6 Gemma #2
“I’ve got it,” Hazel said, scraping her chair back. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, Candice. Girls, we’re gonna talk later,” she added, pointing at the twins. “I want to hear all about that cosmetics deal you landed. So cool! And you should come to the party tonight! You can post about it!”
Vienna shot Gemma a smug look as Hazel ushered Candice inside. Hazel had just undone all her edicts about not filming and posting with that one invitation.
Lincoln picked up a napkin and wiped his hands.
“Under no circumstances are any of the rest of you to try that swill,” he said to the table, going for a joking tone.
“You.” He turned to Grant. “You keep that stuff away from my guests. If you like it, you drink it. In fact, I insist you personally finish all six of those before my guests arrive tonight.”
Little did he know Grant had an entire case full back at the guesthouse.
Gemma had never seen Grant look so dejected.
Lincoln suddenly seemed to notice as well.
He clapped Grant on the shoulder and shook him a bit.
“It’s fine. It’s not like you came here to make bank on a liquor empire, right? We’re good.”
Then he turned and walked inside.
“So,” Grant said, smiling sheepishly at the group. “That went well.”
They all laughed uncomfortably as he sat down again, tucking his bucket of Shizzy’s under the table.
He pulled one out for himself and popped it open, taking a nice long swig.
Gemma could tell he was hoping that someone else would ask for one, but it didn’t happen.
He caught her eye across the table and gave her a sheepish look.
“So, Jemma, what do you do?” Marley asked, gamely picking up the conversation again. She speared a bit of potato salad with her fork and ate.
“It’s Gemma, with a hard G,” Gemma replied. “Not Jemma.”
“Oh, sorry, right.” Marley’s face flushed. She touched a napkin to her lips and swallowed. “My bad. Gemma,” she said correctly.
Everyone shifted uncomfortably. So . . . what? Was she supposed to just let them call her by the wrong name all week?
“I’m a book reviewer,” Gemma said.
“That’s cool. For what, like a newspaper or something?” Marshall asked.
“No, I freelance for the publishing trades. Mostly Publishers Weekly.”
“Oh. I’ve never heard of it.” Marley seemed suddenly uninterested.
“It’s really for people in the industry,” Gemma said.
“In the industry,” Suzy repeated with a light laugh. “You make it sound like you work in Hollywood.”
“No, it’s just . . . the book . . . industry.”
Gemma was really about to pack this whole thing in. Everyone she knew had heard of Publishers Weekly. The handful of authors she’d met at events practically fell all over themselves to get reviewed in PW. It was an important job. And Suzy, who didn’t even work, really, was laughing at her.
“Where are you from, Gemma?” Suzy asked. “You have such an odd accent.”
Florence scoffed, staring at her phone. “And you guys think I’m rude.”
“Florence!” Gemma admonished.
“What? If I said that to someone, you’d tell me I was being racist,” Florence said.
“She’s not wrong,” Vienna put in.
“Bet,” Florence said, and they knocked fists.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it that way,” Suzy backtracked, laying a hand out flat.
It made the size of the ginormous diamond on her finger look almost obscene.
Like a giant, sparkling spider perched atop the table.
“I didn’t mean odd. I just meant . . . I haven’t heard an accent like yours before. ”
“Girls, come inside.” Gemma stood up quickly and tossed her linen napkin on the glass-topped table.
“What? Why?” they asked in unison. An uncanny habit they had that was also “odd” to some people.
“Because I want to talk to you both.” Gemma felt herself trembling.
She didn’t really feel the need to admonish her daughters—because they were right—but she had to get away from this table before she burst into tears.
She was an adult woman, for God’s sake. She should be able to handle a little adversity.
But apparently, she was out of practice.
And after Grant’s odd and failed performance and now this little encounter, she was basically spent.
“Fine,” Vienna said and stood, followed slowly by her sister.
“I really am sorry,” Suzy said. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” Gemma told her with a tight smile. She wanted to say more, but she was worried that if she did, her voice would crack and her ruse of being a disciplinary parent would crumble.
As she strode toward the house, daughters in tow, she heard Grant’s voice carry over the yard.
“Gemma’s mother is from Louisiana, and her dad is from the UK,” he said in an almost stern voice.
“He worked for the British foreign ministry, so they moved around a lot, but she spent a lot of time in Switzerland, so she spoke mostly French outside the house. So yes, you’ve probably not heard an accent like hers before. ”
Gemma’s chest felt warm. Bless her husband’s heart. He always had her back. At least she had that going for her this week. She should have done more to help him with his pitch. It’s what he would have done for her.
It’s just a few days, she told herself as she stepped inside the cool, crisp air-conditioning.
Across the great room, Lincoln talked with a pair of women from the catering company, along with Magdelena, his staff chef whom Gemma had met when they’d arrived.
Trevor leaned against a wall nearby, texting on his phone, which seemed odd, considering how deferential the staff seemed to be.
Just a few days, and then you’ll never have to see these people again.
Except that wasn’t true. Because if things went according to plan this week, there would be no getting away from them.