Leigh and Jethro pulled up to the fine dining restaurant with a slew of nosy reporters on their tow.
Another car with their bodyguards pulled up closely behind, five of the heavy-set men already flanking my sister and her husband's sides. I only sat at my table upstairs, in the private area, swiveling my wine in the glass, watching with a smirk on my lips. Jethro placed his hand on the small of Leigh's back as he ushered her past the doorman. No one saw it, but I did see when Jethro slipped the man a $100 bill, and the doorman's subsequent grateful grin at my brother-in-law.
As soon as they moved further enough into the restaurant to relax from the reporter madness, I dialed Leigh's phone. She picked instantly.
"Up, right across from you. In the private lounge."
My sister's eyes met mine instantly, and my breath eased up in my lungs seeing her tense shoulders unknot themselves at sight of me. We shared a quick smile before she dove for the stairs, leaving Jethro in the middle of the hall with hungry eyes—belonging to men and women alike— washing over him appreciatively as he settled the restaurant staff. Outside, my brother-in-law's bodyguards worked overtime curbing the sea of reporters and their vicious cameras.
Leigh finally got to me and raced into my waiting open arms. We sniffed each other, as we made a habit of doing since third grade when a huge thunderstorm caused a flood in our elementary school. Sniffing each other was a way of communicating to ourselves that we were safe and we were together.
"Oh God, these journalists never cease to drive me crazy!" Leigh began as she let go of me. She tossed her shoulder bag to the furthest end of the plush cushioned chair and snatched my wine glass. Red liquid trickled over her lips and down her throat as she chugged at it. I laughed and remembered she shouldn't be doing that.
"Careful, Leigh. You'll turn the baby into the sort of alcoholic Papa is."
Leigh gulped the final mouthful and sighed heavily. "They'll be fine," she said, looking around the table, I presumed, for the wine bottle.
I rubbed the back of her hands, sensing her frustration, and she sank into the chair.
"God, I hate snitches."
"You should."
"I can't believe that Barbie bitch!" Leigh said, sitting up straight and glaring into the distance. I too got piqued hearing the awful nickname of one of Leigh's supposed closest friends.
"I had no idea she'd do such a thing," I said, rubbing my sister's back.
"She should never have done such a thing. Rattling to reporters about a pregnancy I only just found out about weeks ago? Lovely fucking move on her part, Rixie. And for what? Two seconds of fame as a 'reliable source'?"
It piqued me too, but I knew commentary wasn't what Leigh needed. She needed to vent to someone she could actually trust. April would've killed to complete this trio right now.
"How are you guys handling it?" I asked, my thumbs circling soothing patterns on Leigh's palm.
"See, Rixie, that's the worst part! It's so stressful having to move these days, literally. Jethro has to pay people's mouths shut or suffer that."
We both stared at the increasing wave of reporters still shoving their cameras at the glass hoping for a peek at the city's hottest couple with a baby in their oven. This was vandalism, if you thought about it, and I baffled at how calm the restaurant staff and patrons were at the madness. Of course I didn't baffle for too long; the glass was soundproof and the lights had been dimmed, blinds drawn.
"God… God! This is so infuriating, Rixie. Maybe we should move temporarily? Just until the baby is born?"
I laughed as the second wine bottle came in Jethro's approaching hands. "With a rave like that, big sis, you'll need to stay away until the baby's like five."
Jethro settled in beside Leigh and adorned her lips with the third sweetest kiss I'd ever seen up close; the first and second being my parents' and grandparents'. Not even my endless string of flings had earned me such a giggle-worthy meeting of the lips. I looked into my empty wine glass, busying myself with aimless glances to the swirling red trickle at the bottom. My thoughts drifted to Roman, and in that instant, I slammed down on it. Not here, Erika. So not here.
Jethro did the honors of popping open the bottle and dunking half its contents into my glass. I glared at him and he winked, settling back down beside his wife.
"Cheers for two then," I said as I raised the overflowing glass to my lips.
"Ugh, but enough about me," Leigh started, jumping out of her seat again. I swallowed my drink hastily, damn near choking out my mouth's contents. "What's been up with you? I keep hearing things about you and one of Jethro's friends."
This time, I took the liberty to spit out the wine in my mouth. My red dress soaked instantly, and the splotches on the white table cloth deepened with my mortification. Well, isn't this just swell.
"Yeah, I did hear something of the sort. Roman, wasn't it?"
I grinned the fakest grin of all time at Jethro and proceeded wiping the stains off my dress. Funniest thing how this never occurred to me, Jethro and Leigh finding out. Roman and I weren't supposed to last past the first night after the wedding. As abiding by my principles, it should've been a thing of lust and very few strings attached. Lord knew I couldn't say it was the same thing now, at least not for me.
Leigh's eyes boring into mine didn't help either, while Jethro slouched on the lounge chair looking smug and annoying as all hell made me realize the first thing I should've thought of since I got involved with Roman. Jethro knew. Roman sure as hell told him.
"Rixie? Are you okay? You look pale—"
"Could you give us some space, Jethro? I need to talk to my sister for a few minutes."
Jethro lifted his hands in mock surrender, and my glare followed my irritating brother-in-law all the way out the lounge. By the entrance, I saw him engage in animated conversation with a waiter with a messy platter and another with a washcloth in the pocket of his vest.
"Hey. Rix. What's up?"
How did one tell one's sister that one was sleeping with—more than once, mind you—one's brother-in-law's good friend? To add to the dilemma, how did one tell one's sister that it began the night of said sister's wedding? I reached for my glass and downed the rest of the wine. My hands clasped at the bottle, and I slunk the dry liquid down my throat. I needed liquid courage, I decided, and fast.
"Jesus, Erika. Slow the frick down."
"One more glass."
"Sounds like one more bottle to me."
I thought for a minute, finger tapping on chin. "Yeah, that sounds better."
Leigh burst into laughter and trapped my hands as I attempted signaling the waiter. Her hand on my chin, she stared into my soul. Who had I been kidding? There was no way I'd lie to Leigh, not like this. But I knew the second I spouted the affair I was having with Roman, she'd see through those words, right into the one line of thought I'd been stopping myself from sprouting. If Leigh heard me talk about Roman and I's timeline, she'd know… and I had no idea how she'd take it.
"I'm so sorry, Leigh."
Leigh searched my face, no doubt catching the water pooling in my eyes. "Okay, you're really starting to scare the shit out of me. Whatever it is, just say it. I won't judge."
"You're sure?"
"I'll try."
My breathing hitched as I chuckled at Leigh's promise. Air evaded my lungs the longer I prepped myself to deliver the embarrassing news. Leigh, my ever patient big sister, simply sat by me, her hand clasping mine. It felt like love, Leigh's palm; like love and warmth and safety. If I was going to screw that up, I'd be a humongous fool until the end of time.
"I slept with Roman Wilder. I… have been sleeping with Roman Wilder."
Leigh blinked at me, then searched my face with frantic starts and stops on all corners. Her eyes pinned down on mine, completely void of emotion—the worst kind of look Leigh dished out.
"Since when?"
I gulped down hard, acid riding up my throat from my stomach. "Since your wedding night."