Wasn’t a fan? Not according to Catherine. Arissa’s expression was not lost on anyone when Hyacinth said, “You talked to Catherine.” She wasn’t asking.
Arissa took another long sip of her wine because she felt like a tennis ball being bounced back and forth across the net. From the way Catherie talked about Phoebe, she was prepared to have the woman sainted. To hear she wasn’t a fan of Phoebe’s. What the hell.
“What did Catherine say to you?” Maureen asked.
“That she was the love of Hank’s life.”
Silence followed her announcement before Maureen broke it. “They were intense. He loved her,” Maureen said, looking around the table for agreement. “But the love of his life. I don’t think I’d go that far.”
“No ma’am,” Millie agreed.
“Looks like over protective Catherine strikes again,” Hyacinth said into her glass.
Overprotective was one thing, but telling Arissa that Hank’s old flame was the love of his life…that was something different. If these women suspected something brewing between Hank and her, the rumor mill was surely buzzing about it too, so Catherine would have known the impact her words were going to have on Arissa. Why would she do that? After two glasses of wine, it was hard for Arissa to really put effort into answering that question. What Arissa didn’t have any problem focusing on, the thought that brought a lopsided grin to her face, was the idea that what had started between Hank and her had been exactly what it had seemed. Mutual.
“What the hell is that look for?” Hyacinth demanded.
Arissa almost jumped up from her spot. The station house was right across the street. Was he there? They needed to talk, but not with two glasses of wine moving through her blood stream, so instead of acting on instinct, she reached for her glass.
6
Arissa’s head was pounding and her cell was ringing. Reaching for it, she wasn’t sure if she was going to answer it or toss it across the room. She didn’t know how much she had drunk last night. She only remembered ordering two glasses of wine, but she’d been drinking all night…wine just magically appearing in her glass. At least after the fifth glass, it sure seemed that way.
Grabbing her phone, she didn’t even bother looking at the screen before she answered and growled, “There better be a dead body.”
“There might be if you don’t get your ass to Charleston.”
Dmitri Russo. The best photographer in the country, arguably the world but Arissa was biased because she had known him before he was The Dmitri Russo. Even with the headache, she smiled. “What’s happened?”
“Danielle is having a coronary. The yellow for the estate spread is marigold not buttercup. Instead of dahlias, peonies were delivered and they’re peach not pale pink. I could go on, but you get the gist.”
Danielle McHugh was a layout artist. Similar to those artists who arranged hamburgers for fast food commercials. The images on the screen staged…the dew dripping off the tomato courtesy of a spray bottle, the red of the tomato painted to look brighter, the lettuce perfectly peeking out from the sesame seed bun that had additional seeds glued on it. Danielle staged scenes for the magazine, creating picture perfect images. The thought had Arissa thinking about Hank’s house. Danielle wouldn’t be needed for that spread. And it was thinking about Hank, that she remembered her conversation with the Belles. Her mind was fuzzy from the alcohol and still excitement coursed through her. She had been misled about the importance of Phoebe to Hank, and by his own mother. Why? She needed to talk to Hank because she’d shown hesitancy to him because of Catherine, but she wasn’t at all hesitant about them. She was all in.
“How desperate is the situation?” Arissa asked, as she threw her legs over the side of the bed. She could stop by the station on the way to Charleston.
“Defcon One,” Dmitri replied.
“Damn it,” Arissa mumbled as she rooted around her drawer, throwing panties and bras on the bed. “I’ll be on the road in an hour.” She moved to her closet and randomly yanked out clothes. “Distract her. Take her to Pierre’s. I’ll pick up the bill.”
“Really?” Interest in Dmitri’s tone. Pierre’s was one of Charleston’s fastest rising restaurants, given a solid boost from a spread done in Southern Charm. “The things I’m asked to do,” Dmitri teased. “Get here, but don’t be reckless. I can keep her calm for a few hours. Several stiff martinis will help too.”
“You’re the best, Dmitri. I’ll see you soon.”
Arissa hurriedly showered and dressed. Packing a bag for a few days since it was anyone’s guess how long it would take to get everything settled. Locking up, she hurried down the front path to her car, dropping her bag in the backseat before sliding behind the wheel. She reached the station in record time. Had the man she was coming to see witnessed her driving, he’d be writing her a ticket. Pulling up to the curb, she parked but didn’t jump out. All the rush to get out of the house, she hadn’t given herself time to think about what to say. Her heart was pounding but it had less to do with the problems awaiting her in Charleston and more to do with Hank. She didn’t really want to bring up his mom, even though the more she thought about the conversation she’d had with Catherine Weathers, the more annoyed she grew. What she wanted was for him to know she had no reservations about continuing what they’d started…talks on his porch, dart games in his barn, nights in his bed, mornings in his kitchen. She just met him, it was crazy that she felt so much so soon, but she knew what she was feeling was real. Smiling to herself, she decided that was the best way to put it. She climbed from the car, smoothed down her black pencil skirt. Her white
