several times over the years, spending breaks and vacations at our various homes. She and my grandmother have become thick as thieves, bonding over their shared love of yappy little dogs and Kentucky bourbon.
I roll my eyes. “Don’t pretend you don’t see the big tin of Scottish shortbread sitting right there on the coffee table waiting for you.”
“Perfect!” She claps her hands, then tucks into the shortbread with gusto. “And don’t expect me to share.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’ve already eaten my body weight in shortbread this week, anyway. So I’m off it now.”
“Good. Before I forget to mention it, I told the landlord to add you to the lease next month,” she says around crunches. “I can’t wait to have you back in the studio with me. The band is back together!”
Michele is an accomplished portraitist and has started making quite a name for herself among the Upper East Side set, all of whom are eager to pay top dollar for paintings of their little darlings and furry children.
“I know. I’m so keen to start painting again. I can’t tell you. I’ll be moving all my supplies and canvases back to the studio. And getting some things out of storage. Oh, and framing some of the older paintings.”
“Good deal. Are you excited about this new chapter of your life?”
“Yes. Well, I’m scared to pieces about trying to make my own way financially.”
“Aren’t we all, sister?”
“True enough,” I say, laughing. “But some of us have had more practice at it than others.”
“Also true. But now you’ll know what it feels like to make your own way. I think it’ll be good for you. You’ll be so proud of yourself to be the captain of your own ship.”
“Assuming I don’t run my ship aground,” I say darkly.
“I’m not saying there won’t be a learning curve, but you’ve got a good plan. You can do it. If I can do it, you can do it.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.”
“So what’s going on with Percy? Please tell me you dropped his ass for once and for all.”
I frown. “Well, I did, but you don’t have to say it like that.”
She pulls a blank look that fools no one. “Like what? Like I’ve been telling you for years that being with him is like watching white paint dry?”
There’s nothing like a hearty I told you so to make one feel foolish. Had I listened to Michele years ago, the final break with Percy wouldn’t have been nearly as painful. Certainly, there would’ve been no engagement to break.
“Percy’s a lovely person,” I say, stung. “I could have done much worse. He’ll make someone a wonderful husband.”
“As long as that someone isn’t you. You do realize he’s only able to talk about three things, right? Soccer, rugby and whatever organic farming breakthroughs they’ve made on his estate that season.”
“And salmon fishing,” I add, trying not to smile. “He’s quite conversant in salmon fishing.”
“True,” she says.
“I just think we should have the proper respect for a kind person whose heart I just broke.”
“RIP, Percy,” she says solemnly, bowing her head and pressing a hand to her heart.
“Much better,” I say, reaching for a piece of shortbread.
Michele smacks my hand away. “So what made you pull the plug?”
“I had a, ah, moment of clarity,” I say, feeling that same heat in my cheeks again and deciding that now is not the time to mention that Damon’s cock was instrumental in helping me decide.
But Michele, being Michele, seems to know. She gasps, eyes widening, and lowers her piece of shortbread from her mouth.
“Hang on,” she says, assessing me with that shrewd gaze of hers. “You met someone, didn’t you? I see all the signs. You’ve been out of touch. Sexy new hair style. Bright eyes. Pink cheeks. Final break with Percy. What the hell is going on? Tell mama.”
Obviously, no one can withstand this sort of withering cross-examination. Least of all me.
My blush intensifies, threatening to melt me and send the entire sofa up in flames. There’s no stopping my grin. And I find myself categorically unable to look her in the eye.
“It’s nothing,” I say, covering my face with both hands before I humiliate myself any further. “Only, you may be right. I may have met someone.”
“And fucked him too, by the look of it,” she says with horrified fascination, because she knows how out of character this is for me.
“Michele!”
“Who is he?” she demands around her scandalized grin.
“His name is Damon Black,” I say with as