Kelsey lifted her eyebrows. So Maile wasn’t here with Kade. Wyatt’s smile faded as if this was disappointing news.
Kade shrugged. “Maile’s girlfriend apparently keeps things neater at home and doesn’t snore. Though, honestly, I think she’s making the snoring thing up. She can’t possibly hear that all the way on the other side of the suite.”
“Believe me, when you’re up sick all night with food poisoning, you hear everything,” Maile said then sipped her water.
“Maile had the unfortunate luck of eating at the wrong restaurant on the main island before we got on the boat. She’s been knocked down with food poisoning for days.”
“All these weeks I’m counting down to get to see this damn island. And boom, I get here and end up worshipping porcelain.”
“Oh, no,” Kelsey said, her sympathy honest. She’d gotten food poisoning a few years ago and the misery had been second only to detoxing from heroin.
“Oh, well,” Maile said, flipping her long bangs away from her face. “It was a helluva way to lose a few pounds, but at least I was able to get into this dress tonight without a crow bar.”
Kelsey laughed.
A waiter stopped by and poured wine for everyone, iced tea for Kelsey. After Kade took a sip of his Chardonnay, he nodded at the other seats. “So what’s with the empty table?”
Wyatt glanced at the few people still straggling in. “Who knows.”
Kelsey frowned. She knew Wyatt wasn’t saying anything because he didn’t want to share her secrets in front of Maile, but both of them deserved to know. If Kade and Maile were going to sit with them, they needed to be aware it could affect how the others looked at them. She looked to Kade. “People talked. They know I’m not a debutante from down south. And my guess is that most are assuming I’m a hooker who Wyatt paid to come with him.”
“Fuck,” Kade said, scowling.
“So I won’t be offended if y’all want to sit somewhere else. I don’t want either of you suffering the social stink eye because of me. I know you’re here for business connections.”
Kade sniffed. “Screw that. Let them think what they want, judgmental bastards. Half of them probably think I’m fucking my assistant, so what does it matter?”
“That’s acceptable, apparently,” Wyatt said, leaning his elbows on the table. “But not being a trust fund baby? That’s a cardinal sin.”
“Mind if we join you?” a male voice asked.
Kelsey turned her head, surprised to see Ferris and Mrs. Pritchard standing there.
“Absolutely,” Wyatt said, standing up to help Mrs. Pritchard with her chair.
Mrs. Pritchard made a show of arranging her elaborate sparkly gold dress before settling in her chair. She sent Kelsey a sly smile. “I overruled Ferris on the outfit tonight. I couldn’t pass this one up. I feel like the sun.”
Ferris patted his mother’s shoulder before taking his seat. “She just wants everyone revolving around her.”
Introductions were made all around the table, and Ferris made drink orders for him and his mom. Kelsey shifted in her seat, not sure how to approach the new visitors. They’d been friendly with each other since that first night and she’d grown to like the quirky mother and son, but she had no idea if either of them had heard the gossip or not. The thought of lying to them made her nauseous. They’d been nothing but kind to her, and now she felt like an impostor.
But before she could even formulate a plan, Mrs. Pritchard pinned her with those heavily shadowed eyes. “So the idiot mill is saying you’re an escort. Please tell me which imbecile started that so I can hit them with my heavy purse.”
Kelsey’s throat went dry. “I, uh . . .”
Ferris put a gentle hand on his mom’s wrist. “Mother, please.”
She waved him off. “Don’t manage me, Ferris. There’s no one in this room who can convince me Wyatt paid Kelsey to sleep with him. First of all, have you seen Wyatt?”
Ferris coughed and went red at the same time.
“Exactly. As if he’d have to pay for a girl . . . or a guy,” Mrs. Pritchard said with a curt shake of her head as she turned back to Kelsey and Wyatt. “And second of all, I see how you two look at each other.” She tapped her temple then pointed at them. “I’ve been in the wedding business long enough to know when there are real feelings there.”
Kelsey stared at her in stunned silence for a moment, then managed a feeble reply. “I’m not an escort.”
“Of course not, darling,” Mrs. Pritchard said kindly. “I didn’t believe that for a moment.”
“But I did lie. My last name is LeBreck, not Adams. I’m not from a wealthy family,” Kelsey said, feeling compelled to be honest with the woman who’d shirked off gossip without doubt. “And I have things in my past I’m not proud of.”