“Awww…” Brooke put her arms around Amandine. “I’m so sorry. I wish you’d told me.”
“I thought I could make him love me.” Amandine pulled back, sniffing a bit, and tossed her hair over a shoulder. “How do I look?”
“Absolutely fantastic. Let’s just, um, get you a tissue, though.”
Despite herself, Amandine laughed. “Okay.” She put on the dress and shoes Brooke had brought.
“And hey: no matter what happens, don’t let anything or anyone make you feel less than worthy. You’re a gem, Amandine. If Gavin can’t see that, pfft. His loss.”
With Brooke’s pep talk still in her head, Amandine arrived at the restaurant at twelve thirty sharp. The maître d’ took her to the seat in the back. It wasn’t as nice as the table she’d gotten for dinner, but it wasn’t terrible for a last-minute reservation. Gavin must’ve called in some big favors to get it—La Mer always had more customers than it could accommodate.
And it always helped when you were the best friend of the owner.
She requested a glass of OJ and glanced at her watch. It was white gold and encrusted with diamonds, a present from Gavin after he’d missed a movie night. Thankfully their date had been in their home theater room, so she’d been spared public humiliation.
Sorry, something came up.
Sorry, I can’t make it.
Priceless gifts always followed the excuses.
Had he been too busy for Catherine as well? Or was it just Amandine?
Before she could brood further, Gavin appeared. “Hey.” He took a seat across from her, his perfectly tailored suit settling over his body. The white silk dress shirt looked stark against the tanned skin of his strong neck. He looked like a pirate, of the very well-off variety. “Really sorry I’m late. Bad traffic.”
“Should be worth at least a sapphire bracelet,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Gavin gave her an odd look but didn’t probe.
The waiter brought a wine list and menu, and Gavin studied them. Her gaze fell on his left hand, and the breath caught in her throat at his bare ring finger.
“What happened to your wedding band?” she asked, unable to stop herself. Her voice was scratchy and hoarse.
“Lost it.” He looked up. “What do you think about—”
“How?”
“Eh?”
“How did you lose it?”
A frown scrunched his brow. “I was doing some garden work.”
“We have two gardeners.”
“No, in Houston.”
“What? Why? Catherine has gardeners too.”
“Actually, she fired them.”
“So you were doing landscaping work in her garden? On our anniversary?”
He nodded. “It was that or…”