Page 144 of Clinically Delicious
“Of course,” Gabriel said smoothly, shaking her hand like we hadn’t just been in the middle of a cleaning apocalypse. “This is my wife, Cate.”
Wife.
He said wife.
I’m his wife.
His fake wife, who’s about to get his daughter taken away because I built a teepee in the dining room.
“Mrs. Lyon.” Ms. Rodriguez shook my hand. Her grip was firm. Professional. The grip of someone who was about to judge every single aspect of our lives and find us lacking.
Her hand was cool and dry.
Mine was definitely still sweating.
She noticed.
She’s making a mental note right now.
“Subject has sweaty palms. Clearly guilty of something.”
“Hi!” My voice came out too loud. Too bright. Too much like someone who was definitely hiding something. “It’s so nice to meet you! We were just—we were just—”
Think, Cate. Think of something normal.
What do normal people do on a Tuesday afternoon?
What do normal people who aren’t hiding a craft store explosion do?
“—enjoying the weather!” I finished. “It’s such a beautiful day, isn’t it? We were actually just commenting on how nice it is. The weather. Today. Right now. This specific weather that’s happening.”
Gabriel’s hand tightened on mine.
Not a gentle squeeze this time.
More of a “please stop talking”squeeze.
“It is lovely,” Ms. Rodriguez agreed, glancing at her clipboard. “Shall we go inside?”
NO.
ABSOLUTELY NOT.
Not until Fitz stops breaking things.
“Actually,” Gabriel began, and I could hear the calculation in his voice, the careful strategy, “would you mind if we chatted out here for a moment? Cate was just telling me about some concerns regarding the neighborhood, and I thought you might have some insight.”
What?
What concerns?
What the hell is he talking about?
I don’t have concerns about the neighborhood.
My only concern is the disaster inside the house!
Ms. Rodriguez looked between us, her pen poised over her clipboard. “Of course. What kind of concerns?”
