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“How could you possibly know that?”

She tilts her head to the side as if assessing me. “You’ve got the undeniable glow of a woman in love,” she says, just as I take a long gulp of my water.

That comment surprises me. I choke on my water, waving my hand and shaking my head. “Back it up, Marge. Trust me, it’s nothing that serious,” I say, still struggling to breathe. “I think you’re confusing the look of love with a woman who’s highly sexually satisfied.” I offer her the bread crumb, hoping it’ll satisfy her enough to move on.

Her brow lifts ever so slowly, a smirk pulling at her lips.

I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist some juicy sex talk. Hell, I think I finally cracked the code at this therapy thing.

“So the sex is good?” She leans in, like she doesn’t want to miss a single detail. “Would you say that all of your needs are being met?”

I nod, my smile wide. “It’s the best sex of my life.”

Smile beaming, Marguerite places a hand over her heart. “Every woman deserves to have her world rocked sexually. I’m so happy you’ve found yourself a life partner to fulfill that need⁠—”

I hold up my hand. “Whoa, hold your horses, Marge. Nobody said anything about a life partner,” I clarify. “We’re just two…people…with a mutually beneficial arrangement of having sex. No strings attached,” I add the last part for extra emphasis. The last thing I need is Marguerite running with the idea that I’ve somehow fallen in love and given up my career for a man.

She narrows her eyes. “Does this have anything to do with Augustus? Are you having doubts⁠—”

“No. Nothing like that.” I shake my head. “As far as I’m concerned, Augustus and I have been over since the day I filed for the divorce. That hasn’t changed in the least bit.”

She blinks at me for a moment, then finally says, “I see… Forgive me, dear, I must’ve misread your energy.”

Shit.

I fucking knew she was psychic. How the fuck am I supposed to keep this going now?

My armpits suddenly feel clammy, reminding me that I forgot to put on deodorant after my shower earlier. I flap my arms a few times, trying to air them out, but it only makes the uncomfortable sensation worse, moist skin sticking to itself every time I move.

She tilts her head like she’s trying to figure out what I’m doing, then, as if thinking better of it, she just says, “Why don’t we keep going in a more productive direction?”

“Lovely idea!” I say, and for some reason it comes out in a British accent.

From where she’s lying by my feet, Matilda looks up at me like she’s also confused.

I fucking panicked, okay? Why are you eavesdropping anyway? I thought you were sleeping. I tell her telepathically, then immediately catch myself.

Goddamnit. What if she can hear that too?

Eyes wide, I slowly turn back to the screen to find Marguerite looking back at me. And to her credit, she doesn’t even flinch.

As if taking three giant steps back, she sits back in her seat, her smile fading as she takes on a more professional approach. “So how are things between you and your sister?”

I open my mouth, then snap my lips shut at the mention of my sister. “I’m sorry, I thought we were talking about all the hot sex I’ve been having. What does my sister have to do with any of this?”

“It’s just a question,” she says in a sweet voice.

“Right.” I bite my cheek, trying to think about what she could possibly want me to say right now.

I’ve told her about our childhood, and she knows my sister is the most important person in my life—outside of Roman, who’s quickly moving up the ranks, which is a terrifying realization that I will absolutely not be dealing with later…

“Things are great,” I say, giving a small smile. “She’s busy with her kids, but we actually spent the Fourth of July together. We had a great time while the kids swam.” My eyes find the window overlooking the pool, and I smile as I think about Roman and Guy playing with Sasha and Evie, keeping them entertained so I could have my sister all to myself. It was a great day. The best visit I’ve had with my sister in a very long time.

“Mhmm.”

When I glance at the screen, I notice Marguerite watching me, like she’s trying to read between the lines of everything I didn’t say.

I’m growing defensive and frankly a little annoyed with all the mind games. “What?” I finally ask her, my tone sharper than I intended.