“So,” Kaye announces, looking delighted, “first ten minutes here. Then the living room is ready for movies and foot massages.”
Kaye helps me change with brisk efficiency. Sauna-appropriate clothing turns out to mean being in my underwear with a robe overit. She ties the belt for me, fingers quick yet gentle. The thick fabric feels absurdly soft.
“You’re going to love this,” she declares.
I’m not certain that can be confidently predicted, but I follow them to the wooden benches inside the sauna.
The heat is intense at first. But my skin warms up from it rapidly, forcing me into a relaxed state. My breathing evens out after a few moments. Kaye talks almost nonstop, filling the space with easy chatter while Elle listens, smiling and occasionally chiming in.
Most of it is about Elle’s birthday party, the decorations and food. There’s a quick cake debate were Kaye insists they just get all the cakes Elle wants. Kaye seems deeply invested, while Elle is politely sharing practical solutions.
I absorb it without interruption. The sound of their voices blends with the heat, the rhythm of breath, and hiss of steaming stones.
Time passes. Eventually, we relocate to the living room, where foot baths are carefully prepared with soothing oils. A movie Kaye insists we watch, calledHeathers, plays on the massive flat screen. I recognize the film vaguely. Kaye quotes lines enthusiastically. Elle laughs when Kaye defends the male lead’s violent ideals.
Massage therapists arrive. Tender hands work tension out of my shoulders, my neck, and up to my scalp. My thoughts drift, completely quiet for once.
For the life of me, I can’t recall the last time I felt this loose in my own body.
As the movie’s end credits scroll, Elle stretches her legs out in front of her with a satisfied sigh, the faint burn scars along her calves catching the low light. One of the massage therapists dims the lights another notch before slipping out.
I rest my head back against the couch. Unconcerned with posture or vigilance. Or truthfully, anything at the moment.
But then Kaye’s phone vibrates against the armrest.
Once. Twice. Three times and—
She snatches it up, squints at the screen, then lets out a short laughthrough her nose.
“Oh my god,” she mutters.
The phone vibrates again. She picks it up, but not before I catch a glimpse of rapid-fire notifications.
She waves a hand, utterly unconcerned. “It’s Dae. Complaining about nipping the bud on the PR nightmare,andprobably asking me for nudes.”
Elle laughs lightly, whereas my brows pull down with concern. The Adels and Damon have been dealing with the aftermath of my failed experiment. So I ask, too curious not to, “Is everything alright on their end?”
“Oh, they’ve got it handled. My husband’s too controlling to let the media get a hold of what happened.” Kaye locks the phone and tosses it onto the cushion beside her. “Anyway, he can wait. I’m busy with my bestie and…our soon-to-be new bestie?”
My brow arches up at her question. Elle sits up, placing her hands on her lap. “Em, we’re hoping you’d agree to be our friend someday,” she says, gentle but sincere. “You’d fit right in.”
“Fit right in…?” I ask.
“Our perfect trio.” Kaye preens. “Obviously.”
“A trio?” I repeat.
“Yes,” Kaye says firmly. “Like the Powerpuff Girls.”
Frowning, I admit, “I’m unfamiliar with the reference.”
Kaye makes a noise of distress and lunges for her phone. “No way! What? Wait, let me show you.”
She unlocks it and scoots closer, pressing her shoulder against mine as she holds the screen between us. Her fingers type speedily until three cartoon characters appear, adorable with bug eyes and bright colors.
But Kaye’s phone vibrates again. A notification pops up. It’s fromBig Dwith a preview of the text: “Keep ignoring me. Morepunishment awaits.” Kaye ignores it and tells me all about how she herself gives off big Buttercup energy, which again eludes me.
***
