She Was Never Just the Billionaire’s Wife (Natasha and Chase) novel Chapter 162

(Eleanor)

I’ve been at the Polo Lounge for forty minutes when Natasha walks in.

I honestly didn’t expect her to come.

I sent the note three days ago.

Delivered by hand, because I don’t entirely trust email.

And if my daughter-in-law wanted to tear it up I wanted her to do it with stationery in her hand.

The note said I would like to take you to lunch on Wednesday at the Polo Lounge. I will be there at one regardless.

She didn’t reply.

I sat in front of my mirror this morning for fifteen minutes deciding whether to come.

Eventually I let the driver know to have the car ready by twelve so I could be here by twelve-thirty.

Now I’m sitting here drinking a sparkling water instead of the crisp Chablis I really want.

It’s not appropriate to drink alone in public at any time of day.

I can see my reflection in the mirror opposite me, and I’m becoming increasingly sure that the pale blush jacket I’m wearing doesn’t flatter my collarbones.

I’m hating every second of all of this.

She arrives at ten past one.

She’s wearing high-waisted, wide-legged pants with a red viscose top.

I decide to ignore the fact that she’s wearing flats to a restaurant.

It’s not worth starting hostilities over and I must admit she looks rather radiant.

She crosses the patio and slides into the chair opposite me without breaking eye contact.

"Eleanor."

"Natasha."

"Sorry I'm late. The valet was being theatrical."

"They are. I tip Hector, it speeds things up."

"Hector."

"The taller one. The one with the mustache."

She looks at me.

"You’ve memorized the Polo Lounge valets by name."

"I have lunched here for thirty years."

"I’m aware you are but they’re-."

I can see her brain catching up with her mouth in real time and the decision she makes not to complete that sentence.

It would have implied that I see staff as being beneath my notice.

I can’t begrudge her belief that I’m a snob.

I treated her a bit like the evil step-mother in Cinderella after all.

“It’s nice that you know them by name,” she says, changing tack.

I take the win and smile magnanimously.

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