Oh boy.
“She just doesn’t like to be his ex-girlfriend,” Chassie whisper-appended. “She prefers the ‘ex’ not to be a part of that and is committed to the act of reversing Battie’s decision about it.”
“Yikes,” I replied.
“Shall I take your things?” Fitzgibbons had come closer.
“No…no, I think, no,” Prue mumbled and focused on Fitzgibbons. “Did I miss something? Was this visit planned?”
Fitzgibbons’s face, a man who always seemed like a super friendly guy, got tight.
“It is not,” he said shortly. “And they’re staying the weekend.”
Oh boy!
“The entire weekend?” Prue was back to sounding strangled.
That being a long weekend, since it was only Thursday.
“They had a good deal of luggage. And Miss Renfrew informed me to inform my wife that she needed to prepare so Cook has enough food in for company,” he stated stiffly.
“She sure does like to act like she’s duchess when she’s around,” Chassie whisper-bitched. “She did it even before her and Battie were a thing.”
“And Tempie sure hates it when she does,” Prue agreed. “We better get in there.”
I wasn’t sure how three people could show up—unannounced and with luggage—and everyone was just going with it.
What I was sure of was, I didn’t want any part of it.
I was about to make my excuses, when Chassie grabbed my arm in a surprisingly firm grip, and yet again I was being dragged by a Talyn somewhere.
I looked helplessly over my shoulder at Fitzgibbons, and he had the good, albeit unhelpful, grace to wince.
“How is she even here when she’s an ex?” I whispered urgently to them as I was dragged.
“She gloms on to whoever might get her through the door of wherever Battie is. This time, it’s Rally,” Prue explained.
“Or Courtney,” Chassie whispered. “Tempie likes Courtney.”
Sadly, since the sitting room was close to the front hall, that was all I got before we were in.
Temperance was casually lounged in the corner of a sofa. She had a martini in hand. She was wearing all red today, and she looked amazing.
However, even if I didn’t know her very well, I knew she wanted to kill somebody.
Battle was standing at the mantle in what he’d been wearing earlier, one of his fabulous sweaters and a pair of jeans.
He looked over his shoulder at us when we entered, and the expression on his face made me wonder if he actually did kill somebody.
I did a quick head count of the rest and noted gratefully my next adventure wasn’t going to be burying a body, because there was a man with thinning blond hair, but he was quite good looking, sitting on the couch opposite Temperance and next to a brunette who was very pretty.
And sitting next to Temperance on her couch was blonde so gorgeous, she’d make Blake Lively weep with envy.
She was wearing a slouchy cream sweater that was better than mine, because it fell down her shoulder, matching cream, lightweight wool slacks and a pair of soil brown Laurent Vendôme slingback glazed leather pumps.
She looked like a magazine spread advertising fabulous sweaters, or wool slacks, or Saint Laurent pumps.
Oh, and she looked like she matched the room, which could be by design.
