“You had a three o’clock appointment today.”
“I what? I was a no-show?”
Rett nodded. “You sent your regrets.”
“Wasn’t that polite of me.”
“Emma, this is serious. I said I wanted to be present, but my attorney cautioned that if I am, it could come back to haunt us. I called him and tomorrow morning he—Boyd Clark—and his associate, Ms. Lynch, will come to the house and discuss what can be said in your statement.”
Closing my eyes, I moved my fingers to my temples. “Jeez, Rett, this is like I’m living someone else’s life. Shouldn’t I just tell the truth?”
“It’s very simple. Richard Michelson asked to speak to you regarding Underwood. That’s the case they’re centered on. What Boyd and Ms. Lynch will talk to you about is staying on topic. This isn’t a time for you to offer more than they ask for or for them to go on a fishing expedition regarding you, Kyle, Jezebel, or me.”
Before I could answer, the doors opened. Much as it had been at Broussard’s, this room was aflutter with servers. Our first course was delivered along with lengthy explanations of each dish. Royal red shrimp “chop” salad, smoked torchon of foie gras, and cauliflower soup.
Once we made our way through the cold appetizers, our plates were taken away and we were left with charred carrot agnolotti, warm-water lobster spaghetti, and crispy P & J oysters—which I was disappointed but not surprised to learn didn’t stand for peanut butter and jelly.
Our champagne was also replaced as glasses of different wines appeared. The waiter guaranteed each was the perfect pairing for that course.
Apparently, Rett hadn’t asked for two normal entrees. No, we were presented with small portions of pan-seared red snapper, seared lamb loin, grilled pompano, and roasted duck.
When the waiter returned to ask about dessert, I pleaded defeat.
“I really can’t eat another bite or drink another sip.”
“I can,” Rett replied. And by the gleam in his eyes and twisting in my core, I immediately knew that he wasn’t talking about strawberry shortcake or whipped chocolate ganache.
“Mr. Ramses, we would be happy to prepare a plate of all three desserts for the two of you to share.”
He lifted his hand. “No, thank you. I must agree with my wife. Dinner was delicious and we’re adequately full.”
“Coffee?”
Rett looked to me as I sighed. “Maybe at home?”
“Thank you. I believe we’re done,” Rett said as our waiter nodded and disappeared.
When he reached across the table, I asked a question that had been lingering in the recesses of my mind. “Are we here for us or to broadcast our marriage?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as his lips formed a straight line. “You’re very astute. You see, Restaurant August is not only delicious, it’s very popular. I had no desire to share you with the diners downstairs, but you’re right in that my plan included us being seen together.”
I sighed. “Thank you. You were right, I needed to get out of the house, and I’m glad my first excursion wasn’t to the police station.”
“Then you’re not upset that I spoke on your behalf to postpone your statement?”
“I’m not upset, but I would like to be made aware of my options before you decide their outcome.”
“I’ll admit that I was deterred from talking to you about it.”
“Deterred? By whom?” I asked.
“Ian may have conveyed that you were, in his words, nervous and anxious about leaving the mansion.”
Lifting my glass of ice water to my lips, I hummed. After my drink, I said, “I can’t be mad at him. He’s pretty intuitive.”
“More so than your husband?” Rett asked.
“A hundred times more.”