Free Glamour by Louise Bagshawe Page B

is the party costing?” Paulie asked suddenly.The figures . . . they didn’t add up. He suddenly had a dry mouth. His business brain was stuck, like a slow computer dragging—he just couldn’t process this.
    “Why?” Mona asked innocently. “We haven’t had one this year. . . .”
    “No. I know.” It hit him that he didn’t want to know the answer.
    “Well, Feliz was a hundred fifty . . .”
    “Thousand?”
    Mona laughed. “I love it when you make a funny, baby, you crack me up.”
    “I like to see you smile,” Paulie responded mechanically.What had he thought the party would cost? With fireworks fit for a county park, fairground rides, a private zoo, party designers on an 8 percent budget, and the best of everything, it would be plenty.
    No way would he get out of this for less than a mil. Judging by past triumphs—one point five.
    He didn’t blame his wife. It was just her talent. She was a world-class expert on spending cash.
    And up until two weeks ago, Paulie Lassiter had loved it.
    “You okay, Paulie? You’re looking kinda pale.”
    “I’m fine.”
    “If your tummy’s bothering you again I can get you some Pepto-Bismol.”
    “Nah . . . I think I’m gonna go into the office,” he said.
    There had to be some mistake.What he needed was an hour with his accountants, and his lawyers. Maybe fire some of these dumb-ass executives, if they were dumb-asses. Starting to look like they might be crooks.
    But he, Paulie Lassiter, was in the clear. He hadn’t done anything wrong.
    He tried to calm the churning in his stomach by reminding himself of that. And anyway, Saturday was the party. His wife would expect him to be upbeat.This was only the second major party he’d given for Sally—her sweet sixteenth!
    It would be a golden moment and worth every damn penny.
    The reckoning could come later. A couple days would make no difference, not right now.
    Sally’s party. Sally’s day.Whatever he did in life, it was for her.
     
     
     
    “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?” Aisha asked nervously.
    “Of course.” Ali gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “She’s ripe, you know it.”
    “But to force her . . . what if he’s not the right boy? We brought her up here, darling. Sent her to that school . . .”
    Ali’s face darkened. He wasn’t sure if that had been the right move. Helen was growing too bold, too rebellious. Of course he wanted a spirited daughter, but not one who would defy him.
    “I never met you, ” he reminded his wife. “Aya Muna set us up, if you recall.”
    She smiled. “Yes. And I didn’t want to marry you.”
    He scooped her up and nuzzled her ear. “I wanted you, though.”
    “Because you came to my father’s house and climbed up the olive tree by the garage.”
    “It’s true.” Ali was proud. “Had to scope you out.”
    She had been so beautiful, his young bride, her raven hair flowing loose over her beige cotton dress with embroidered sleeves, hanging out the wash on the line her mother had strung up. He had wanted her instantly, felt his destiny calling. “I won you over.”
    Aisha blushed, remembering her wedding night.
    “That’s right, sweetheart.”
    “The old ways are the best ways.We’re not doing this to Helen, we’re doing it for her.Think of that—her happiness.Why should young ones make their own choices? Who says they have any idea how to do it? All these American marriages ending in divorce . . . how many ex-wives do you know, stuck with babies?”
    Too many. Aisha nodded.
    “In the end . . . it is the solemn bond, the friendship that wins through.We are doing what’s best for our little Haya.”
    Aisha smiled. He had rarely called Helen by her original name since they’d landed in America, six years ago.
    “Ahmed lands tomorrow,” she said, reassured by her husband.
    “Good.That is the day of her big party.”
    “He can take her to it!” Aisha suggested brightly.
    “I don’t think that’s the best idea.” What if Helen had