Page 97 of Late Harvest

Geneva bumped shoulders with Nell. “We brought a Tempranillo. I love a good Spanish red.”

“But I’m only having one glass,” Nell added. “Any more than that and I get a migraine. Also, I’m the DD.”

“Are you referring to your stellar rack, of which all women in their right minds are jealous?” Gen teased her friend good-naturedly.

“Designated driver, Geneva. Let’s not talk about my—chest, shall we?” Nell folded her arms over her body in the classic maneuver of a woman hiding her curves.

Gen side hugged her friend. “Sorry, babes. Love you.”

“Love you, too, bestie.” Nell’s face split into a grin. “Even when you’re oversharing with new friends.”

Gen shrugged light-heartedly. “All part of my charm.”

Remy watched this display of friendship with wonder and an ache of sadness. Gen’s easy, confident vibe was evocative of Etta, creating a sense of familiarity and comfort even though they’d just met.

Remy decided Nell needed a heartfelt compliment. She suspected her curvy friend had been fat-shamed about her decadent curves too often. “You’re gorgeous, Nell. I recently heard you described as a Titian beauty.”

The ginger-haired woman blushed to her roots, but wore a small smile that showed her appreciation for the compliment. Remy mentally thanked Sebastian for his innate ability to find the right thing to say—even when he wasn’t in the room.

“Give me a sec. I’ll grab a couple more glasses and the wine opener. And then you three can talk me off the ledge.”

Remy disappeared into the kitchen and caught her breath. In her living room were three women, all hastily arrived to help and support her. And somewhere, a half dozen miles or so away, she had Sebastian.

A smile sprouted in her heart and bloomed across her face.

New friends.

In less than a month, Remy had gone from having zero true girlfriends…to three.

Chapter Fifty-One

Warrior (noun): A woman who ain’t out here burning energy on petty jabs.

Steady in her stride no matter the static.

—From Remy’s Badass Bitch Affirmations

Remy

“Well, fuckadoodledo. That’s…a lot. No wonder you pinged us.” Lila settled back on the chair and reached for her wine glass, her empty plate abandoned on the coffee table. “Allow me to offer a CliffsNotes summary, if I may, just so we’re sure our wise counsel is on point.”

The ziti was long gone, and they’d worked their way through two bottles—with Nell nursing her one glass. Initially, they’d just chatted, sharing little things about their lives and getting to know each other. Remy, of course, kept her contributions high level and sanitized. Enough to participate and not seem closed off or standoffish—which was an adjective she’d heard used to describe her many times. It never really bothered her, because it had never really mattered. She’d never cared about establishing friendships before.

But this felt different.

Sometime after the second bottle was decanted, Lila told Remy no more dillydallying. It was time to ‘spill the deets’ behind the SOS text. So she did, detailing almost everything from the first moment she’d met Sebastian to their Miami trip to their growing bond. She left out their arrangement, since Gen wasn’t privy to those details, along with her personal history that she’d shared with Sebastian yesterday.

Lila steepled her fingers. “Bash freaking Wheatley charmed his way into your life. Then he whisked you away to Miami for a dream experience. Where he then proceeded to charm his way into your joy garden, pounding you into the mattress, repeatedly bringing you to the Big O finish line. He’s ensconced himself into your home and your life. He loves Chicane—but what’s not to love?” Lila looked over at where Chicane was hopping around in his house. “You both are Star Wars fans and you binged your favorites with People’s reigning Sexiest Man Alive. And now he’s going away for a few days, the idea of which is making you feel lonely. And a bit…discombobulated by some new and powerful emotions.” She took a sip. “Did I get that right?”

Remy briefly closed her eyes and nodded miserably, feeling not much older than the seventeen-year-old version of her gossiping and giggling with Etta about the boys in school.

Across from Lila, Gen’s lips twitched, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Sweetheart, you’ve caught feelings for Bash Wheatley. And it sounds like he caught them too. And fast.”

Lila arched an eyebrow and nodded in Gen’s direction. Her meaning was clear. She was the only one in the room not aware of the fake relationship and her deal with a wickedly sensual devil who was walking, talking sin and temptation. And, somehow, their club had smoothly become a foursome. Meaning, if Gen were really going to be a part, she needed to know the full story.

Remy’s mouth opened and closed. She rubbed a temple with two fingers, processing Lila’s unspoken comment. “I know,” Remy finally affirmed miserably. “And it can’t end well.”

“Why not?” Gen asked, frowning with confusion.