“Someone must have told on you,” Gretchen said. “How fun.” Her voice was flat.

She had to agree—the restaurant was busy, but it wasn’t a hotspot for celebrities or the upper crust. They’d picked it because it had good food and a good location close to shopping. The fact that Sebastian’s mother had shown up here told Chelsea that she’d been waiting to ambush Chelsea in particular. And since she had Lisa in tow? Chelsea could just guess what this was going to be about.

“Oh, look, it’s my new daughter-in-law,” Mrs. Cabral said with a fake sweetness. She arched an eyebrow and gestured at the small table occupied by Gretchen and Chelsea. “Room for more company? We’d love to join you.”

Chelsea opened her mouth, then gave Gretchen a helpless look.

“As long as you don’t film me, I’m fine with that,” Gretchen said.

“No, we’ll crop you out of the shot.” She snapped her fingers at the cameramen. “Not the disheveled one.”

Lovely.

“You heard the woman,” Gretchen said, eating another forkful of salad. “Not the sexily disheveled one with the billionaire fiancé that likes to sue people.” And she gave them a sweet smile.

“Definitely don’t film the disheveled one,” Mrs. Cabral said in a low voice.

The waiter rushed over, a worried expression on his face.

“Oh, good, you’re here to get us chairs? We need four of them. One for me, one for Lisa, one for my purse, and one for Raquel here.” She kissed the tiny dog’s head.

“Actually the only animals we allow in the building are service animals,” the waiter said. “You’re going to have to remove it from the premises.”

“She is my emotional service animal,” she said in a snotty voice and gave him a challenging look. “Chairs?”

The man wavered, and then pulled a few chairs from a nearby empty table, crowding them around Chelsea’s tiny lunch table. Well, then. Guess that was decided.

Mrs. Cabral sat down with a flourish, and the cameras circled around their table. Chelsea pushed her soup away. Did she think she had no appetite before? She was really done now.

“I’m glad we found you,” Mrs. Cabral said. “We need to talk. What did you say your name was again? I feel as if I need to stop calling you ‘whore’ since you’re not divorced yet, and ‘gold digger’ sets a bad tone for the conversation.”

Oh, lord. “Chelsea.”

Gretchen’s eyes went wide and she forked another mouthful of lettuce into her mouth.

Mrs. Cabral sniffed. “Yes, well, I’m here to mediate between you and Lisa, since you stole her man and my son refuses to meet up with the family to discuss this in a sane manner.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Gretchen muttered.

“Is this the time that I get to point out that I’m not a whore and we signed a prenup? I don’t want Sebastian for his money.”

Lisa began to sob theatrically, taking one of the napkins from the table and dabbing at her face. Gretchen’s eyes got even wider and she continued to chew, fascinated.

“Did you know we were together when you stole him from me?” Lisa asked, her tearful voice sad and small. Her over-inflated lips were hot pink and looked ridiculous on her narrow face. They matched her skin-tight bandage dress, though.

“Actually, Sebastian told me he hadn’t seen you in two years.”

“He lied, he was with me last night.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible, since he was in bed with me,” Chelsea refuted. Sure, most of their time in bed together last night was a pillow fight and nothing sexy, but she was starting to get annoyed at the sob story that Lisa was trying to spin for the cameras.

“Oh, snaps, this is getting good,” Gretchen said, forking another mouthful of salad into her mouth. Her gaze went from Chelsea to Lisa again.

Lisa’s face was blotchy and her lashes were starting to clump. “He was with me—”

“He wasn’t, so why don’t you try another tactic? Or am I going to have to endure more of this good-cop-bad-cop thing you two have going on?”

Both women bristled.

“Now listen here, whore,” Mrs. Cabral began. She leaned in and her little dog yipped. “Let me tell you—”

“No, let me tell you something,” Chelsea said, getting to her feet. “You interrupted a lunch with a friend of mine so you could film a scene for your show. You want a scene? Don’t call me a whore. I’m your new daughter-in-law and you’re going to have to put up with my ass every holiday until the end of time, so you’d better get fucking used to it. Now unless you want me to start calling you ‘Granny,’ you’ll quit with the name calling.”

Mrs. Cabral gasped. So did a few people at nearby tables. Someone tittered.

Actually, it was probably Gretchen tittering.

Chelsea opened her wallet and threw a few twenties down. She slung her purse over her shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse us, my friend and I are going to finish our shopping trip.”

“That’s right,” Gretchen said loudly as she stood. “We’re going to the sex store.”

Lisa burst into new tears.

Mrs. Cabral stood up, seething. “You’re not worthy of calling me Mama Precious.”

Chelsea kept her expression calm. “That’s good, because I didn’t plan on it, Mrs. Cabral.”

“I want you to divorce Sebastian. You’re not good enough for him.”

“It’s not about what you want,” Chelsea said. “It’s about what Sebastian wants.” She grabbed Gretchen by the arm and all but dragged her out of the restaurant.

By the time they made it out to the street, she was seething. And, okay, a little hurt. Who did that woman think she was? How dare she dive-bomb Chelsea and try to get a scene on camera for their stupid show?

And worst of all, she thought Chelsea wasn’t good enough for Sebastian? That stung, mostly because Chelsea worried about the same thing.

She was a girl who brought nothing to the relationship but a fucked-up head and an inability to have sex. Didn’t Sebastian deserve better than that?

On that front, she worried that Mrs. Cabral was right. Maybe he would have been better off with Plastic Lisa.

“Come on,” Gretchen said, tugging Chelsea down the street. “I see that rage-face you’re making, and you know what would fix that?”

“Chocolate?”

“Well, I was going to say ‘handcuffs at the sex store’ but I’m down with chocolate.” Gretchen brightened and steered her toward a bakery.

“What about your diet?”

“I’ll start it again tomorrow.”

*   *   *

Several hours later, Chelsea returned to the town house with a few bags of purchases. She had sexy lingerie, a vibrator, handcuffs, and flavored lubricant. It had taken everything she had to convince Gretchen not to buy her one of everything so she could “explore her feelings.” Really, she just wanted to throw all of the stuff back into the bag and chuck it.

But she had to try and work through things, didn’t she? She owed Sebastian that much, she supposed.

You’re not good enough for Sebastian.

Damn it. Now she was going to see Mrs. Cabral’s sour face in her mind every time she thought about Sebastian. She pulled out the handcuffs and considered.

Was Gretchen right? Was she going about this all wrong and needed to explore fetishes? Did she need to masturbate more? Did she need to reawaken herself before she could expect Sebastian to “awaken” whatever it was that was dormant inside her?

She sighed, frustrated, and hid the purchases in the top drawer of the dresser. Why couldn’t she just kiss a man like a normal girl and hope for the best?

The thought bothered her even as she headed up to the spare bedroom she’d set up as her soap-making shop. Normally she was excited to get a few designer soaps from other stores. She studied the ingredient list and the scents, and tested the texture of the soap and how long the lather and the fragrance lasted. But today, she was distracted. Soaps held no fun for her.

She kept thinking about Sebastian. And she kept thinking about her “problem.”