“I’m fine,” I say, patting my belly, silently begging my body not to pull another stunt like that until I’m safely tucked in the maternity ward at Honey Hollow General Hospital and amply pumped full of enough narcotics for me not to notice.
Noah Corbin Fox is a dark-haired, green-eyed stud, with dimples and a body built for fighting off the bad guys. Up until a few weeks ago he was working as the lead homicide detective for the Ashford County Sheriff’s Department.
And Judge Essex Everett Baxter has black hair, demanding blue eyes, and a face and body sculpted by the masters. He’s slow to smile and quick to elicit the attention of everyone with a functioning pair of ovaries, as is Noah. And sadly, they’ve both been suspended from their prestigious positions for reasons I’d rather not think about right now.
“Okay, gentlemen,” I say to the two handsome steeds by my side. “We’re going in.” They’ve both donned dark suits with glossy dark ties as if they were headed to a funeral. I found a plum-colored beaded gown that ties off in the back and actually accentuates my curves—not necessarily a good thing in my condition, but I do feel fancier than I’ve felt in months. “Is there anything else I should know before I get thrown into the deep end of the Fallbrook social scene?”
“Yes, Lemon. You should know that the only reason we’re here tonight is because Wiley Fox orchestrated this entire event almost two decades ago before robbing my mother blind and taking off with as much of her fortune as he could get his greedy little hands on.”
Noah nods into the admission. “And don’t forget he promptly faked his death.” He shakes his head. “Sorry again. I have a feeling I’ll be apologizing for that man for as long as I live. And I’m sorry to you, Lot. Not only has my father resurrected himself, but he’s set his destructive sights on your mother.”
“Don’t apologize for him.” My blood boils just thinking about Noah’s jackass of a father.
It’s no secret that Noah and Everett went to a fancy private school. In fact, Everett attended Piedmont, an exclusive boarding school, for a while until his mother married Noah’s father and the two families attempted to meld together.
The unholy union didn’t last long as Everett just mentioned. Wiley Fox, Noah’s wily father, took off with as much of Eliza Baxter’s fortune as he possibly could and then proceeded to fake his own death. He’s back now, alive and well and wreaking havoc in Honey Hollow—latched onto my poor mother, of all people.
Anyway, Eliza plucked Everett and his sister, Meghan, from their fancy boarding school and enrolled them into Fallbrook Premier Academy so they could be with their new siblings, Noah and his brother Alex. And so basically it is all Wiley’s dumb fault we have to subject ourselves to this night of torture.
Initially, both Noah and Everett rejected the invitation to attend tonight, but once my shop, the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery, was invited to cater the desserts, they heartily agreed to join me in the endeavor.
“There is one more thing you should probably know, Lot.” Noah chuckles to himself as we reach the entry to this glitzy palace. “See this gaudy spectacle parading around as a humble hotel? Your husband happens to own it.”
“What?” I shriek as I give Everett’s arm a tug. “Is this true?” I have it on good authority that it could be. Almost all of Eliza Baxter’s wealth comes from the fact she’s a hotel heiress.
“It used to be.” Everett winces. “Come to think of it, this might still be one of our holdings. My mother did a little fancy footwork with some of the properties a while back. I’ll have to revisit the portfolio.”
Noah huffs. “I’ll have to revisit the portfolio,” he mimics before chuckling. “See that, Lot? He’s keeping things from you. Did you sign a prenup?”
“I don’t think so.” Last year I could have given a far more definitive answer, but the baby has been nibbling on my brain cells as of late, so there’s that.
Noah leans my way. “Play your cards right and this place can be yours. And if I play my cards right, this place could be ours.” He waggles his brows, and I give him a playful swat.
We step into the glamorous hotel, with its glossy white marble flooring, dark mahogany covered walls, and enough chandeliers to ensure the blind can see. But distracting from all the opulence are the gorgeous women in ultra-short glittering gowns showing off legs for miles, bosoms for days, and enough cosmetics on their frozen faces to outfit the makeup counter at the mall. Let’s not forget their purse puppies. About every third woman here is holding a tiny cute pooch in the crook of her arm as if it was the latest fashion accessory. A few men in dapper suits roam the vicinity as well with a smattering of salt and pepper hair, and more than a few have bloated bellies and wrinkles. It’s easy to say that the women all look a heck of a lot more well-preserved than the men in this scenario.
Both Noah and Everett are in their mid-thirties, with Everett being a year older. I’m in my late twenties, but with my creaky joints and body as limber as a tree trunk, I feel about a hundred as of late. Make that two hundred since technically there are two of us residing in my body.
The women here all look impossibly thin. It’s a phenomenon I’ve noticed ever since my body has morphed into a beach ball to accommodate this sweet little sugar cookie in my belly. I’ve pretty much gifted my child the equivalent of an Olympic-sized swimming pool to move around in, mostly in part to my obsession with fried pickles and just about anything else
