“You will,” Beatrice promises, blowing us both kisses. “I’ll dedicate it to you both. Good night, family. Thanks for all the help. I really appreciate it.”
After she leaves, Charlotte and I sit in easy silence for a beat.
I’m thinking about family.
About how much I like the thought of the word applying to Charlotte.
About how much I like the thought of her being one of my people.
For keeps.
I’m not sure what she’s thinking about until she whispers, “I always thought I’d love having a little sister.”
I glance her way, my smile faltering at the worry in her gaze. “What’s wrong? Bea adores you. I think you two are getting along great, right?”
Charlotte nods, the skin around her eyes tightening. “Yeah, I do. But what happens if you and I break up? Do I still get to keep being her friend? Or will she have to choose sides?”
I stand, knowing the best way to answer her.
Without a word, I plop down beside her, pull her into my lap, and hug her tight, waiting until she relaxes into me before I whisper against the top of her head, “She will never have to choose sides. I would never stand in the way of two people who care about each other, especially if those people are people I care about, too.”
She pulls back, holding my gaze. “Will you? Still care? Even if it ends badly?”
“It won’t end badly, we both have too much integrity for that,” I tell her, meaning it. Believing it. “I might disappoint you someday, but I’ll never betray you, Char. Not now, not ever. If I’m ever being interviewed by a cheesy lifestyle magazine before my wedding to another woman, I will only have wonderful, respectful things to say about you.”
“Or you could just say nothing, that’s fine, too,” she says with a soft grin. “And you won’t marry my much younger assistant? You won’t even fuck her and make sure I know about it through a friend of a friend?”
“I’ll cut my own dick off first.”
She laughs.
“What?” I cuddle her closer, doing my best to keep my hands off her ass until we’re done with the “meaningful conversation” portion of the evening. “I was serious.”
“I know you were,” she says, still laughing, but it fades as she adds, “weirdo,” in a tender way that makes me feel as treasured as any compliment.
Maybe even more treasured. Because it makes me feel seen and like the person doing the seeing likes me, even when I’m a weirdo.
Maybe even more than likes me…
We’re falling in love. Both of us. I’m not alone in this. I can feel it in the way she kisses me, the way she takes my hand, leading me to my room where we do our best to keep things quieter than usual, out of respect for my sister down the hall. I know that’s probably why it feels so much more intimate, more careful and connected than it has before, but still…
As we curl together after, catching our breath, the thought that I finally know what it’s like to “make love” drifts through my head.
And it doesn’t seem cheesy or embarrassing, the way I would have assumed it would. It just seems right.
Good.
So right and good, I should have known to keep an eye out for the other shoe about to drop.
I really, really should have…
Nineteen
CHARLOTTE
Ihave nothing to complain about.
Absolutely nothing.
