The Next Mrs Russo - Jana Aston Page 0,62

naked again. Maybe we were just doing a one-time thing? Who the hell knows.

Not me.

We’ve already established I know nothing about anything.

Big sigh.

When we got back to the mansion Bethany and Warren went to play a card game of some kind. They invited me, but I begged off because I don’t want to infringe on all of their time together.

Also, it’s Saturday night, so I do have plans of my own, thank you very much.

True, said plans might be binge-watching trashy reality TV with Gary, but that doesn’t make them any less important or valid than anyone else’s plans no matter what my teenage assistant would have to say about it.

Though honestly, maybe trashy isn’t a fair description. Sure, they only hand out Oscars to serious movies about people dying in the snow or whatever, but where is the appreciation for the layered characterization and plot twists that occur in every single episode of Love Island? As far as I’m concerned, this is some of the best-paced storytelling on television. And the plots?

Someone deserves an award, is all I’m saying. I’m not exactly sure who, but someone.

I change into a pair of pants with an elastic waist, grab Gary and head into the upstairs den. I love the upstairs den, because it’s got a giant television and furniture from this century, unlike the majority of this museum of a house.

Now, I could go for one of my favorite seasons of Project Runway —a classic—but it’s not quite what I’m itching for. Then I see it. My personal favorite. The ultimate in reality-show over-the-top spending.

Say Yes to the Dress.

I flip on the show and watch as bride after bride goes through dress after dress. I’m watching an old season, so I cringe as a few outdated trends show up on my giant TV screen. I’m gaping at a particularly horrible mermaid-style creation when Bethany breezes into the room, nearly scaring the crap out of me when she claps her hands in excitement.

“I love this show!” she says, as she all but bounces through the room. “Can I watch with you?”

“Um, sure,” I agree, feeling awkward.

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to,” Bethany says, looking a little hurt. “Dad had to jump on a call, and I thought I’d watch something in here.”

“Of course I want you to,” I say quickly, patting a spot next to me on the couch. “I’m the guest here, not you.”

She smiles, big and genuine, and flops onto the couch. She’s in her pajamas, long flannel ones with pink stripes. I’m jealous. The governor’s mansion is frigid as hell. I tuck the quilt I grabbed up closer to my chin.

“I love how cozy it is in here,” I comment as Gary immediately leaves my lap and settles in on hers. He turns up his purr volume at least three levels.

Disloyal bastard.

“Oh, I know. Everything in this place is old because it’s either some kind of state antique or it was just left behind by some governor from, like, a hundred years ago.” She waves a hand, the gesture reminding me of a little old lady. “The only rooms with any of our stuff are this one, my room and Dad’s.”

Ah, well. That explains why it’s comfy.

“So what’re we watching?” Bethany asks, settling into a corner of the couch.

“Currently? We’re watching a young woman spend more money than most people make in a year on a dress she’s only going to wear for an hour, because this is just the ceremony dress. She’s already purchased another dress for the reception.”

“Ridic,” Bethany mutters, shaking her head as Gary taps her hand with his paw, silently requesting pets. “Watching these shows is so much better with a friend,” she adds, already scratching Gary behind his ears.

And the thing is… she means me, not Gary.

She likes me. She thinks I’m cool. She called me a friend.

I am sort of cool, I think with an iota of smug satisfaction. Then I ruin it by wondering how I can brag to Miller about what a totally cool Saturday night I had.

“What’s wrong?” Bethany asks, because I think I just sighed out loud. At myself.

“Nothing. It’s just she would look so much better in an A-line.” I wave at the screen.

“What’s an A-line?”

I grab a pad of paper off one of the shelves nearby and do a quick sketch of what I’d put this bride in. Then, before I know it, I draw a few more, explaining the different styles to