He had kissed her. She did her very best to go back downstairs and not look as if he had just kissed her. Her head was spinning.
Somehow, she had gone from being absolutely certain that Remington Lane would never see her as anything more than a child, to being embarrassed about what she had said about her virginity, to being . . . very nearly grateful for it.
Because he was going to . . .
It was what she wanted. She wanted him to be the first.
She wanted him to be the only, that was the problem. She had feelings for him that were so much deeper than she would like, but maybe this was the only way to get past them.
Maybe this was the only way to pursue being a normal woman. One who could look at other men and want them.
Maybe she had to mark this occasion. Maybe she had to answer the question—what would it be like to have Remy?
If nothing else, whether it fixed something or broke it more, she was about to live out a fantasy. And very few people could ever claim to live out their fantasies.
Up until now, she never had.
Mostly, her fantasies stayed locked in a box that she couldn’t access. Mostly, they were nothing she could reach.
But she could reach him now.
She swallowed hard, her throat feeling scratchy.
“I thought you were going to change,” her mom said, as Lydia’s foot hit the last step.
“Oh. I . . . I’m going to wash the dress when I get home.”
“All right. Cold water.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Mom.”
“I know. You don’t need me to tell you what to do.”
“Sometimes I do,” she said.
Remy came down the stairs then, holding a box, and Lydia didn’t think it was her imagination that her mom’s gaze lingered on him for an extra moment. But she didn’t say anything.
“I’ll just go say goodbye to the boys.”
Lydia slipped into the kitchen and gave Wesley a giant kiss on his chubby cheek, then said goodbye to Matthew and Jackson.
And her father.
Hank had been waiting patiently by the table. Probably hoping for more treats.
She reached down and petted him on the head. Somehow, she had a feeling he was responsible for all of this.
Whatever all this turned out to be.
“See you all,” Remy said, sticking his head in. “Come on, Hank.”
The dog stood up and was instantly glued right to Remy’s heel.
She ducked out the front door, walking alongside the two of them. “Do you think it’s obvious that we’re leaving together so we can . . .”
“No. Because believe me, nobody would . . .”
Of course. Nobody would suspect what they were about to do. If Remy hadn’t even seen her as a woman a week ago, why would anyone think they were about to get together?
