Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
“Ooh,” Nicole says, wagging a manicured finger with a red-painted nail. “Not a good idea.” She tips back her head to look upside-down at me, catching her hat just before it falls off. “Why do you think we’re having chocolate and wine?”
Taking her in with a narrowed gaze, I step closer, ready to catch her glass, which tips precariously in her grip. “Are you drunk?”
She tuts with indignation, dragging her neck up with some difficulty. “A woman is never drunk, dummy. We’re happy.”
“Yeah?” I lean my weight on my crutches. “What made you so happy?”
“The wine and the chocolate, silly.” She snickers again. “Oops. We didn’t tell him why we’re choc-o’wining.”
“Nicole is having her period,” Livy says. “I’m post-post-menopausal, and I’m really disappointed about not shooting my gun.”
I go closer, certain I didn’t hear right. “What did you say?”
“She’s joking,” Anya says with a nervous laugh.
“But I’m not.” Nicole waves me over. “I’m dangerous when I’m menstrual. I need a refill, Sav.” She flicks her fingers. “Make it snappy.”
Livy bursts out laughing as if Nicole said something funny.
I balance a crutch against the table and lift the bottle of red, eyeing the level. “Tough day, Cole?”
“Your girl is a lot of fun.” Nicole flashes me a toothy grin. “Sorry.” She swings her finger toward Livy. “Your girls, as in plural. You should take them out more often. It’s a sin to lock them up in this stuffy ol’ house.” She wiggles her shoulders. “Ew. You did never tell me the place was so formal.”
I stiffen at that. Fun isn’t how I’ll describe our relationship. Is that what Anya misses? Fun? Why wouldn’t she? She’s a young, lively, beautiful, normal woman. And now she’s stuck with a disabled, scarred, grumpy husband.
Unable to squash my defensiveness, I say, “Anya is going to redecorate.”
“Not right away,” Anya says, sounding uncomfortable. “We have other priorities.”
“Such as a beautiful, too-pretty-to-look-at little girl.” Nicole slugs back the wine that’s left in her glass. “Who, may I remind you, I delivered, and who now needs a new godmother.” She looks pointedly at Anya. “Go on. Ask me. You know you want to.”
“Hold on.” I put the wine aside. “Back up there one second. What do you mean she needs a new godmother?”
“Didn’t Anya tell you?” Nicole asks, looking aghast. “Tersia resigned.”
I clench my fingers into a fist. “She did what?”
“Denounced her title,” Nicole says with a huff. “One little situation, and she can’t handle the heat.”
“It’s no big deal,” Anya says, shuffling her feet.
I turn my face to my wife, fixing my gaze on her gorgeous, flushing cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not important,” she says. “I kind of dumped the responsibility on Tersia anyway.”
“Oh, oookay,” Nicole says, waving the hand in which she holds the glass. “I’ll do it. I accept.”
It’s a good thing her glass is empty or she would’ve spilled wine all over that coat, which resembles a hairy roadkill, and go home stinking like a distillery. Hell, she’ll probably sweat French Burgundy from her pores until tomorrow, smelling like my five hundred-dollar collector’s wine anyway.
“I don’t think that’s a decision you should make before we’ve had more chocolate,” Livy says.
“You’re right.” Nicole looks at Livy as if she just found an instant solution to global warming. “My bleeding uterus needs more chocolate. But I accept in the meantime. I’ll just stuff my face with some of those yummy marshmallows in the meantime.”
Anya giggles. “Claire and I will be honored.”
The fact that my wife left me out of the equation isn’t lost on me.
This is something we’re going to talk about later—not that I’m not a part of her and Claire’s inner circle, which is by conscious design from my side, but that she didn’t tell me Tersia pulled out of being Claire’s godmother.
“I’ll get you some water.” I take back the crutches. “While I’m at it, I’ll call Logan and tell him you’ll need a ride.”
Nicole pouts. “Spoil sport.”
Two liters of water and a few hundred grams of sugar later, Logan arrives to fetch his wife.
He drapes her arm over his shoulders and takes her around the waist. “Come on, baby. Small steps. I’ve got you.”
“Thank you, Anya,” Nicole calls back loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood, her knees buckling as she waves with a floppy arm extended in the air. “You throw a mean campfire party.”
“She all right?” I ask Logan, getting the back door.
“She will be.” He grins and kisses her temple. “Naughty girl.”
Nicole sways in his arms. “Haven’t had this much fun in a long time.”
“That’s because you work too hard, baby.”
It’s not as much their intimacy as their banter that makes me uncomfortable. It reminds me too much of my shortcomings, of all the things I can’t give Anya.
Livy goes upstairs to change out of her ski ensemble while Anya accompanies our guests to the front door.