instructions.
Austin stood next to me, his brow lifted for a second before he looked back down at the bowl, stirring the batter while Selena discussed the events of the night before. We were busy gossiping while the men did the heavy lifting of actually baking the macarons.
“It did work,” I noted.
After the kiss, everything sort of settled down for the night. Austin and I fell back into our usual banter like it had never
happened and spent the rest of the night having a pretty decent time. Being around him was nice; there was no pressure. In
a life that was filled with expectations, Austin was a person who wasn’t expecting anything from me except to help with making
connections for the foundation.
It was easy to fall into a rhythm with him.
“How was the kiss?” Selena whispered, even quieter this time since Austin was literally two feet away. “I bet it was good.
Professional athlete of his age . . . probably a lot of experience under his belt. I know that sounds sort of red-flaggy but . . .”
she yammered in a stream of consciousness. “Reformed playboy is . . .” Her expression glazed over a bit. One side of her mouth
pulled up. “Well, being the recipient of all that experience . . . trust me, it’s not a bad thing.”
I cleared my throat, and my eyes went wide in warning. I tried to sort through what exactly I felt after that kiss. It gave
me a high that, at first, I thought was knowing I got under Blake’s skin. But, when I thought about it, it was something else.
“It was fine,” I lied, mostly to get Selena to snap out of whatever daze she’d fallen into. But I could admit, to myself, that something about that kiss made my brain short-circuit, because I didn’t want it to end.
I glanced around the test kitchen; nobody had heard her in that massive space. It took up the entire second floor of the Haussmann-style
building. With five long countertops that spanned the room—each with four sets of burners and ovens—the fifty guests interested
in coming along fit comfortably inside. Austin and I paired up with Malcolm to keep his attention, and any intrusive questions
he may have had, away from Selena.
“Yeah . . . well.” Selena blinked rapidly a few times. “Blake keeps looking over here like he’s confused as to what’s happening.”
Selena crossed a leg over the other while she sat on her stool, swiveling it in either direction. Her eyes went over my shoulder
to the back corner where Francesca and Blake were with a few other guests. “He never was the brightest crayon in the box . . .”
I snorted a laugh. Blake was smart, graduated cum laude, but he had a tiny inferiority complex in his family since his brothers
were higher achievers than him. It was a jab Selena knew she could make but usually was too classy to. “Selena, you don’t
have to be mean on my account.”
“Either way, whatever that look is, you definitely got under his skin.”
She took another bite from the baguette.
“Yeah?”
I should have been happy with doing what I came here to do—maintain some semblance of pride and make Blake feel a little small.
I’d won.
But now that I’d done that, it felt hollow.
I felt a little hollow.
I reflexively checked my phone, hoping an invitation to interview for the Winthrop fellowship would give me the dopamine hit
I was missing from seeing Blake get jealous.
No luck.
“How are you doing?” I asked, hoping to push past that empty feeling.
“Perfect,” Selena admitted with a deep, shaky breath. At any given moment, it was like she was bursting with joy and wanted
everyone around her to feel it. Her eyes became a little glassy. “It keeps being . . .”
“Selena . . .” I leaned in. Selena was sentimental but not usually teary when she was happy.
“I’m a little emotionally overwhelmed in a good way.” She took another deep breath and blinked away the tears quickly. She
turned her attention back to me. “I didn’t think I could be this happy.”
I heaved a relieved sigh. I didn’t expect Selena to have second thoughts, but you never know. “You’re sure that you’re okay?”
Selena tended to stay pretty grounded when it came to keeping her feelings well contained. Lately, she was bursting with them.
She chewed her lower lip and grinned nervously.
“I’m pregnant,” she whispered.
“What?” My voice bounced around the demonstration kitchen. Probably the wrong spot to be told a secret.
Henry’s attention snapped back to Selena so fast it looked like reflex. All she had to do was give him a reassuring smile and his shoulders eased back down, the sharp lines that concern drew at the corners of his eyes softened.
“Sorry,” I whispered, giving what was probably a ridiculous smile to everyone who had turned to look at us.
For some reason the rule that we always repeated back to each other in college played in my head.
Have fun. Be safe. Don’t get pregnant.
In that order. Every time either of us had left the apartment we shared off campus. All of it crashed over me; how different
everything was. How distant the tide pushed us away from each other. How I was slowly fading into the background. It was a
good thing, a growing pain, but still pain.
She was getting married, starting a family, and I was on a completely different track. The inevitable conclusion was that
those tracks wouldn’t run parallel for much longer.
Right?
“We haven’t told anyone and it’s very early,” Selena explained in a hushed tone, watching my face for a reaction.
“And you have a reporter lurking around,” I added lightly, trying to shake off whatever I was feeling.
I glanced over my shoulder to see Malcolm and Austin entrenched in conversation—at least that was one thing I could still
do for my best friend. Or, in this case, Austin could do.
“Yeah.” She grinned nervously. “Thank you for keeping him busy. Voulez does seem to be holding off the paparazzi and it has been a huge relief to have peace. Especially now that I’m exhausted all
the time.”
My heart kicked at how adorably serious Austin took his charge to distract the reporter.
Austin was even taking Malcolm along to London with him to meet with his old football club.
Austin said it was his manager’s idea, but still, it was important to Selena, so it was important to me. And he was helping.
“And you’re feeling alright?” I asked, my mind switching into what felt like autopilot. The thing I was self-aware enough
to know I did, happened. When faced with emotions I couldn’t or wouldn’t understand, Dr. Isa took the wheel. “You’re resting?
You need to drink at least two liters of water a day. Pregnant women are at higher risk for kidney stones. You need to eat
folate-rich—”
“I’m fine. You’re starting to sound like Henry,” she interrupted. “Mostly, I’m just tired. I’ve been asleep for most of the
time we’ve been in Paris. I’m sorry we haven’t had a chance to gallivant the way we always planned to when we talked about
coming here in college.”
“It’s okay,” I blurted out in a whisper. We’d always talked about coming here and spending our days drinking wine along the
Seine and our nights partying. But we were older, and things were different . . . she had a whole family now, a full life.
“I’m happy for you.”
She was my best friend. My sister. I was happy for her. How had I not said that yet?
“I know.” She cocked her head; her brow scrunched, then released slowly. Her smile drew soft curves into her cheeks. “I think
Henry needs my help with the macarons.”
Selena hopped off her stool and walked over to Henry, who’d been doing the lion’s share of the work. She gave me a look to do the same with Austin, all playing into the act. So I took a few steps back to my workstation and moved some pots and pans around to make it look like I was helping.
“You’re suspiciously helpful when most of the work is done,” Austin pointed out.
“Perfect timing.” I swiped a finger along the bowl with one of the two fillings that we were making—well, Austin was making.
“Besides, I prefer cooking to baking.”
I licked the strawberry filling off my finger. Awareness prickled along my skin when I noticed Austin’s attention fixed on
me.
His throat shifted; he looked at the floor, then back at me.
“You mean the paella you never made?” Austin teased, casually.
“I’ll get to it eventually.” A buzz ran along my nerves at his smile. “So, how can I help?”
“Well . . .” He took an empty bowl and placed it in front of me, then moved around me, an arm bracketing either side of my
body.
His breath skated down the nape of my neck. “You can help with the last filling.”
With a hitched inhale, I tensed. “What are you—”
“Blake’s looking,” Austin noted offhandedly, his eyes still fixed on the instructions.
“Oh.” I swallowed against a dry throat. I did a quick scan around the room like I was looking for Selena. “Good eye.”
Austin didn’t move, still unreasonably close, his warm body looming behind me as he continued to read the recipe.