“I don’t think this is a rebound.”
Her smile grows bigger. “Yeah, for the amount of time you’re spending with his kids too? It’s definitely more than that. Just wanted to make sureyouknew it.”
“He’s just—he’s fun. And funny. And kind, but not in the way that makes me think he’s putting on an act so that I’ll like him. He’ll give me shit and also tell me I’mbrilliantormarvelous, and sometimes he says things that make me feel like I’m…well, special.”
“Bea. Boyfriends are supposed to make you feel special.”
“And he’s doing a better job of it than any other boyfriend I’ve had before.”
“Impressive, considering how much youhaven’thad sex since you started dating.”
“Lana’s mom’s went into the hospital with an infection a while ago. She’s freaking out because she doesn’t know what’s happening, so Lana’s had to be at the hospital more or less full time. It’s so sad, and so hard. So Simon’s been on solo parenting duty practically the whole time since he asked me to be his girlfriend.”
“She deserves an entire spa week for what she’s been through.”
We lapse into silence because both of us know the only time Lana will ever have a full week to herself will be after her mom passes.
We make it to the driveway entrance before Daphne speaks again, and I’m not surprised when she changes the subject.
“According to my sources, there are at least nineteen rooms in this mansion, excluding the bathrooms. According to my knowledge of teenage boys, they won’t leave the basement if it has food and gaming systems, which it definitely does because Simon’s loaded and enjoys being able to buy his kids whatever they want for the first time in his life. So that leaves like a dozen rooms for you two to sneak off to for a quick shag.”
“Daphne. I’ve been in the house before.”
“Do the bedrooms have locks? Asking for me too. I’m fucking tired and might actually need a nap.”
There’s something going on with her that she’s not telling me. Something more than worrying about Margot.
I haven’t been pushing it when she lies to me, because I know she’ll talk to me when she’s ready.
Daph’s complicated sometimes. Who wouldn’t be with how she grew up and then was basically kicked out of her family?
She pulls to a stop at the gate, rolls her window down, and grins at Butch, who’s waiting with a clipboard. “Hey, I was just thinking about you.”
“I’m not interested in a second job as your on-site chef,” he says.
“His burgers are almost as good as yours,” Daphne tells me. “If he ever figures out your secret ingredient, you’re toast.”
I wave at him from the passenger seat. “Hey, Butch. Did you win or lose to get the gate job tonight?”
“Won.”
“Nicely done.”
“Thanks for driving a small car instead of your bus. Pull on through to the house.”
Daphne follows orders, and we wind our way up the driveway to park her Camry next to Ryker’s truck. We climb out of the car and follow a family of four toward the front door.
Simon’s home here is a three-story mansion, with a stucco exterior, a red-shingled roof, the courtyard and lawn behind where I’ve spent several evenings, and landscaping that hadn’t been kept up over the years before he bought it.
Now, the flower beds are freshly turned over, most of them brimming with young plants that make the beds lining the curved brick walk to the front door feel fresh and new. The stucco needs repainting, but it’s low on Simon’s priority list.
He has at least six years of living here when he’s not off doing his famous actor thing.
Which is still weird to think about.
He doesn’t feel like a famous actor.
He just feels like my very funny, very sexy, very kind, hot British boyfriend.
