A Brit on the Side (Castle Calder Book 1) by Brenda St John Brown Page B

already happened and nothing about it makes me eager to go. But I will. I know it. Because part of me wants to know if Scarlett’s right, and an even bigger part hopes so.

Chapter Twelve
    T he irony that I start the following day furious with myself after talking to Scarlett isn’t lost on me. Because the whole reason I’m pissed is a sideways glance in the mirror as I step out of the shower that catches my stomach bulge at the wrong angle and makes me look huge. As if that’s not bad enough, my favorite jeans hug my thighs in a way which will make it impossible for me to bend down without cutting off my circulation. By the time I peel them off, I’m nearly in tears. I’ve been eating more and running less, but I didn’t realize it had had such an impact. Worse, there’s no one to blame but myself.
    “It’s my fault. Your genes don’t do you any favors. Unfortunately, constant vigilance is the only solution.” My mother’s mantra as she sipped her diet cola.
    I imagine her catching sight of my tummy and the resigned look on her face claiming her share of the responsibility as I pull on a pair of linen capris with a babydoll T-shirt. To say it’s not flattering is an understatement, but at least it hides everything. I half expect one of the guests I pass to stop and ask me when I’m due as I stomp up to the kitchen. I almost hope they do.
    “Anger doesn’t help, you know. Turn it into action. Make it work for you.” Theo’s words in my head piss me off more than my own.
    By the time I shove the swinging door of the kitchen open, I’m itching for a fight. Lou is alone rolling out pastry on the countertop and she looks up, smiling, as I walk in. “You’re right in time. I did some garlic breadsticks for you and we got some chili oil in the delivery yesterday.”
    This is exactly the problem. I shake my head. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
    Lou’s eyebrows go up. Of course. Because when have I ever turned this down? Never. Even if I only have one, I always have one. “Are you feeling okay?”
    “Yep.” I go into the closet and grab an apron, tying it loosely around my waist. “So what are we doing today?”
    “We’ve got thirty-four in for dinner tonight, including three families with kids, so I thought we could liven up the kids’ menu a bit.” Lou starts rolling the pastry dough again. “We’ll keep spag bol, chicken nuggets, and fish fingers, but it would be nice to offer up something a little different.”
    This would normally be where I’d make a suggestion, since Lou’s been encouraging me to do more and more. She’s game to try anything, but insists I take the lead on both the prep and the cooking for the items I recommend. The first time it was overwhelming, but either I’ve gained some skills in the past couple of weeks or I’ve learned to suggest things I’m actually capable of making.
    Today, though, I don’t want to play and I shrug. “I don’t know. Whatever you think is fine with me.”
    Lou sets down the rolling pin. “I don’t mind if you don’t want to tell me what’s bothering you, but I do expect you to participate.”
    I’m pretty sure I’ve been told off and I’m still new enough here that it stings. I feel my eyes fill and I turn my back quickly so Lou won’t see, pretending to check the temperature on the oven. When I speak my voice is steady but too soft to be convincing. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep well. Um, let’s see. What would kids go for?”
    Lou doesn’t say anything and as I’m about to turn around to ask again, she’s at my elbow. “Let’s have a cup of tea before we start. You make it and I’ll get the biscuits.”
    Damn biscuits. Before my brain catches up with my mouth, my voice rises an octave and I say, “No. I don’t want biscuits. Or bread sticks. Or anything. That’s the problem.”
    “Biscuits are the problem?”
    “Yes. I mean no.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I can’t eat that stuff, or at least I shouldn’t. But I am and I