Page 335 of Face Off

I look toward the empty corner table, then at the narrow one beside the kitchen doors where servers move through every few seconds.

“No.”

Bliss stops hugging the album against her chest. Aura slowly removes her sunglasses.

The maître d’ blinks. “Excuse me?”

“We reserved that table. You confirmed it this afternoon, and it is currently empty. We brought large albums and specifically explained why we needed the space.”

“I understand, but—”

“No, you understand that inconveniencing us seems easier than risking the possibility that someone more important might arrive.” My voice rises enough that two people near the bar look over. “We are not sitting beside a swinging kitchen door because a fictional party may become larger. Honor the reservation.”

His face reddens. “There’s no reason to raise your voice.”

“There was no reason to ignore me when I used the quiet one.”

Aura presses her lips together.

Bliss looks delighted.

The maître d’ stares at me for several seconds before collecting three menus. “Right this way.”

He leads us to the corner table.

I sit, place my napkin across my lap, and find both women watching me.

“What?” I ask.

Bliss lowers the wedding album. “Who are you?”

“I’m conducting an experiment.”

“Is the experiment getting us banned from restaurants?” Aura asks.

“The experiment is doing what suits me.”

Bliss looks toward the maître d’, who is speaking furiously to a server. “I love this experiment.”

“I don’t,” Aura says. “I respect it, but I need warning before Charm starts verbally pistol-whipping employees.”

I open the first album. “Sorry. I’m only doing what suits me.”

Aura’s eyes narrow. “That apology sounded remarkably unapologetic.”

“It was.”

Bliss starts laughing loudly enough to justify the maître d’s concerns about seating us near other people.

The next morning, a customer enters my boutique with her husband. She tries on a fitted emerald dress and spends ten minutes pulling the fabric away from her stomach while he informs her that the color is too loud and the cut makes her look heavy.

She returns to the fitting room twice.

On the third attempt, she asks what I think.

I look at her reflection. The dress fits properly, the color makes her skin glow, and the only ugly thing in the room is her husband’s expression.

“I think you look beautiful.”