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"We would all be dead without her, and the wicked Boudreaux line would die out." She sighs, wiping her hands on the back of her jeans, and scoops up her drink. "Each funeral, she's there to hold the rest of us together."
"Speaking of which..." Remy straightens to address the business our discussion has reminded him of. "The funeral is Friday, the burial is Saturday, and the reading of the will is Monday."
"Monday?" I look between them, shocked. It’s only Saturday. Or is it Sunday now? The time change and jet lag has me all out of sorts. I don't even know how long I slept, but it doesn't feel like nearly enough. "As in next Monday?"
"Is that a problem?" Remy raises his brow and something about his severe expression makes my stomach tighten. Well, not just my stomach, actually. My whole body seems to clench under that cocky gaze, every inch of my skin buzzing with the weight of his eyes on me.
"I... I didn't bring enough clothes."
"Again, I repeat, is that a problem?" This time he smirks. If it’s possible, the feeling this time is stronger, like butterflies rushing through me and settling down deep. "I quite enjoyed you without clothes."
Oh, God.
I had been certain that he was going to ravage me on the kitchen counter last night—or was it this morning? Either way, the look in his eyes then had been the same then as it is now. Only now Rhea is watching. That fact dampens the need I feel for him, but doesn’t take it away.
"Well, I quite enjoy you when you're not here." I snap, blurting out the first words that pop into my whirlwind of a mind. It isn't a good comeback; I’m not even sure what it means. It certainly isn’t true, considering that every time he’s near, I feel like a live wire, full of energy and possibility. It’s a dangerous and delicious combination.
A devilish grin cracked his lips at the implications he’s making out of that, and I clench my thighs together, desperately trying to maintain my cool. Why is he so infuriatingly sexy? And even more to the point, why am I falling for it? His little looks and innuendos are prompting my body to react in ways that I don’t even fully understand. Yeah, he’s gorgeous, but why when he smirks at me, do I react like a trained monkey?
"So, we'll go shopping." Rhea decrees, drawing me out of the tailspin I’m headed in. It takes me a moment to remember what we’ve even been talking about, but it doesn’t matter because Rhea continues. "I've been working on an itinerary for us."
"An itinerary?" I repeat, uncertain I heard her right.
"How often do you go to Costa Rica?” She reasons. “There are a million things to do, and we only have a little over a week to do it. So, yes, I put together an itinerary. Is that okay?"
I show her my hands in surrender. I normally do the organizing and planning, but if Rhea wants to take responsibility, maybe it will give me a chance to actually relax during this trip.
Rhea prattles off a list of places she wants to go. I try to listen, but I’m acutely aware of Remy standing across the kitchen just… watching me. Every nerve in my body seems alight under his gaze, making it impossible to focus on anything. Fortunately for me, I don't have to pretend to be interested in Rhea's plans for long, because Elaine walks back in and musters a brilliant smile. "Sorry about that. I just got so overwhelmed all of a sudden thinking about everything. Fortunately, I always have extra onions on hand... and extra cutting boards."
"Thank you for handling everything, Elaine." Rhea sobers again at the mention of funeral arrangements. She wraps an arm around Elaine’s middle and rests her head for a moment on the older woman’s shoulder in a half-hug. Elaine pats her hand, unable to do anything else while in Rhea’s grip. "And thank God for leading you to us because we never would have made it this far without you."
"Well," Elaine smiles as Rhea pulls away, swiping at a tear under her eye. "Life has a funny way of working out sometimes. I'm making dinner in the slow cooker, so it will be a few hours until it's ready. I'm sure you're tired after such a long trip. Why don't you get rested and changed and maybe we can enjoy dinner by the pool tonight? I'll mix up some more sangria and then maybe margaritas to go with dinner."
"I like the sangria and margaritas part." Rhea muses.
"I like the part where I shower and get some real sleep." Just thinking about a real mattress with pillows and blankets makes me practically salivate. I shouldn’t have been too proud to lay down on the bed in the jet. In truth, I was tired enough that I could probably sleep anywhere. But if the guest bed is half as nice as the rest of the house implies, I’m sure I will finally feel alive when I get out of it.
And I’ll never take a sleeping pill from Rhea again.
"The whole way here wasn't enough for you?" Remy teases, eyeing me judgmentally .
"Not after you guys drugged me. I need a serious refresh after that."
"Fine." Rhea concedes, pouting a little. "But enjoy it while it lasts, because the rest of the week will be full steam ahead. Good?"
"Whatever you say, master." I laugh when her lips crack into a devious grin, pleased with my response.
"I'll show you to your rooms." Remy offers, setting into the hall before Rhea can finish saying that she knows where she’s going.
I follow them back through the hall and up the elaborate set of stairs we passed when we first entered. As we ascend the stairs, I find my eyes drawn to the dome ceiling, which is so clear it almost looks like there’s nothing there at all except for the swirling iron pattern surrounding all that glass.
I love that this place is so bright and cheery. The Boudreaux's Oregon residence is beautiful and large, but much darker, as if the house itself has absorbed all of the negative energies that have passed through their halls. And yet, as beautiful as it is here during a bright day, I can't help but imagine how peaceful it must be to sit beneath the dome and watch the rain fall above.
We are nearly at the top when I stumble and come close to falling down the staircase. Fortunately, Remy is paying attention. He steadies me with a strong arm around the waist before I can lose my footing. My skin warms beneath the thin layer of my shirt, acutely aware of how close his fingers are to the spot where I want to feel them.
I thank him without catching his eye, lest he see that the heat in my cheeks isn't just due to that misstep.
Rhea turns right at the top of the stairs, but Remy turns left.
