“You’re telling me that a scene that opens with the heroine swimming in her petticoat won’t end in sex?” she asks with a laugh.
“I didn’t say that,” I protest. “I haven’t read the book, so I don’t know what’s going to happen. For all I know, the duke’s about to save the girl from drowning.”
“Or maybe she’ll save him,” Melissa suggests. “Maybe the duke falls into the river and doesn’t know how to swim. Prudence will have to tow him to the bank and do mouth-to-mouth. And then he’ll have a miraculous recovery, and they’ll make sweet love on the riverbank.”
“You have a one-track mind, Melissa Lawrence,” I say reproachfully.
“I’m sorry, Luke,” she says, in a tone that suggests she’s not sorry at all. “You can keep reading now.”
I clear my throat and pick up where I left off.
“ . . . he realized she was wearing only her petticoat, and the thin cotton was transparent in the bright sunlight.”
Melissa chuckles. I picture her on her bed, wearing only her T-shirt and panties, her face flushed from laughing. My cock twitches, and I reach down to stroke myself.
And then, in a supreme act of self-control, I stop, because there’s nothing innocent about this.
“I’m going to find a different scene,” I tell her brusquely. “If I read you something too exciting, you’ll never fall asleep.”
“Okay.”
As I flip to the next chapter, which opens with the heroine drinking tea with her great-aunt, I wonder if I’m imagining the disappointment in Melissa’s voice.
TWELVE
MELISSA
That night I dream of Luke. He’s next to me in bed, wearing the green scrubs he wears to work, and whispering in my ear. He smells delicious, musky and masculine, and I roll over to try to get closer.
And that’s when I wake up and realize he’s not there, and I’m struck by a bitter wave of disappointment.
My memory flashes back to our phone call last night, and I wonder if I dreamed that, too. Did I really tell Luke that Troy cheated on me? Confide that I sometimes wondered if I should have stayed in my marriage for the sake of the kids?
And the second half of the conversation is even harder to believe. I was flirting with Luke, accusing him of skipping through the book to find a sex scene. My cheeks flush with embarrassment until I remember that Luke was teasing me back. Flirting back.
Strange behavior from a man who didn’t even want to meet me for coffee.
Then Liam bursts into my room like the EnergizerBunny, wearing nothing butToy Storyunderpants, and I drag my mind away from Luke.
The morning passes in a blur; I get the kids ready for school, then throw on my red sweater and navy skirt for the interview at Brookline Academy. I swipe on some red lipstick, worry it’s too much, and blot almost all of it off.
As I study myself in the mirror, I wonder what Carole Chan will think of me, then decide there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t have any other suitable outfits, so she can hire me like this or not at all.
After I drop Claire and Liam off at their respective schools, I drive to Brookline Academy. The school sits right on the lake, a gorgeous old stone building surrounded by playing fields. Classes must have started, because there aren’t any students milling around outside.
My palms are sweaty as I walk up to the main entrance. The office is just off the main foyer, and an ancient secretary waves me right through into the principal’s office.
Ms. Chan stands from behind a beautiful mahogany desk, greets me with a firm handshake, and tells me to call her Carole. She looks every inch the private school principal; she’s in her mid-fifties, with gray hair cut in a sleek bob and reading glasses perched on her forehead.
Her eyes flicker to the cardboard tube that’s awkwardly sticking out of my purse.
“My university diploma,” I explain. “I didn’t have time to order an official transcript, and I thought you might want proof that I have a degree.”
Carole nods. “We can start with that, if you like.”
I pop the plastic cap off the end of the tube, extract the diploma, and pass it across the desk.
Carole spreads it out and studies it carefully. Since it’sspent the past nine years rolled in the tube it was mailed in, it’s reluctant to lie flat.
