"I'm the burger queen," she said flatly, taking Gwen's hand.
Gwen's brows furrowed. "Excuse me?" she asked, confusion wrinkling the polished veneer of her face.
Nita's eyes flicked deliberately toward the tabloid still sprawled on my desk.
It took Gwen nearly a full minute to catch on, her painted lips moving silently as she connected dots that anyone else would've gotten instantly. Sometimes I thought Gwen had traded half her brain cells for collagen injections.
"Oh!" Gwen finally mouthed, her eyes widening in belated recognition. "Well, nice to meet you," she added hastily, her smile brittle at the edges now.
"Gwen, thank you for stopping by," I said smoothly. "I'll see you soon."
Gwen huffed. She grabbed her designer bag, slinging it over her shoulder. Before stepping out, she gave Nita another once-over—less curious now, more competitive. Without another word, Gwen clicked her heels against the floor and strutted out, leaving a faint trail of expensive perfume and irritation behind.
"You look amazing," I said, letting my gaze linger just a second longer than I should have. The bun pulled her hair away from her face, sharp cheekbones softened by just the faintest dusting of blush. My mother must have bullied her into this look.
"And you've got great taste in women—the former beauty queen? Are you kidding me?" Nita said suddenly.
"Nita…" I tried to rein her in, but she wasn't done.
"I mean seriously. I could lick her skin." She smirked.
"Nita, are you gay?" I asked.
Her head snapped toward me so fast I thought she'd sprain her neck. "Uh… what?" She gave me an incredulous look, eyes wide as if I'd just suggested she moonlighted as a circus clown.
"I mean if you are, it's okay," I went on, trying hard not to laugh. "It's just… that would explain so many things. Like the way you flinch when I touch you."
Her brows furrowed in indignation. "Have you been drinking?" she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Come on, you can tell me," I teased, enjoying every second of her discomfort. She was fidgeting now, tugging slightly at her jacket sleeve.
"Richard, stop playing…"
"Okay fine," I said, finally letting out a laugh. "It just seemed like you were more attracted to her than I am." I leaned back in my chair, savoring the twist in her expression. "By the way, what are you doing here?"
"Your mum took me shopping and then made me play dress-up. I feel like a doll being poked and prodded. So I snuck out of the store while she was getting her hair done and found myself here."
I couldn't help but imagine it—my formidable mother barking orders at boutique attendants while Nita endured outfit after outfit under unforgiving mirrors. No wonder she escaped.
"I should probably head back before she gets a heart attack when she assumes I've been kidnapped," Nita added.
I studied her quietly. She joked, but there was vulnerability beneath her sarcasm. She wasn't used to this world—my world.
"You have to get used to it until the wedding," I said. "You're going to get lots of beauty treatments for the engagement and pre–wedding. If you're going to be officially introduced as a Numero-to-be, you're going to have to endure it."
Her sigh was dramatic enough to rival an actress in an old black-and-white romance film. "The things I go through for you…" she muttered, rolling her eyes.
"You can punish me later for it."
Her lips twitched into a wicked smile, eyes flashing with challenge. "You bet your sweet ass I will."
I raised an eyebrow, savoring the way her confidence surged in those moments when she forgot she was supposed to feel out of place in my world. But just as quickly, she ruined it with a playful scoff.
"Oh, grow up!" she said.
*****
I arrived that evening at my parents' house, bracing myself as though I were about to enter a battlefield. In a way, I was. My mother had a way of turning even casual dinners into campaigns of social engineering, and with Nita in her sights…well, may the gods of patience grant her mercy.
Laughter and voices carried from the drawing room. When I stepped in, I found Nita already seated, her back straight, her hands folded too politely in her lap.
Across from her, Mrs. Williams—her mother—sat in perfect harmony with mine, both women hunched over glossy bridal magazines. Pages rustled, jeweled fingers tapped against paper, and every so often a delighted gasp would erupt as though they'd discovered treasure.
They didn't even notice me enter. They were in a blissful world of satin gowns, diamond tiaras, and impossible floral arrangements.
Nita's gaze flicked to me the second I stepped inside. Her eyes widened, almost comically, as if she'd spotted a rescue ship on the horizon. Her lips formed a silent, desperate plea: save me.
I smirked, deliberately shrugging my shoulders. My little rebellion earned me an exasperated glare from her, but it only made me want to laugh.
I cleared my throat loudly, enough to startle the two women out of their glossy reverie. "Hi," I greeted, forcing casual warmth into my tone.
Mrs. Williams looked up first, her face breaking into a smile. "Oh, great, you're here. I have been waiting for you."
"Oh, shoot me," I grumbled under my breath, but of course not low enough that Nita didn't hear. Her shoulders shook with laughter. She was positively delighting in the reversal of power. For once, I was the one trapped, the one cornered.
"Don't look at me like that," she said. "I'm actually enjoying this. Instant karma."
I sent her a glare that should have cut her down, but instead only made her grin widen.
"I scheduled you both for your engagement photo shoot," Mrs. Williams announced proudly. "And I need you to look at some colors and designs for you. We have only tonight. The costumer will have yours ready as soon as you pick something."