That conversation is not over, Sutton
Aggravation and exasperation rolled through her. The message was very in line with the short conversation she and Layla had had the previous night, before she’d left, when Layla had stormed into the kitchen, just out of earshot of Lucy and Charlotte, and Sutton had followed her, feeling a combination of trepidation and annoyance.
“Are you okay, darling?” Charlotte asked from behind her, her voice that slightly slow, sleepy timber, her Southern accent more pronounced.
Sutton loved that. She always had.
Her heart fluttered with it, which she did her valiant best to ignore, as she turned to look at Charlotte.
Charlotte was propped up on her elbow, dark hair cascading down to Sutton’s pillow, arching a questioning eyebrow at Sutton, even as she still had a crease from the pillow on her cheek.
She looked unquestionably cute, and Sutton couldn’t help but smile at her in spite of the text. “Good morning. I’m sorry—did I wake you?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No. I just woke up, but I could feel that you’re… tense,” she settled on, frowning at the word as she lightly stroked her hand, where it lay on Sutton’s hip.
She hadn’t realized quite how tense she was, but Charlotte wasn’t wrong. She deliberately took in a deep breath, holding it before blowing it out and settling down into the bed.
The tension admittedly was still present, but it felt slightly better, snug in her bed with Charlotte’s attentive, concerned eyes on her.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” Charlotte asked, her gaze flicking to Sutton’s phone, which was still clutched in her hand.
Sutton knew she should say no. She knew that she shouldn’t open herself up like this to Charlotte. Sheknewshe should keep these parts of herself separate. She knew she was only making things more difficult in the long run if she didn’t.
But it was Christmas morning. And she didn’t have her daughter. And she had Charlotte in her bed. And Charlotte had shared herself with Sutton, emotionally and physically, in the last twelve hours in ways Sutton could have never dreamed of. In ways that sheshouldn’tdream of.
But the words escaped her because she just wanted it to all be simple. To beeasy. Maybe she could let it be easy, just for now. “It’s Layla.” She closed her eyes and brought her free hand up to rub over her face.
“What about her?” Charlotte asked, and Sutton could hear in her voice how much she wanted to know but how cautious she was in asking.
Sutton simply didn’t have it in her to hold it in. Not when Charlotte felt so good next to her and sounded so coaxing, like she trulywantedto know.
“Last night, when we went into the kitchen while you sat with Lucy…” Sutton blew out a sigh, dropping her hand from her face as she stared up into Charlotte’s eyes. “She isnothappy about… this.” She gestured between the two of them.
“I gathered that,” Charlotte murmured. Of course she had. That didn’t surprise Sutton in the least. Still, she looked apologetic as she searched Sutton’s gaze with her own. “I didn’t tell her about us. But…”
Sutton shook her head against the pillow. “No. But you were here. On Christmas Eve, to make sure I wasn’t lonely.” She offered Charlotte a small, tentative, emotional smile.
Becausegod, it was so thoughtful. It was just like Charlotte Thompson, wasn’t it? To make Sutton feel this way, even when Sutton was trying not to? It wasjust likeCharlotte Thompson to make everything in her life so much harder while simultaneously making her feel so damn good. It wasjust likeCharlotte Thompson to be so incredibly, ridiculously romantic, even without trying.
She swallowed hard, pursing her lips.
“Youaren’t the problem, when it comes to Layla.” Maybe in so many other ways that Sutton was careening toward but desperately trying not to, but not in the minefield that was Sutton’s relationship with her ex-wife.
“What did she say?” Charlotte prompted again, and there was a sharpness in her voice, reflecting in the honey-gold brightness of her eyes. Something a little dangerous, like protectiveness. Like, if Charlotte didn’t like you, she would know just who to call to bury the body.
Alarmingly, Sutton thought, she truly might.
Sutton tried not to think too much about that fact or the fact that Charlotte was seeming so protective overher.
“She’s mad,” she said simply. “That she didn’t know about us beforehand. That you know Lucy.” She let out a scoffing, mirthless laugh, all of those negative, terrible feelings that made her feel sick pulling together in the pit of her stomach. “Mad, I think, that you’reyou.”
Charlotte’s expression was so tight, so pinched. Like she really was contemplating Layla’s execution, as she nodded. “Mmhmm. Exactly the impression I got.”
“And I just—youare none of her business. Whatwedo is none of her concern! Did she talk tomebefore she started dating Arianne?While we were married?” The words—the same ones she’d fired back at Layla last night—escaped her, still as fiery as they did the first time.
But it felt good to say them to Charlotte. It felt good to say them to someone, she wildly, insanely thought, who understood her. Someone who was clearly on her side.
Not that Regan wasn’t or Emma or her mother or the rest of her family.
