Page 57 of Bishop's Queen

The music shifted, and the emcee bound onstage and took the mic. “Welcome to the International Blogger Awards! The Bloggies! The world’s most exciting, most daring, most enigmatic people are in this room! And tonight, we’re going too…”

Salad plates were collected, and Ella sipped her water, ignoring the wine. Maybe that would help. The room was uncomfortably warm. The smell of dinner was uncharacteristically robust.

Bishop leaned close. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she whispered, rubbing her temple.

His arm draped over the back of her chair. She liked having him around her, but at the moment, not so much. Her clammy, sweaty hands were back. Maybe her dress was too tight. She couldn’t think. Her head spun, and it wasn’t her schoolgirl crush on Bishop that had her feeling queasy.

“So dig in to dinner—one that is worthy of a few blog posts and videos! We’ve done our best to create a great show for the people who know entertainment. As you watch the best video bloopers the Internet has to offer—”

All around them, waiters emerged with giant slabs of meat on large sticks. The crowd oohed and aahed at the visual delight. Each waiter was partnered with another, carrying the equivalent of kitchen swords.

The aroma hit Ella like a tsunami. Where was Tara? How hadn’t she known this was coming?

“Oh…” Ella gagged quietly and queasily, turning into Bishop.

Right now, she needed him to fortify her, protect her from this as much as from the stalker. It was a reaction she couldn’t help, and he wouldn’t understand. But it was visceral. She took mouth breaths to avoid the smell. The taste plastered itself to her tongue. This wasn’t good.

“Bishop,” she whispered, faltering in her seat.

He leaned closer. “You doing okay?”

“Yes, of course.” Even though the answer wasabsolutely not.The smell of animal flesh that had been seared, seasoned, sliced, and skewered made her ten shades of woozy. He wouldn’t understand, and now wasn’t the time to explain. “But…”

He took her hand, and she tried to focus on how large it was, how protective the gesture. She squeezed it, and her eyes shut, feeling a migraine coming on yet knowing that she needed to make it through this award dinner. Eco-Ella had come too far.Shehad worked too hard. And tonight, she wanted to nab every award she was nominated for, including Best of Bloggers.

This was work. Mister Rough Around the Edges had manned up and put on a tuxedo, and the mental picture of that first image was deliciously scored into her mind. That was what she would concentrate on.

“Hey, Ella.” Bishop leaned forward, and his hot breath on her ear should have done something magical. But it didn’t lessen the urge to vomit. “You’re not looking so hot. I mean, you’re hot. Just that—are you going to hurl?”

“Maybe.”

A waiter with a tower of meat walked to their table, gesturing for them to choose their fresh cuts.

“Please make him go away,” she begged.

Bishop waved the waiter off. “We’re good, thanks.”

But the others at the table weren’t clued in on her problem. They laughed and took pictures of the offerings. One wanted “the rarest” part. Another, not so much. Ella’s head spun, and with a shaking hand, she reached for her water.

“Ella?”

The waiters and their chunks of meat left. The scent, the sight—everything—was like nails on a chalkboard except it made her ill. How had Tara not known?

Then it hit her. Of course Tara had known. But Ella wouldn’t have come if she’d known the meal was going to be a show centered around skewered meat, and Tara knew that.

“Ma’am,” a waiter said. “Your vegan option.” He placed a plate in front of her. “Sir, did you order that too?”

Bishop shook his head. “No.”

“We missed you? So sorry!” Looking flustered that there was a problem at the VIP table, the waiter turned, hissing, “Over here.”

“No, it’s okay,” Bishop said.

The other waiter with a skewered slab spun from the table behind them, making a genuine apologetic face—and he tripped. As he dropped to his knees, the skewer fell, and a bright, bloody piece of meat slapped on the table between Bishop and Ella with such force that juice splattered all over her.

Her stomach roiled. Ella pushed out of her chair and bolted, needing to run from the red flesh and wash it away.

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