have you girls over again.”
I smile down at her. “You’re too good to me. Thanks for the massage today and looking after the girls. It was amazing.”
She adjusts her sun hat, and grins at me. “My pleasure. What are friends for, right?”
I bite my lip, wishing I could do as much for her as she does for me.
“That suit looks amazing on you, by the way,” she says with a playful smile.
I look down at the black and yellow two-piece she bought me a few months back. The little skirt hides my belly. “Yep, that’s one of the suits you got for me, remember?”
She sticks out her tongue — a funny habit of hers. “I bet Gabe liked it,” she teases, “and Weston too.”
I smile at her with wide eyes. I press my finger to my mouth in a shushing motion. She can’t be talking like that about Weston around Chloe and Claire. They still have no clue what’s going on.
“You never did tell me much about what kind of shenanigans went on that week,” she goes on, a playful twinkle in her eye.
I laugh. “And I don’t plan to.”
“Oh, you will, one day…you will,” she teases, a delicious looking appletini in her hand. How I wish I could have a sip.
“You’re starting to really show,” she whispers, “big time.”
“I know. I’ve been living in baggy t-shirts. It’s because it’s my third.”
“The girls haven’t noticed?”
I worry my lip. “Not yet, but I know they will soon enough.”
“I’m going in,” Claire calls out and I watch her as she makes her way to the pool steps. Beyoncé’s Single Ladies rings out from the bottom of my beach bag. I keep an eye on Claire as I grab my phone. “Hello.”
“Hello, Mirella.”
My heart is heavy, and my whole body seems to slouch at the sound of his voice. “Weston.”
“I know you probably want to be left alone after our last encounter,” he starts off, no small talk, no chit-chat. “But there’s something I need to show you.”
“What?” I ask, curious. If there’s something about myself I could change, it would be my intense curiosity. I really don’t enjoy the sensation of being kept in suspense.
“Uh…well, it would be preferable if you could see it.”
“Oh, that would be preferable, would it?” I scoff, my words coming out snarkier than I had intended.
“Mirella,” he sighs. “I know you don’t quite trust me. But I promise I won’t lay a hand on you.”
“Oh, I know you won’t. I just don’t trust my own hands.”
He laughs his trademark soft chuckle. “It’s not something I can bring to you. You need to come to me.”
“I’m sorry, but that sounds rather risky.”
Gwen eyes me with curious eyes and a big smile. I keep an eye on Claire and Chloe, mulling over Weston’s words.
“I don’t want any more surprises. Do you understand that?”
“One last time,” he pleads. “I need to show you something and tell you something. It’s very important…too important to discuss over the telephone.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “Can Gwen and the girls tag along?”
“Uh…I’d rather they didn’t. The girls shouldn’t quite see yet, before…”
“Before what?”
“Can you get Gwen to look after them?”
I bite my lip, completely intrigued. He knows me well. He knows I can’t resist a good mystery.
Curiosity killed the cat.
I blow out a breath. “Sure,” I say softly. I am a stupid, stupid kitty.
“How about eight this evening? After dinner. I won’t keep you long.”
“How long?”
“And hour of your time…two, tops.”
I glance over at Gwen, whose ears are glued to my every word. “Can you look after the girls tonight at around eight for two hours?”
She sits up straight. “No problem.”
I chew on my lip. “Will you pick me up?”
“I’ll probably send Edward over, if that’s fine with you.”
“Sure,” I say, realizing my nine lives might just be up.
Edward picks me up at a quarter to eight. He smiles at me, his ruddy face still so familiar.
“Hi, Edward. It’s been a while.”
“Yes, Miss Mirella,” he says. “We’ve missed you.”
I smile as he opens the door for me, and I take a seat on the sleek beige leather, remembering the last time I was here. I had cried the whole ride home. It was the night Weston discovered my tattoo — Gabe’s name inked on my flesh. He had flipped, and had told me I’d always be his.
“The ride won’t be long,” Edward tells me, “about ten minutes or so.”
“How are you?” I ask him, an attempt at small talk.
He perks up. “I’m having