Chapter 13
EMILY
“This was fun, right?” asks Angie, as we finish getting dressed after our workout and shower.
“Yep. It was fun. But next time …” I say, looking at the ridiculous pink tights. “I’d want to wear something basic and black. It was nice of you to loan them to me, but I felt like these tights made me the center of attention.”
As soon as I finish speaking, a girl across from us pipes up.
“It wasn’t the tights that caught everyone’s attention,” she says, resisting her friend’s attempt to quiet her.
“If you got something to say, say it out loud, so we can all hear,” says Angie, walking over to the girls with her hands on her hips.
Angie may be tiny, but she sure is intimidating.
“Didn’t you see Manhattan Social today?” says the blonde, turning her gaze from Angie to me.
“You’re Lorenzo Ricci’s new wife and everyone wants to take a look at you.”
“You’ve taken your look,” Angie says to the girl. “Now get out of our faces.”
The blonde doesn’t need to be told twice. She and her friend grab their stuff and move away.
“Man. Some people,” says Angie.
“Wait. Did Manhattan Social write about our wedding?” I ask her, remembering Anna looking up Lorenzo’s escapades online.
“Yes. But it will blow over by tomorrow, mark my words. I’ll take you back to your apartment.”
Once we reach The Circle Hotel lobby, Angie turns to me.
“We’ll do it again soon,” she says.
But before she leaves, the concierge calls me over.
“The Koko lunch club just called to confirm.”
“Confirm what?”
“Lunch at 12:30. Shall I tell them yes?”
I turn to Angie. “What’s this Koko lunch club?”
“Lorenzo’s favorite lunch spot. You’ll love it. It’s really a private club of sorts. Lorenzo goes there all the time. Food’s incredible.”
“I heard Manhattan has fabulous restaurants. Why does he visit so often?”
“Like I said, a ‘see and be seen’ kind of place.”
“But I don’t have anything to wear. Are jeans allowed?”
“Probably not,” she says. “Why don’t you wear that tweed suit you wore for your wedding? Gina said it was some classic designer suit …”
“Right. Christian Dior from back in the day,” I murmur. The lunch invitation from Lorenzo sounds like he’s offering a truce. And I haven’t really seen anything of Manhattan yet. Anna deserves some good gossip.
“Okay,” I tell the concierge. “Consider it confirmed.”
“Excellent. I’ll have the hotel car bring you there at 12:30,” he says.