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Shit.
“Yeah,” Dimitri shrugs. “We’re old acquaintances.”
“Huh,” Rhea muses, studying his face. “Small world.”
“Small world, indeed.” Elaine says. “Why don’t you all sit, and I’ll start getting everything set out for you?”
Dimitri and Michael move as one, boxing Wes in so that he’s forced to take the chair between them, opposite the one that Rhea pulls out. “Bring a plate for yourself, Elaine.” I call after her.
I can’t imagine Claire will actually come to dinner, so if Elaine sits next to my sister, I can sit at the head of the table, a last line of defense in case Wes tries to make a move.
“So,” Wes’ voice, whiny and high pitched, pierces the silence that’s fallen around us in the split second since Elaine left us to take our seats. He’s grinning like a cat who ate the canary and hasn’t been caught. “Where’s Claire?”
I open my mouth, prepared to tell him that Claire is feeling a bit under the weather, but it’s not my voice that draws everyone’s attention.
“I’m right here.”
Chapter fifteen
Remy
Fuck.
She doesn’t look ‘under the weather’ at all.
In fact, other than the night I met her shimmying out of her dress, she’s never looked better.
Her blonde hair has been swept off her shoulders, leaving her neck bare. The tops of her breasts are on display, held together by a tight red top, lacy and vintage looking—it showcases the light pink scar running between them, still healing but far less severe than her other injury on the top of one. It follows the curve of her breast perfectly, and I have the strangest desire to run my finger over it, to press kisses along that scar, to soothe it with my tongue.
More than the bright dress that hugs her every curve and betrays a hint of her thigh behind the slit, she looks amazing. The dark circles are gone—maybe just covered by makeup, but not so much that it covers the freckles dusting her nose. Her eyes pierce through me even though she’s not looking at me, the blue made brighter by the dark fringe of her lashes. I knew Claire was naturally beautiful, but seeing her all done up like this, I realize that’s not all she is. She’s dangerously sexy, and something in the way she walks toward us tells me she knows it— maybe not always, but definitely right now.
“You sexy bitch.” Rhea says, her jaw hanging open. “How do you look better in my clothes than I do?”
Claire laughs, slinking into the seat right next to Rhea—directly across from Wes. I’ve practically forgotten he’s there, I’m so enamored with her, but the reminder smacks me right in the face when she looks him square in the eye and bats her eyelashes. “Wes.”
“You’ll have to keep that dress.” Rhea says, oblivious to everyone around her holding their breath, tense with the possibilities of what this dinner will entail. “I can’t bear to put it on again knowing I won’t do justice to it.”
“It’s some dress,” Wes concedes, allowing himself an appreciative look at her. “You’re a vision, Claire.”
Claire smiles at him knowingly, not looking the least bit uncomfortable. They’re watching each other like they want to devour one another, a notion that doesn’t sit well with me. She can’t seriously be attracted to him after what he did to her. Can she?
Elaine rushes back in, placing empty plates in front of our ‘unexpected’ guests and setting one for herself on Rhea’s other side. “Red or white wine?” She asks, glancing around the table. “I just opened a bottle of each.”
“Actually, Elaine,” Claire smiles when my housekeeper turns to her. “I’d love to pop that bottle of prosecco.”
“Champagne?” Elaine sounds surprised.
“We’re celebrating.” Caire nods. “And as the toast giver, I’d like to pop the cork, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” Elaine waves a hand, dismissing Claire’s concern, and promptly leaves the room.
“What are we celebrating?” Rhea asks, her eyes bright as she leans into her best friend.
“You’ll see.” Claire promises.
We don’t have to wait long, because Elaine comes around the corner in the next instant with the bottle in one hand, four long-stemmed flutes in the other. She sets them down, preparing for another trip to gather the rest. Claire wastes no time tearing the foil off the neck of the bottle, unbothered by all the eyes on her as she works.
Rhea tenses when she presses deftly against the cork, and a moment later it flies across the table with a resounding pop!
