Chapter 7

Darcy studied her nails, the shimmer on them quite pleasant in the romantic glow of the restaurant. The clientele cast glances her way and smiled when she met their eyes. She offered the correct level of smile in return: long enough to appear genuine but never long enough to invite conversation. Nerves swirled in her stomach, but she knew she’d made the right decision. Susannah needed her to make a good decision.

“Sorry, traffic was a pain in the ass.” Zoë grinned as she leaned in, planted a smacker on her cheek, and plonked down into the chair opposite Darcy. “What happened? Another one get ditched?”

Darcy leaned onto her elbows, then stopped. Manners—where were her manners? She dropped her hands to her lap. “Gerrard was very nice.”

Zoë pulled a face, her shaggy flicked-out hair perfectly highlighted, her eyes glinting with irritation. “Not good. I know most think he’s hot but…eh.” She wagged her hands around, her diamond-encrusted ring sparkled in the light. “He looked…dull, but at least he wasn’t a jerk like Marshall.”

Zoë was right. She’d always been right. It infuriated her at the best of times. Now she half wanted to stomp off, but then Zoë would stomp right after and cuddle it out of her.

“He was.” She tapped her nails to her wine glass. “He was dull, Marshall was dull. Why are they so dull?”

“Um, asking the wrong lady here.” Zoë flashed a cheeky smile at her. “Or did you forget the babe at home?”

Darcy waved it off. “She just has a huge glittering light over her label.”

Zoë pursed her lips. “She wears tracksuit pants around the house and eats Jell-O by the bucketload.” She picked up the menu, scanning down it. “I find her onesie hot.”

Laughter burst out before Darcy could clamp her lips together. “Yes, well…she models underwear in such a way that…I imagine anything would look good on her.” Bitch.

Zoë studied her, then flicked her gaze back to the menu. “I’m starting to think you believe that shit you spout on TV. If I didn’t know you, then I might think that and wonder if you’re hiding something.”

“It’s not shit,” she whispered, hiding her mouth with her hand. This was why meeting Zoë in public was treacherous. She wasn’t shy of saying how she felt in public places, out loud, at high volume. “It’s about helping women reconnect to themselves.”

“It’s about making you look good and pretending that a label fixes everything.” Zoë leaned in, her dazzling wedding ring glinting again. “And it’s based on flawed research, honey, and you know it.”

“Then why are you using my guides to design your shows?” Darcy sat back with a grin. Oh yes, she knew those lines. She knew that Zoë loved a sharp look.

“Oh, the design part is perfection.” Zoë tapped her hand and waved her menu in the air. “How long does it take to get a drink around here?” She threw both hands in the air and clanged a fork to Gerrard’s empty glass. “It’s the odd psychology you have going on that confuses me.”

“Women need to change, and they don’t want to make the effort to do so. I help them find something more exciting in their lives.” She was doing a good job. Countless women had emailed and tweeted and written to say so. “They feel good when I dress them.”

“Uh-huh.” Zoë’s eyes twinkled with a twinkle she didn’t like. What was she thinking? When she had that look, it meant being humiliated. As if yelling for the waiter wasn’t humiliating enough. “You feel good when you give women something exciting?”

Now she made it sound seedy. “Clothes.”

“Right.” Zoë let out a huge burst of laughter and slammed the table with the empty plate. “I read your book, honey.” She rolled her eyes. “And we both know you’re hiding a whole lot more.”

Darcy scowled at her. “You keep that silent.”

Zoë laughed even louder. Now the staff were glaring. “Now why would I do that…?” She tapped her finger to her lip. “How would I think you could be hiding something?”

“Fine.” She had to give Zoë something, or she’d just raise the volume. “It was the buzz of the show.”

“Or the buzz of androgynous style.” Zoë wagged her ring-laden finger through the air. “I kept your confidence.”

“Yes, but you have held me hostage with it ever since.” She picked up her menu and slapped Zoë’s hand. “And will you desist with the waving. Everyone knows you have the ring on. We know. Let it drop.”

“Spoilsport.” But Zoë did put her hand down. “I wear men’s jeans.” She frowned. “I look good, and the boyfriend look is hot right now.”

“Hot? To whom? You’re different. You know how to accessorize.” Zoë had always been unique. It worked for her. Designers did as they pleased anyway.

“Yes, but I am offended.” Zoë grabbed her by the scruff and planted a smacker on her lips. “So if you mention butch and manly as a threat one more time, I’ll dig out some photos.”

“It isn’t a good look.” She held up her hand. Let’s hope no one inside had a camera. If they did, she was suing. She was. She would sue Zoë too. Was she flushed? “I don’t care what you say. Who finds androgynous attractive?” Oh, now the manager was coming over. That was it. They’d be done for lewd conduct. “I don’t care if it’s men or women looking… It’s not.”

Zoë raised her eyebrows.

“Get over yourself.” She flapped the napkin around.

Zoë leaned back and grinned up at the manager who stopped next to their table. “You taking my order, honey?”

He straightened his tie, and Darcy put her head in her hands. Every time. Did Zoë know how many restaurants they’d been banned from? Darcy could go there alone, but not with Zoë. At this rate, they’d have to meet at a café, and then what would the press say?

“Ladies, please could you keep your behaviour to yourselves?” the manager said in a stuffy English accent. “We run a distinguished establishment.”

“Nope.” Zoë flicked her menu around. “If I’m thirsty, I just get louder.”

He glanced around, then looked Zoë up and down. “I’ve called your chauffeur, Ms McGregor.”

And there it was. Ejected. Every flipping time.

“Why? You don’t do lesbians?” Zoë scowled up at him and said it at high volume until every face was watching. Oh wonderful. Make a scene. That would help.

The manager eyed her. No, he clearly didn’t like lesbians or loud people or maybe women. He’d been delightful until Gerrard left but then ignored her. Nothing like some prejudice to keep a girl humble.

She pulled out her phone. She could deal with that. “I am tweeting about our treatment. Think it’s only fair that people know who serves them food.” She winked at Zoë. “I think your treatment of my dear friend is deplorable.”

The manager held up his hands. “Now, Ms McGregor…”

“And…posted.” She stood up and held out her hand to Zoë. “Hashtag discrimination.”

Zoë stared at her but followed as she led them out to her chauffeur. London was full of Valentine’s Day couples all trying not to get in trouble for forgetting.

“No bawling at me for getting us thrown out?” Zoë whispered as they got into the back. “No, ‘why do you have to flaunt yourself’ again?”

“I’m your…friend. It’s my job to stick up for you.” She met her chauffeur’s gaze in the rear-view mirror. “Home.”

He nodded and screeched them out into the building traffic. Why was Zoë still staring?

“What?” She concentrated on the statues and crazed drivers navigating Hyde Park Corner.

“You’ve never stuck up for me before.” Zoë shifted in her seat to stare. She knew how much that grated. Why did she need to do it? “You’d have socked me one for kissing you in public before.”

Her chauffeur looked focused on the road as if he were deaf. Good man. “You didn’t kiss me, you merely smacked me on the lips. Kissing is gentle, loving, not an assault.”

Zoë bellowed out a laugh. “Then you’ve forgotten how to do it right.” She winked at the chauffeur, whose lips twitched in a smile in the mirror. “Anyway, it worked. You’re taking me home.”

“Susannah misses you for some reason. Can’t imagine why.” But she could feel a smile tickling at her lips. Zoë had something not many people had. “And it’s about time you paid a visit to your daughter.”

Zoë grinned. “Oh, I get that title back now?”

“You always had it. Stop being a baby.” As if that would have ever changed. Yes, it was a problematic issue publicly when Zoë had married another woman. Personally, she hated the idea, but…Zoë needed stability. Her wife, as suitable as she was aesthetically, balanced her. Was that the right word? Yes. Before, Zoë would have thrown things, ranted, got violent. Balanced, yes, that was the perfect word.

“Either way…thanks.” Zoë whispered it and cuddled into her arm, much like the homesick child who’d huddled with her in their photoshoots.

She tensed, then sighed and relaxed. “You’re welcome.”