Page 36 of Perfect Satisfaction

“I know. I was cutting a peanut butter sandwich.”

“Sula, your kitchen skills are deplorable but please tell me this won’t involve a transfusion.”

“No, the blood seems to be slowing down.”

“Thank God for small miracles. Don’t you think it’s time you learn how to cook?”

“Remember, ninety percent of the time, I’m on the road. Other people cook for me.”

“True.”

“Then again, I’m not the one who went through Girl Scouts and can cook a gourmet meal to seduce my fiancé over an open flame.”

Angie giggles and the sound is sweeter than any of the music Brendan’s ever sung—even that first Christmas and he welcomed me to his house in Nashville and every other Christmas we’ve ever spent together. “I miss you, Sula. I want you to come home permanently.”

“Something of that magnitude requires careful planning,” I jest.

“You’re like the most famous program manager on the planet. Start planning.”

“There’s one thing I can’t always account for.”

“What’s that?”

“Risk.”

“What risk could there be if you moved back to the United States?”

Oh, Angie, so many different kinds of risk. Discovery, heartache, destruction, just to name a few.Instead, I tease, “‘Winsome Ward’s reaction. Have you prepared him for the monstrosity of the world tilting on its axis if you and I live on the same continent? What ever would he do in this occurrence?”

“God, now that I’m married to him, I want to throttle you for coming up with that moniker.”

My laughter is throaty. “I thought it was appropriate even before you started lusting after him.”

“After the first time you used it, all the blogs picked it up.” She pouts, causing me to forget the throbbing at the end of my still bleeding digit. Her eyes are turbulent. “Will you be upset if I bring up something?”

“What’s that?

“At least I’m not afraid to live anymore.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

She props her chin on her hand. The band on the third finger of her left hand gleams against the rock Ward slid on her finger. “When StellaNova revealed who I was, I thought my world was coming to an end.”

Damn you, you bastard. Just... damn you. A tear rolls down my face.

Fortunately, Angie mistakes the emotion behind it for sadness and not the combination of loneliness and fury I’ve been living with since I confessed to her my many sins. “I can walk down the street and not feel like I’m being stoned. Yeah, sure, the paps follow me again but now it’s because I’m Ward’s wife. Not because they believe I’m telling some sort of lie.” Her own eyes are wet when she says huskily, “It was because of your love I managed to heal.”

“Now that comment makes me want to hop on a jet back to the States,” I tease.

“Then I’ll keep making them. They’re no less than the truth.”

“Angie, it was—”

“Don’t you dare say it was your fault. It was the fault of the men who assaulted me. Sula,” Angie interjects and takes a deep breath. “It wasn’t Arek’s fault either.”

“I can’t talk about him.”

“You need to. You won’t even come back to see me on the one in a billion chance you might run into him.” There’s a world of sadness in her voice.