Page 31 of My Sexy Rival (Stars In Their Eyes 2)
“Interesting,” she said with wide and curious eyes. “Do I just give him a sharp no?”
I nodded with authority. “Yes. Or else you get a training collar.”
She shook her head, her eyes showing fear. “A training collar? Like the kind that pinches them? I don’t want to hurt him.”
“Of course you don’t. But you certainly don’t want him to get fat, either, do you?”
“That’s true. I definitely don’t want a fat dog,” she said with such supreme worry in her voice that it had to be genuine. We arrived at the house. “You were so helpful. Thank you.”
I let her go ahead of me, and when I walked through the door a minute later, I took mental photos of Chelsea Knox’s palatial and eco-friendly entryway, noting the solar panels high above in the arched roof and the furniture made from renewable materials in the living room. Next to the door was a table stacked with gifts. I turned sharply to my left, and into the first bathroom in the hallway. I closed the door quickly, locked it, and opened the wedding gift. I’d wrapped it TV-style, which meant I didn’t have to unwrap it. I simply lifted the wrapped top off the box.
Inside the box was my gorgeous camera. After setting it on the counter next to the sink, I put the cover to the gift back on. Next, I unzipped my purse, and retrieved the big makeup tub that had once held copious amounts of powder. Now, the makeup tin held the lens to my camera. I removed the lens and nested it on the camera. Then, I reached into the bag and yanked off the masking tape that had kept a circular section of fabric in place. As planned, there was now a hole in the side of the bag precisely the size and shape of the end of a lens of a camera. Carefully placing the camera inside the purse, I positioned it so the lens lined up with the hole. Then I took scotch tape from a zippered compartment and used it to re-tape the circle of fabric back onto the lens from the outside, so the bag wouldn’t look suspicious. Returning the scotch tape to the compartment, I double- and triple-checked the placement of the camera, then shut the purse and pulled it onto my shoulder, keeping the side with the circular, taped-on cutout against my body.
As I checked my reflection in the mirror, I noticed I was shaking. I took a deep breath, my shoulders rising up and down. The air filled my lungs, calming me. After several more breaths, I felt settled again and ready. I looked at my watch—1:39. Showtime was in twenty-one minutes.
Tucking the empty gift under my arm, I unlocked the bathroom door and nearly jumped when I opened it. William was waiting on the other side.
“You scared me,” I whispered, my heart pounding fast in my chest.
“Would you like me to take the gift for Ms. Belle and Mr. Bowman?” he said with an easy smile, one that suggested we were co-conspirators. “I can bring it to the table if you’d like.”
“I would like that very much.” I handed him the wrapped and empty box.
Then he scanned the hallway. Guests were still entering the house, so he leaned in close to my ear, so only I could hear. “I need to run. James has me doing a ton of stuff all over. But I can’t wait to see you later.”
“Me, too,” I said, then he turned away.
I walked to the backyard, wishing I could snap photos of everything along the way, from the back deck that wrapped around the house, to the yoga sanctuary beyond the deck, to the garden full of organic vegetables and fruit that Chelsea claimed to tend and harvest herself.
Instead, I was a good girl, and I headed to the folding white chairs set up underneath the tent and beside the mechanical koi pond. Standing vases of daisies and sunflowers, Veronica’s two favorite varieties of flowers, lined the aisles. A long white runner led from the back steps of the house all the way to the makeshift altar under the bamboo veranda where Sandy, the talk show host, would soon officiate. An usher led me to a chair about two-thirds of the way from the altar. I sat next to a woman in a red slinky dress and a man in khaki pants. I didn’t know them.
A string quartet by the altar played classical music.
I held my purse tightly and checked my watch. The ceremony would start in thirteen minutes. I looked around, trying to spot faces as the chairs filled up. Everyone looked vaguely familiar. Everyone looked vaguely pretty and reasonably attractive in a random sort of way. But no face stood out. No features brought instant recognition.
