Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7)

Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7) Page 131

In short, I think it unlikely that your mother-in-law is related to Darth Vader.

All my best wishes and may the Force be with you.

Best,

Mack Yeager

President, SWGS

STAR WARS GENEALOGY SOCIETY

We’ve arranged that Elinor will come to the house at 7:00 P.M., and by ten to seven I’m swigging wine, trying to stay calm. I never knew being a peacemaker would be so nerve-racking. Does the Dalai Lama get this stressed out before he spreads peace throughout the world? Does he apply his lip gloss three times because he gets so flustered? (Not very likely, actually.)

At least Minnie went to bed without a fuss, and the older children are happily watching Wall-E. The intervention should be over by the time they have to go to bed. Or I suppose it should. How long does an intervention take?

Oh God, why did I ever decide to do this?

On the plus side, the intervention room (i.e., kitchen) looks brilliant. I’ve lit about twenty candles for a mellow, calming atmosphere, and I’ve got soft music playing, and I’m wearing a green dress, which is very soothing. At least, it would be soothing if it weren’t for the fact that it cost me $280 last week in Intermix and today I saw it marked down to $79.99! They could have warned me. They could have given me some secret sign. That assistant must have been laughing her head off as she wrapped it up.

Anyway. Never mind. Luke doesn’t need to know all of that. The point is, the room is ready and I’m ready and now all we need is for Elinor to arrive. I can’t pretend I’m not tense. And I can’t pretend the atmosphere isn’t tense. I keep glancing at Luke, wondering how he’ll react.

He’s sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a beer, and his face is resolutely turned away from me. As I look at him, I feel a kind of plunging inside. We aren’t right. We aren’t us. It’s not that we’ve rowed again—it’s almost worse. We’re not making proper eye contact, and neither of us has mentioned our talk this morning. The only time I’ve seen Luke smile today was earlier on, when he was on the phone with Gary, his colleague.

Gary is in New York right now but flying back to London tomorrow. They were talking about the Treasury meeting, and Luke seemed all fired up. He kept dropping in “Number 10” and “policy,” and I could tell his brain was whizzing with ideas. He kept laughing at things that Gary said, and he seemed in a better mood than he’s been in for days.

I really, really hate to say it … but I think the truth is that high finance suits him better than movie stars.

Dad is still out, which I’m a bit relieved about, because he’d only want to join in the intervention and start telling Elinor she’d be a nice-looking girl if she’d get a bit of meat on her bones. And I haven’t heard from Suze since I saw her this morning, except for one text asking me to pick up the children from their activity clubs. I know she came back to the house earlier, because Mitchell told me. Apparently she was still with Alicia and still looking for Tarquin. She went round the house, yelling, “Tarkie! Tarquin, where are you?” and then she drove off again. That’s all he had to say about Suze. He then proceeded to give me a full report on all the security breaches he had identified that day (two, both consisting of the little boy next door throwing his Frisbee into our garden).

I think Mitchell will be glad to leave. He was so bored today, he mended our barbecue, which he showed me proudly. I didn’t even know it was broken, to be honest. In fact, I must tell Luke.

“By the way, Mitchell mended the barbecue,” I say, awkwardly breaking the silence.

“I was going to do that,” says Luke at once, his jaw tight. “You didn’t have to ask Mitchell.”

“I didn’t ask Mitchell! I didn’t even know it was broken.…” I trail off, in slight despair. I’ve got to get him in a better mood before Elinor arrives.

“Look, Luke …” I bite my lip. “Are we OK?”

There’s a pause, then Luke raises his shoulders in a shrug. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this!” I say in frustration. “Not looking at each other! Being all prickly!”

“Are you surprised?” says Luke heatedly. “I’ve spent the day managing fallout from Sage and Lois’s stunt. A job which might have been easier if I’d known all along that it was a fake.”

“Shhh!” I say, glancing at the open door. “Jeff might hear!”

“Right at this moment, I couldn’t care less who hears,” says Luke curtly.

He looks totally fed up, and I know a lot of it is my fault.

“Luke, I feel really bad for you,” I say, reaching a hand out to his. “And I’m so sorry. I should have told you about Sage and Lois when you asked. But please look at me.”