“Because I didn’t notice? They look scary, but they don’t hurt. I promise.” I brush a couple strands of hair from her cheek as her wide eyes stare up at me. “Besides, I sort of like them. Now everyone’s going to know I got them making you come.”
Her face turns bright red. “How’s anybody going to see them?”
“Maybe we’ll go to the beach today.” I wink.
She rolls her eyes, then laughs a little. “You’ll catch cold. It’s going to be chilly today after that rain.”
“Then you can warm me up and nurse me back to health.”
“By getting you enough cold meds and cough drops to open a small pharmacy.”
I laugh and drop a kiss on the crown of her head. “Why don’t you go ahead? It’s going to take you longer.” I want to go in with her, but I know my limits. If I see her body glistening under hot water, I’m not going to be able to stop myself, and we aren’t going to be having brunch today. In fact, we probably won’t leave the house until dinner. If then.
“Okay. I’ll try to hurry.”
“Take your time. I can use a different bathroom.”
When I’m done with my shower, I get dressed in a white dress shirt and black slacks. Marketta sent a pair of onyx cuff links, so I put those on, too. Then I make a call to be sure that (a) we can get seated and (b) Dad isn’t going to be there. He’s a great manipulator of emotions—which is why he’s such a successful movie producer, but in real life he excels at arousing rage and shame, exactly fifty percent each, in everyone around him, especially his kids. Which I guess is a talent.
Once I’m reassured that we will be seatedandmy father doesn’t have a reservation, I go to the room, thinking Aspen’s probably done and ready.
And she is done—in the pretty purple Dior, which makes her ass stand out. She smells like the body wash and shampoo I used. And I like it that we both share the scent. Makes us seem more like a couple.
But she’s staring at the bed. Her eyebrows are pulled together, and she has a hand resting on her hip, like something is a problem.
“Everything okay?”
“No.” She bites her lip. “I need to do laundry.” Her tone’s urgent.
“Now?”
She nods, not looking at me.
“I’ll call the housekeeping service Mom uses. They’ll handle it.” I start to pull out my phone.
“No!” She takes a hasty step toward me. “No.Ihave to do it.”
“No guest does laundry while they’re staying here.”Where is this abrupt desire to do laundry coming from?Then I finally see it. A small reddish spot, barely the size of a quarter. “You’re going to wash this sheet forthat?”
She nods without looking at me. “I can’t believe it. It didn’t hurt enough to leave a bloodstain.”
This unexpected shyness makes me want to laugh, but I know better. “There are other sheets. And Mom’s not going to care.”
Aspen covers her face with her hands. “Oh my God.”
“She doesn’t do the laundry,” I add, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“But she’s going to hear about—”
“Nope. Housekeeping will send it out to the laundry service, and they won’t tell. Trust me.”
“How can you be so sure?” Even as she questions me, she radiates a strong please-convince-me vibe.
“They all sign nondisclosure agreements. If they violate it, they pay for the transgression with a kidney. Or worse.” I have no idea whether Mom makes anybody sign an NDA, but given her paranoia…
“Really?” Aspen looks slightly hopeful.
“Yeah. You don’t know the kind of lawyers Mom hires. They’re assholes. But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll pour a bucket of red paint over it so nobody can tell. I can get some that looks just like blood.”
