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We’ve never talked about it.
“Yeah. Okay.” But Catherine leans over to Jules and adds, “Makes no sense,” just loud enough for me to hear. “You can’t be friends with your ex.”
“Okay, okay.” With an impatient shake of my head, I start stripping my jeans. “Our relationship is weird,” I admit. “Happy?”
Juliette laughs and nods. Catherine claps her hands together. And Toni points to a red, leather minidress on the floor. “That one.”
I deposit my clothes on the floor with the other mess and slip into the dress. It must have been made for Jules because, while we’re the same dress size, she’s tall and willowy and I’m just short and small all over—small boobs, small waist, small butt. Small. On her, the red dress would be a true mini, but on me, it reaches a few inches above my knees.
Catherine wolf whistles. “Damn, girl.”
I spin in a single twirl, my arms extended. “This leather is like butter,” I say, running my hands down the soft fabric.
“Suzy had it shipped from Italy.” Jules takes the wine from Catherine and sips. “Cost me a small fortune.”
“Worth it.” Moving to them, I shimmy between Catherine and Toni on the sofa then kick my feet up on the coffee table.
The girls’ body heat cocoons me in, calming me for the first time since leaving Rye’s. The truth—that he and I got into it again—isn’t worth mentioning. The girls love me. I know that, absolutely. But they don’t understand so many of the little things about me, at least, not like Rye does. He and I are one of those rare breeds, the ones that escaped Paradise Trailer Park, the white trash zoo scissored in between the five and the six-o-five.
On the TV, Mr. Darcy is proposing to Elizabeth for the first time as the storm thrashes around them. I’ve watched the movie countless times, sometimes with the girls, sometimes alone. The only time I watched it withLizzie, she cried through the entire movie. It had surprised me at the time, to see Elizabeth, so hard and angry, crumble over a soppy romance. Now, I sneak peeks at the girls, curious as to what their reactions will be to the scene we all know so well.
None of them is crying.
Catherine is smiling, her expression soft and dreamy.
Toni is checking her email on her phone, but I notice the way her head is tilted, listening to the dialogue.
Juliette stares at the screen, her mind elsewhere entirely, which is unusual considering she’s the only one of us who actually married the love of her life.
The scene—the declaration, therejection—doesn’t sit well with me. It’s too close to home. When my mind shifts back to Rye, I sink further into the sofa. “What did the cops ask you in the interviews today?”
Keira Knightley is reading Darcy’s letter of explanation on screen.
“It seemed pretty standard to me,” Catherine says first. “How did you know Elizabeth? Where were you last night? Do you know anyone who would like to hurt her?” She turns to look at me. “That was the hardest one.”
“When they asked me how I met Lizzie,” Jules whispers, “I told them about the accident. But I didn’t cry.” When she looks at me, her eyes are bright with tears that don’t fall. “For the first time, I could talk about it without breaking down.”
I nod, understanding why it’s important to Jules. “That’s good.”
“What about you?” Catherine asks Toni. “What did they ask?”
“About the same,” she replies, her voice calm.
But I see the worried look on her face. “But?”
“They didn’t ask me about the escorting. Barely at all. I mean, a prostitute is murdered, and the police don’t ask about the illicit business she worked for?”
“Maybe they think we’re legitimate? Escorting is legal, after all—so long as there’s no sex involved.” Nobody is fooled by my suggestion.
“You think they’ll take us back in?” Catherine asks, her green eyes wide with nerves.
“Well, duh.” My answer is blunt, maybe a little cruel. “It’s day one,” I add, gentler now. “They probably haven’t even had time to do the full background searches on us yet. And when they do…”
“Lyla,” Toni chastises. “Don’t scare them.” Turning to Catherine and Juliette, she asks, “Did either of you murder Elizabeth?”
They both shake their heads, mute and wide-eyed.
“Well then, you have nothing to worry about.” She turns back to her phone. “Besides, Aiden Flint seemed like the type who just wants to get the job done. I didn’t get the impression that he cared about escorting outside of his investigation.”
