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I move to get out of bed, but Lorenzo grabs my hand and yanks me back to him. I land on his chest with a thud. “Can I do anything to assist, mia rosa?”
I smile. Sweet, sweet man. Sexy, luscious, naked man.
No, I don’t have time for that. Not even a quickie. Besides, my pussy probably needs a break, at least for a few hours, to recover from last night.
I shake my head and press a kiss to his full lips. “Thank you, but no. I’ve got this.”
“Of course you do.” He is sure, certain, with utter faith in me. “I’ll see you tonight because the true craziness begins tomorrow with the rehearsal dinner.”
He’s right. Tonight will be our last chance to be together with any hope of alone time. Tomorrow’s rehearsal dinner will require both of us to work all day, and then Saturday’s wedding will be a madhouse of a day.
“Definitely.” One more kiss and I’m up, running to yank on black pants, a black polo, and black flats. It’s not couture, but it’s functional for my work, allowing me to go unnoticed as I hustle and bustle around to set and reset flowers.
“Janey!” I call out, my hand on the door.
She appears at my side, her hair slicked back and dripping wet in contrast to my excessively messy bun. Desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess.
I open the door, ready to roll, but find a surprised Emily standing there with her fist poised to knock. “Oh! Abi! You scared me!” she says, laughing as she grabs at her chest.
“Emily?”
I do not have time for this right now. Whatever this is.
“Yeah, uh . . . hi! I wanted to talk to you for a second.” Her smile is warm and friendly. I don’t trust it. Don’t trust her.
But manners are so ingrained in me, even when they’re the false-sweet kindness of a cutting barb like my mom’s sweater set and pearl set is skilled with, that I can’t say a flat-out no. “Maybe later? I’m kinda running out right now.”
That gets Emily’s attention, and her eyes flash from me to Janey in our pseudo-matching all-black attire, to the open bedroom door behind me. I know without looking that Lorenzo is quite visible if he’s still in bed.
“Hi, I’m Emily Jones.” She introduces herself to Janey and holds her hand out.
Janey shakes the offered hand, but Emily’s handshake is more limp-wristed finger touching than an actual shake. “Janey.”
Fuck, I love that girl. She doesn’t give anything away.
“And you are?” Emily prompts. She’s testing to see if Janey is someone she should know, maybe if there’s some way Janey could help her on her way to wherever it is she thinks she’s going.
“Masseuse,” I say off the cuff, thinking that there has to be some reason for Janey to be in mine and Lorenzo’s honeymoon suite.
“Threesome,” Janey says at the same time.
“What?” Emily is back to holding her chest—or more likely, her invisible pearl necklace—in shock at Janey’s statement.
Oh, shit. I’m totally tongue-tied and am about to blurt out something else—anything else—when Janey says something even worse. “What, you’ve never had a threesome before? I could give you my card if you’d like.” Janey looks Emily up and down with open appreciation.
“Really?” Emily asks, looking at me with newfound . . . something. “You kinky bitch!” She laughs, smacking my shoulder.
“She’s not serious,” I lie quickly. “She’s an assistant of sorts.”
Emily’s face pinches as though that’s considerably less desirable than Janey being part of a three-way with me and Lorenzo. “Yeah, I guess being an Andrews comes with privileges, doesn’t it?” She laughs as she says it, almost like she intends it to sound complimentary, but it definitely does not. She sounds jealous and catty again.
“Look, I’m sorry, but I’m in a rush this morning. Can we talk later or something?” I have no idea what she might want to discuss. There are no good old days to relieve, no axes to bury, no friendships to reignite. I’d honestly be happy if I never saw her again.
But that won’t happen.
She’ll be at the country club, at the charity functions Mom holds, and at every schmoozing elbow-rubbing opportunity back home.
Fuck.
That hits me like a train. I’ve been faking this honeymoon all week with Lorenzo thinking that once I get home, I could just pretend like this never happened. But I will see Emily on occasion. I’ve avoided her over the years, but our social circle is small and gossipy. She’s going to realize that I don’t have a new husband by my side at the next red-carpet event.
What am I going to do then?
“Oh, of course,” Emily agrees easily, which makes my skin crawl. I don’t know what she wants to talk about, but as she hair flips and walks down the hall, I feel like she got more than she came for.
