Page 17 of Heaven Help Me

I stare at the side of his head, the word reverberating through my brain.

Friends?

Those were about as foreign as that baby.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Deuce

God, watching Valentina with the baby yesterday was as entertaining as watching her try to fend off the sunshiny glow of Mary London. I was highly entertained, though I have to admit, seeing tears in Valentina’s eyes threw me. I didn’t know she had tear ducts capable of producing tears or the capacity to feel feelings.

The two of us had always been competitive growing up. Didn’t need Anna Claire, Heaven’s resident psychologist, to know we were competing for Bettina’s approval. Thing is, I didn’t want my mother’s lifestyle, while it was always clear that Valentina was cut out for it. I just wanted my mother’s…attention? Approval? Love?

I guffaw, pulling on my suit coat and checking my reflection in the full-length mirror in the corner of my bedroom. Bettina doesn’t love anyone, not even her own child. She loves power. Influence. Strength. Success. All things I have, just in a much different way than she could ever envision.

“Let’s go!” I holler as I exit my bedroom and head for the stairs.

Valentina said she’d come into work with me today, wanting to get a feel for my business in order to properly plan the event she was now spearheading. Her one-upping has finally landed her in hot water and it will be an absolute joy to watch her try to navigate Heaven, Mississippi, with a New York mindset. Bless her shriveled-up little heart.

The guest bedroom door cracks open and she appears in the doorway. My brain needs a second to wrap itself around her new image. In my mind, she should come out dressed in a pair of tight leather pants, a slicked-back ponytail, and a pair of devil horns sticking through the strands. But that’s not at all the woman who greets me this morning.

Valentina—or Landry, as I need to get used to saying—is in a pink floral skirt that shows off shapely legs and flat sandals with faux pearls across the toe. Her shirt is white and tight and shows off her incredible physique. Her arms look like they could handle those pullups at the park the other day. She’s in phenomenal shape, not that I’d ever tell her that. I’ve never run that fast back from the park and this woman held her own.

“Where’d you get the shoes?” I ask, refusing to acknowledge that I had to clear my throat to find my voice.

She shrugs, brushing her long black hair behind her shoulder. It’s down today and curled just like Mary London does her hair. It reminds me of the only other time I’ve seen her with her hair down. The night we had sex all those years ago. “Amazon overnight delivery.”

I give her one more once-over and realize she suddenly fits in here. She’s exactly the kind of woman I’d hit on if she came through Heaven as a tourist. “Hmm.”

“Want to take a picture? Might last longer, ciuccio.”

I barely hold in an eye roll at the Italian nickname that falls so easily off her tongue. Bettina used to mutter the nickname all the time. It means dummy or asshole, depending on the tone when you say it. Pretty sure she meant both.

I take it back. She’ll never fit in here with that potty mouth. And I would never hit on a woman this disagreeable.

“Try not to offend anyone when you’re in my boutique today, huh?” I turn and rush down the stairs, keys in hand.

She follows, thankfully quiet as we drive into the downtown area. She’s looking around, head on a swivel, taking in the town that’s been my home my whole life. Dad calls my cell phone just as I pull into the Square, but I send it to voicemail. I can’t talk to him in front of Valentina. I need to gently catch him up on everything going on, most of which he won’t be happy about. Back when he was younger and healthier, he did a lot to keep me distanced from Bettina’s bullshit. I don’t want to upset him right now when he needs to keep his focus on getting better.

“Ready to be my loving girlfriend, Landry?” I say with a besotted smile after I park the car a few spaces down from Saint’s Suits. Valentina returns the smile but she gives me enough teeth that I know she’s envisioning my painful death in her head.

I get out of the car and suck in a deep breath of warm, humid air. I’m three steps away from the car when I realize Valentina’s nowhere to be found. Spinning around, I see her smiling—okay, it’s more of a pointed grimace at this point—at me through the windshield of my car. Oh shit.

I rush back and open her door. She swings her legs out and I avert my eyes. Holding out my hand, she takes it, looking to all the world like a sweet girlfriend. Only I know that she’s digging her dark purple nails into my skin.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she drawls in the stupidest Southern accent I’ve ever heard.

I shake my head, smile still in place should anyone be watching. “Don’t do that.”

She moves out of the way and lets me shut her door, keeping her hand in mine. “Wouldn’t want to offend anyone with my New York accent.”

We walk toward my boutique and I realize that this surge of irritation is exactly why I’ve never had a girlfriend. Women I was talking to? Yes. Women I was sleeping with on a regular basis? Most definitely yes. But never a girlfriend who requires handholding and careful consideration of my every word. It irks me to no end that the first time I have to introduce a girlfriend to my peers, it’s this woman. The most irritating woman in the universe.

I let go of her hand to open up the boutique, grateful to get her soft skin away from mine. I’d rather hold hands with a bald eagle. She trails her finger across my chest as she sails through the door.

“Thank you, darlin’.” Still with that stupid accent.

It’s like she woke up and vowed to annoy the shit out of me today. She probably did. Bet if I looked at the calendar on her phone, she’d have it scheduled. Right before make another baby cry and after knife someone to keep my skills up.