“I don’t know if I can do this,” I admit.
His hand finds mine at the same moment his door opens. “I’ve got you, shortcake.”
And before I can say anything else, he slides out. The moment he’s out of the car, he turns toward me and holds out his hand. I grab it, taking a deep breath and letting him lead me into his world.
52
CAMDEN
“I think my cheeks hurt from smiling,” Pippa whines next to me before taking a large gulp from the champagne flute in her hand. We stand off to the side of the dance floor, waiting for Beck and Margo to meet us before finding our table.
My eyes scan the room, looking for familiar faces. There’s an uneasy feeling in my stomach as I search for Daly. We need to have a conversation, but I have to find a way to do it without Pippa hearing. The pit in my stomach could also be from the idea of my parents being here. It depends on their mood if they show up to these events, and I hope tonight is a night where I get to avoid them.
I don’t want to introduce them to Pippa. They don’t deserve to meet the woman I love.
“If one more person asks if I’m pregnant, I might actually punch them in the throat,” Margo rants, walking up to us with Beck and Emma following closely behind.
“Want this?” Pippa offers, holding out her half-drank champagne glass.
Margo snatches it from her hand. “Thanks. I’ll need about five of these to dodge the baby questions all night.”
“Next time someone asks you if you’re pregnant, you should aim the question back at them,” Pippa suggests, a mischievous smile on her face.
Margo and Beck both laugh as Emma walks away to flag down a server with a tray full of more champagne.
“I might actually do that next time.” Her smile falters for a moment as she looks back at Beck. “There’s nothing I want more than to tell people we’re having a baby, but it hasn’t happened yet. And even if we were, I don’t feel comfortable telling people until we’re out of the first trimester.”
Pippa reaches out and squeezes Margo’s hand. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation. It’s nobody’s business. I’m sorry they’re asking you.”
“I told you we could avoid the press,” Beck offers, wrapping his arm around his wife.
Margo smiles up at him. “I don’t mind the press when they’re asking about our work or how much money we think will be raised for charity tonight. I just feel like the baby questions are out of hand.”
“Hold the champagne all night and people will stop asking,” Pippa adds.
Emma returns, her hands full of multiple champagne flutes. She holds them out to our little circle, each of us taking one. “Maybe we should just have you chugging from a bottle in front of everyone. That’ll make them stop.”
Everyone laughs. I hold up my champagne flute to declare a toast. “To the assholes who think they’re entitled to our business.”
“And to my rich friends who get me into these types of things,” Emma adds with a laugh. “Cheers!”
It’s quiet for a moment as each of us takes a drink. The champagne is bubbly and sweet as it goes down my throat.
Margo finishes her drink, turning to face her body toward Pippa and me. “Speaking of questions, how did your first red carpet go, Pippa?”
Pippa’s eyes widen as she lets out a slow breath. The exposed skin of her breasts moves with the breath, making me want to reach out and pop one of her perfect nipples free. Too bad there are too many people, and she’s making me wait to devour her until this night is over.
“It was actually terrifying,” Pippa answers with a resigned sigh. “They kept asking for my restaurant’s name as if any of them would have a clue about Wake and Bake.”
“Holy shit!” Emma calls, the back of her hand hitting Beck in the stomach with her sudden movement.
“What the hell, Emma,” Beck rants, giving her a look. She doesn’t notice it; she’s too busy looking at the grand staircase that leads down into the ballroom.
I follow her sight, catching on to what she sees at the same moment as everyone else.
“Is that Winnie?” Margo asks, completely shocked.
I squint my eyes, looking from the girls’ friend to Beck. “Is that Archer Moore?”
Beck watches the two of them with his eyebrows drawn in on his forehead. “It definitely is.”
We stare wide-eyed at Winnie, arm in arm with Archer Moore—someone Beck and I went to school with. And someone I thought Winnie’s family hated.